Page 46 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

Maggie and I find a spot at the bar. We wait for the bartender, while I attempt to drop-kick thoughts of my family drama. A few more patrons belly up to order drinks, pressing Maggie and me closer together. She leans her side into me, the graze of her soft body making me sigh. I place my hand on her back, angling toward her. Heat builds where we touch, glowing sunshine that burns off more of my morose thoughts. I’m not sure if she means to rub against me slightly, but her hips move until her pelvis is notched against my thigh.

Forget glowing sunshine. This is a solar flare, building so bright I groan.

She glances up at me, pressing even closer. “If you hate karaoke, why’d you come tonight?”

It’s a simple question, but it isn’t. This is the elevator all over again, facing my fears for one reason and one reason only—to be near Maggie. And she’s so damn close, practically flush against me.

I splay my hand wider on her back. “Because you’re here.”

She makes a tiny noise and shifts her hips. I tug her firmer against me.

“What can I getcha?” the bartender asks, being the opposite of my wingman. When you want their attention, you’re invisible. When you don’t want them, they’re in your face.

“He’ll have a craft hipster beer,” Maggie says, and I can’t even be annoyed. Her mischievous smile is too cute. “I’ll have a gin and tonic.”

She disentangles our legs but stays close. “Do you want to leave after our drinks?”

“Not really.” My other option is sitting at home stressing about dear old Dad.

“We’ll have fun.” She squeezes my upper arm, the small move relaxing me.

We return to our group of friends. They’ve thankfully dropped the Screech jokes and have moved on to teasing Avett. During high school, he accidentally locked himself inside the science lab and had to pee so badly he used a beaker. That famed moment occurred at the exact instant Mrs. Luong let in her next class.

A vein in Avett’s forehead throbs. “Can we talk again about how Lennon’s singing can shatter eardrums?”

“Nope,” I say. “Whipping out your junk in front of your teacher is way more interesting than the basics of my puberty.”

“You don’t even know,” Ricky says, laughing as he talks. “I was walking by when Mrs. Luong opened the door. Her scream could be heard on Mars.”

“He chose a flask,” E says, the master of ceremonies for everyone’s teenage embarrassment, “because it was the only item thin enough to fit his tiny penis.”

Ricky doubles over, leaning into Aaron as he loses it. Delilah cracks up so hard tears leak from her eyes. Maggie snorts and kind of falls into me, the two of us laughing at Avett’s expense. Better than laughing at mine.

Avett points at E, scowling. “You’re an asshole. And she—” he wraps his arm around his wife “—knows you’re full of shit. So, fuck you all.”

Naomi cuddles closer and rubs her hand down his abs. “My man is packing. The rest of you are just jealous.”

Actually, I am jealous. Not of what Avett’s packing. I have no issues in the size department. We’re all hanging out as a group, but there are subgroups. Couple groups. Three in-love pairs, plus Maggie and me, and I want what they have. To know she’s coming home with me tonight, where we can laugh again about Avett’s humiliation and gawk over how the chick singing could pass for Lady Gaga. Joke about how relentless E can be. Rehash our evening the way couples do, making everything brighter. Full-color nights. Then I’d peel off that sexy sweater of hers—coral pink slipping over her head—dig my thumbs into the sides of her painted-on jeans, drag them down, lick a path up her shapely thighs, drown in those soft red curls I’ve been salivating over for years.

Sadly, we’re not there yet, but I hoard moments like this when she leans into me instead of away. The brightness in her smile that makes it feel as if someone’s lit fireworks in my chest.

Ricky’s name is called to sing next. We all cheer except Aaron, who gets up on his chair and wolf whistles. “These people don’t even know they’re gonna be serenaded by rock royalty,” he says when he’s on the floor. “My man, the rock star.”

Ricky may have been the front man for his rock band, the Tweeds, but he chooses a slow song for tonight’s performance. He locks eyes with Aaron as he belts out Tina Turner’s “Simply the Best.” It’s the romantic version immortalized on Schitt’s Creek and has the small crowd swooning their faces off, including Maggie, who’s clutching her chest. For some reason, my heart mimics the move, seeming to contract in on itself, unwilling to let a drop of this overwhelming feeling escape.

She glances at me, catching me staring. Instead of lowering her gaze or looking away, her attention lingers. Those emerald eyes glint with fondness, and I need to lean against the booth beside me before I hit the floor.

Cheers erupt when Ricky’s done. All I can do is watch Maggie holler and grin and clap, so damn into her and thankful she invited me out tonight.

Until the karaoke MC calls, “Lennon Bower! You’re up next.”

Panic grips me by the balls and squeezes. “I didn’t sign up.”

“I know, but…” Maggie’s in my space, looking apologetic and suspiciously excited. “I maybe asked E to put your name down. And I possibly chose a song for you?”

“Please tell me this is a joke.”

“I thought singing would be fun for you. You love making an ass of yourself.”