Geoducks Are for Lovers (11 page)

A four top opens up in the corner and they grab it. Gil’s leg bumps Maggie’s as they squeeze into the crowded space around the table. He catches her eye and smiles. 

Quinn pours beer from the pitcher. “Cheers.” He raises his glass of water. They all clink glasses.

“They’re not half bad,” Quinn shouts over the music.

The band is a classic four piece of a motley group of guys who look to be between mid-thirties and fifty. 

“None of them are remotely hot, but they can play.” Selah pouts. “Certainly not as hot as Paul Bunyan.”

As if she conjured him, Selah points behind Maggie’s head. “Hey, isn’t that John?” 

Gil’s eyes follow Selah’s finger to tall guy who does indeed resembles a lumberjack, or maybe the paper towel man with a full beard, leaning against the wall, drinking a dark colored pint of beer. He immediately feels territorial and drapes his arm over the back of Maggie’s chair. 

“We should invite John to join us.” Selah nudges Maggie. 

Gil catches Selah’s eye, and sneers at her. She laughs and winks at him. 

“Maggie, invite him over.” Selah whines.

“What she said, invite the lumberjack over,” Quinn says.

The room is crowded and the music too loud for John to see or hear them. Maggie attempts a small wave, but John turns his head to talk to the guy next to him.

“There’s no room at our table,” Gil grumbles.

“He can sit on my lap. Or I can sit on his.” Selah purrs.

The band plays a blues song and a few people dance in the small area right in front of the stage.

“Hey, this is that song from that show with the old ladies?” Gil asks.

Quinn stares at him with an exaggerated shocked face. “Um, that would be
The Golden Girls
. A television classic.” He looks genuinely disappointed in Gil’s description. Quinn sings along with the band for a bit. “The love I have for Betty White—she’s a minx.”

“That sounds like a future Quinn project… Betty White as a woodland creature,” Selah comments.

Quinn drums his fingers on the table. “You may be on to something, Ms. Elmore. What kind of animals are minxes? Are they where the coats come from?”

“No idea.” Maggie laughs. 

“None,” Gil adds.

“Maggie, John’s waving at you,” Selah says, pointing to the far corner..

Maggie glances over her shoulder at John, who smiles and raises his beer. She does the same. He frowns, but tries to cover it when Maggie turns back to him.

Gil hears the familiar notes of “You Can Call me Al” and grins at Maggie as the band begins the song.

“Do you remember dancing in the kitchen to this song?”

Her grin tells him she does.

“Care to dance, Betty?” He gestures toward the middle of the room. Memories of laughing and dancing with her late at night flood his head, causing him to smile.

“Here? Now?” She asks, sounding shy. Selah smiles at Maggie in encouragement.

“Sure. It’s no kitchen, but we can make it work.” Gil stands up, and holds out his hand.

“Okay, Al.” Maggie grabs Gil’s hand and he pulls her to her feet. 

He holds her hand as he moves through the crowd. When they reach the front of the stage, he spins her around and grabs her waist, keeping their hands linked.

Maggie laughs as they do a messy two-step in the small space. She has always been a fantastic dancer, that hasn’t changed.

Gil pulls Maggie closer, shifting his thigh between her legs and moving his hand lower on her back. He threads his fingers through hers. As she sings along to the chorus, he realizes their energy has shifted. They’ve gone from laughing to moving closer. Gil bends her back a little. 

He stares down at her beautiful face, her green eyes bright with mirth, and her cheeks pink from dancing. Her hair is as long as it was in college, dangling below her head as he dips her. He feels like he’s twenty again. Transported to a beat-up kitchen in a dingy, student summer rental with perpetually-dirty linoleum underfoot, and the smell of pizza in the air—drunk on cheap beer and the girl in his arms.

Everything in the bar fades away until only they exist in a bubble, both unaware of the time or place. 

The band finishes the song, and the lead singer leans into the mic. “For our last song, we’re continuing the Paul Simon love-fest… our version of “Cecilia”, folks.”

“This has always been my favorite,” Gil whispers in her ear.

He breaks away and spins her, catches her eye, and smiles down at her before pulling her back into his arms. 

“Jubilation,” Gil softly sings. It’s both a statement and a wish.

He can feel her pulse quicken where he holds her wrist. When he tips his head down to hum in her ear, he breathes in her spicy, floral scent and it warms him. He spins her and joins in her laughter. The joy in her eyes makes the moment perfect. “Cecilia” isn’t the best song for dancing, but in their silliness she doesn’t seem to mind.

Gil forgets all about the others until the song ends and the band says goodnight. He’s still holding Maggie’s hand as she looks around for their friends. They’re seated at the table, only now his seat is occupied by John. He can’t decide if he’s mad the lumberjack has joined them or happy because Selah’s clearly in her snake-charming mode.

John moves to stand up when they approach. “I stole your seat, Mags.”

Maggie waves him back into the seat. “It’s okay. I’m going to go up front and grab another pitcher of beer and maybe some water.” She looks flushed from dancing.

“You certainly worked up a sweat together. You two have some moves,” Quinn says. “Grab me more water, will you? Designated driver is dehydrated.”

Maggie blushes and Gil wonders if it is about working up a sweat with him. He’s taken off his long sleeve shirt and stands in his dark blue t-shirt and faded jeans, and his hair is a little damp along the hairline. While she stares, he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, then runs both hands through his hair. He feels a little overheated himself.

Snapping out of his Maggie-induced stupor, he realizes she is introducing him to John.

“John, this is Gil, another friend from college.” She gestures at Gil standing next to her. 

Gil holds back a frown at the “another friend” label, but what else can he expect? “Gil, my best friend until we had sex and I broke his heart” is a mouthful even if it is the truth.

“Hey.” Gil wipes his hands on his jeans and then holds out his hand to John. He’s pretty sure John sizes him up before shaking hands with an overly firm grip. 

Fucking lumberjack.

“Hey, good to meet another one of the old gang.” John sounds friendly enough. 

Gil fights the urge to establish himself as the alpha dog because he doesn’t have any claim on Maggie other than old friend.

Quinn interrupts Gil’s thoughts. “With the way Selah was flirting with John here I was going to request the band play Mrs. Robinson next, but they ended their set.”

Everyone laughs, even Selah. “Hardly. Wasn’t she twenty years older than Benjamin?”

“True, but in reality Anne Bancroft was only older than Hoffman by a few years when they filmed,” Quinn adds.

“The king of pop culture would know that.” Gil grabs the empty pitcher. “I’ll help you carry the beer and water.”

Maggie follows him to the front of the bar. Now that the live music is over the place is clearing out. The crowd waiting for drinks thins to only one or two people deep. She stands in front of him when they get to the bar. As she leans forward to give their order, he doesn’t resist the urge to check her out, and says a blessing to whoever designed skinny jeans. 

Someone bumps into him and he loses his balance. Reaching out, he grabs her hips to steady himself, and she turns around to look at him. She covers one of his hands with her own. 

“Don’t think I didn’t catch you checking out my ass,” she teases as she leans back into him.

Keeping his hands on her hips, he leans forward. “It’s a very fine ass, and I won’t deny looking. You don’t seem to mind the compliment.” Gil gives her hips a squeeze. Flirting is good. Flirting with Maggie is the best. 

“Thanks for not qualifying that comment with ‘for a forty-something’. Me and my ass thank you.” 

“Your ass has only gotten better with age. Must be all the running.” 

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Dr. Morrow.” She wiggles her butt. 

He moves her hair to whisper in her ear, “Everywhere is where I want to be.”

In the infinite perfect timing of the universe, the chatty bartender chooses this moment to come back over with their pitcher and four glasses of water. 

Maggie is tempted to pour the water over her head to cool herself off from Gil’s sexy banter. Instead, she downs one of the waters and puts the empty glass back on the bar. Gil isn’t acting like he has a girlfriend and she makes a mental note to ask him about her, but not now, not tonight. Why spoil the fun with reality?

“That’ll be fourteen dollars, Maggie.” The bartender refills her glass.

Reaching for her wallet, she realizes she left her bag back at the table. Before she can say anything, Gil is already putting a twenty on the bar and telling the bartender to keep the change.

John’s still at their table when they return, but his chair is now much closer to Selah. Gil grabs an empty chair and drags it over to the table. He drapes his arm across Maggie’s chair again, and plays with a lock of her hair, twirling it around his fingers. He did this back in college—a gentle, sensual, toe curling, yet slightly teasing habit Maggie remembers.

Beers poured, they settle into friendly conversation. Maggie looks around the room, seeing a few familiar faces, but no one who qualifies as more than an acquaintance outside of the group at her table. Even though she’s lived here full time for years, she hasn’t established her own social network outside of John. She considers maybe she has cloistered herself away more than she admits. 

Selah pulls out her phone and reads a text. “Ben and Jo are in Oak Harbor. Does this mean something?”

“It means they’re about forty-five minutes away, give or take.”

“They’re tired and going to drive straight to the house,” Selah continues.

“Should we head back and greet them?” Maggie asks the group. 

“The sooner I can offend Ben, the better. I say let’s go,” Quinn says, partly teasing. 

“See you tomorrow, John?” Selah puts her hand on his bicep, giving him a small squeeze.

John makes a fist and cracks his knuckles. “Sure, yeah. I told Maggie I’d bring over firewood for the bonfire.”

“Love a man who shares his wood,” Quinn jokes. Everyone laughs at the horrible euphemism.

“Let’s go before you shiver his timbers.” Gil puts his shirt on over his T-shirt while waiting for Maggie to stand and make her way toward the door. Once again, he walks behind her with his hand on the small of her back. The pressure and warmth from his hand are both familiar and exhilarating.

Outside, an empty street greets them. The marquee of The Clyde is dark and the quiet town resembles a stage set when the theater lights dim. She steps into the street and slowly spins with her arms out.

“Come on, Betty, you don’t want to be run over.” Gil grabs her hand and pulls her across to the other sidewalk.

“Al, you’re so silly. This is Langley. No traffic to worry about.” 

“Here we go with the Al and Betty stuff again.” Selah groans. “It’s summer of ‘90 all over.”

Maggie smiles at Gil while swinging their linked hands together. “That was a very good summer.”

Gil winks at her. “It was, it was.”

Twelve

Maggie, Quinn and Selah settle on the sectional while Gil sifts through the shelves of albums. After dancing with Maggie, he’s feeling nostalgic for the summer they spent as housemates. He puts
The Graduate
soundtrack on the turntable just as the doorbell rings.

“They’re here!” Maggie jumps up. Quinn races her down the hall while Selah and Gil laugh at them, following behind. 

Maggie pulls open the door. “You don’t need to ring the doorbell. Always so formal.” 

It’s almost impossible for Ben and Jo to walk into the house with the crowd at the door. Hugs are given and bags are taken as they all shuffle inside.

“Come in, come in,” Maggie greets them, leading everyone back to the living room. 

Gil carries the bags into the den. Earlier in the day his new roommate moved her things into his room. Sharing a room with Selah is a little odd, but it won’t be the first time. At least there are two beds this time instead of a king size and four friends on a road trip.

When Gil returns to the living room, he sees Ben standing by the dining table and the now dirty Scrabble game. 

“You guys are playing dirty word Scrabble?” Ben shakes his head.

“Didn’t start out that way, but yeah, we are now.” Gil answers.

“We have a pervert amongst us, but they haven’t identified themselves yet,” Maggie says, joining them at the table.

Ben pulls out a handful of tiles from the bag and arranges them on the support. Looking over the board, he then plays ‘PUSSY’ off of ‘SIGHS’.