Truth or Dare (7 page)

“You say ‘a decent date’ like it’s a rare thing. I don’t get it. You’re beautiful, intelligent, and fun. I know you’ve got a list of qualifying requirements about the length of a city block, but still. You finding a good date ought to be as easy as a trip to the 7-Eleven. What’s the problem?”

She let out a humorless laugh. “
I’m
the problem. I’m not actually interested in finding some perfect guy, because honestly, I like my life the way it is. I only agreed to the pact because Ava didn’t want to go it alone. So each month, I have to find a guy the compatibility isn’t really there with from the start. That way, when it’s over, I don’t have to worry about him getting his hopes up or his feelings hurt when I’m not receptive to a second date.”

Tyler stared at her, unblinking. Then, “You intentionally go out on bad dates to protect guys from getting their feelings hurt, and so your friend can find the romance you aren’t interested in. Maggie, you know that’s nuts, right?”

“Definitely,” she agreed, glad he saw it for what it was. “But so far, it seems like the best solution I’ve found. And the pact only lasts a year.”

“So what was wrong with Hot Doc? Because from the sound of it, the guy had it going on.”

“Leo? Oh, no. He was an exception to the rule, because he falls so far to the other extreme. Good-looking, charming, doctor. And seriously, things don’t work out with him? I imagine there’d be a line of women around the block hoping for the chance to take his mind off it. So one month, one date with him, what’s the harm?”

They rode the next few exits on the Kennedy in comfortable silence, but as they closed the distance to Wicker Park, Maggie felt like an opportunity was slipping through her fingers. A chance to learn more about Tyler and maybe why things had begun with them the way they had.

“What about you? How long have you been in Chicago?”

Tyler’s eyes cut to her and though the question was about as benign as you could get, she could have sworn she felt him tense from across the car.

“About a year and a half.”

She waited, but when no further information was forthcoming, she tried again. “So what brought you out here?”

Tyler pulled his phone from his pocket, checking his messages before turning to look out his window. “Ford mentioned you were talking about buying into the gallery. How’s that going?”

She wanted to push, feeling a sudden inequity in the information exchange, but there was something about the way his posture changed, the slight edge his voice had taken on, and even the quality of his movement as he turned away from her that warned not to. With this peace between them being so new and feeling so good, she didn’t want to risk losing it.

So he didn’t want to talk about what brought him to Chicago. She’d respect his space and maybe when they’d gotten to know each other a bit better, he’d tell her.

Heck, maybe she’d even tell him what brought her to Chicago. The reason she’d had to switch schools. Why her parents had moved…Or maybe she wouldn’t.

For now, the gallery was easier for both of them.

“Slowly,” she admitted. “Trying to pin Hedda, the owner, down to talk about anything regarding the business at all, even if it was her idea to begin with…” She sighed, thinking about when she’d broached the subject the week before. The flutter of hands and whirl of fabric as her boss all but fled the building amid a stream of excuses about time and appointments with her spiritual guides and promises to talk the next day. She hadn’t been back in since. “It’s a challenge.”

“She’s not ready to give up the reins?” he asked, the easiness returned to his tone.

It was all she could do not to burst out laughing. “More like she isn’t interested in holding them long enough to discuss any plans.”

At his perplexed expression, she tried to explain. “Hedda’s a…hmm…a free spirit. When I started working for the gallery my senior year, she took a few days to show me the ropes as best she knew them, and then basically dusted off her hands and walked out the door. She literally left town eight days after I started, with instructions that I open the place whenever I could after school and to call if I had questions. Only when I got to work the next day, I found she’d left her phone behind.”

He rocked back in his seat. “Talk about trial by fire.”

“Yeah,” she agreed with a laugh. “But I was lucky to have so many people willing to help me out. People who knew and loved Hedda, but understood her shortcomings. People who were maybe as happy to have someone else stepping in to run the gallery as Hedda herself. So I learned a lot, fast, and the day after graduation I was running The Shrone full time. Three years later I’d handled a redesign of the space, brought in half a dozen new artists, and increased sales and traffic by thirty percent. Hedda asked me how I’d feel about ownership. Buying in as a partner at first, then once I had enough savings, outright.”

“Impressive. So what do you think her holdup is?”

“Well, aside from the fact that she’s probably only at the gallery for a combined total of two weeks a year, I think talking business makes her head hurt, and trying to keep her focused on it is a bit like trying to wrangle cats. She’s all over the place. It’ll happen, though. We talked about it maybe three months ago. So it’s only a matter of time.”

When the cab pulled up to the apartment, Ty helped her out, then held the gate and followed her up the walk. At the stoop she turned to him, her smile as genuine as her gratitude. “Thank you for the rescue. I may not be ready to sign papers with Hedda this week, but I’ve been saving like crazy, and the idea of having to pop for Ava’s spa treatment, just because I planned poorly…” She shook her head. “That’s not really how I operate. I appreciate it.”

Hands shoved into his pockets in that way that made her have to work a little at not noticing what it did to his shoulders, he asked, “So what do you think? Ready to run off with me for good or should we give this friends thing a go?”

Easy. “Friends.”

He cocked a brow at her in mock seriousness. “But friends who trash talk once in a while, right?”

Her heart did a little flip as her grin spread wide. “Definitely.”

D
ECEMBER

The phone was on its fourth ring for the third time in so many minutes when Maggie pulled the pillow off her head and slapped her hand around the nightstand until she landed on her target. Resisting the urge to flush it down the toilet because what good would it do her when she knew Ava wouldn’t relent until she got satisfaction, Maggie connected the call.

“How dare you!”
Ava demanded, her outrage and indignation soaring in typical Ava fashion. “I can’t believe you didn’t answer my texts last night. You could have been dead for all I knew.”

Okay, so maybe it was worth answering the phone after all.

Maggie rubbed at her eye. “Except, I told you I was home and would talk to you in the morning.”

“And then…with the chain on your door. Are you freaking kidding me? Best friends don’t chain each other out, Maggie. They don’t.”

Debatable, but probably not worth it. Maggie had known those two little stunts were going to cost her big. But she hadn’t wanted the explosion of texts, calls, or more likely, Ava showing up with Sam and Ford in tow when she’d heard Maggie’s date had been salvaged by Tyler—the upstairs antagonist formerly known as Apartment Three.

Normally, yeah, the first thing she wanted after a date was a quick snuggle with the security blanket of her friends, but when she’d come in and found her apartment empty—though obviously violated at some point, as evidenced by a missing sleeve of Oreos and the new box of condoms with the cereal-bowl-sized bow left on her bedside table—she’d seen her opportunity and after firing off a quick text, hooked the security chain.

She told herself it was about respecting Tyler. He didn’t deserve to have them all sitting around like vultures picking over his every move and scrutinizing his style. It most definitely
was not
that she hadn’t wanted to share.

But whatever her rationale, it was time to pay the piper.

“So, Ava. Where are you?” Like she didn’t already know.

“Trying to squeeze through the two-inch gap from your security chain.”

Maggie swung her legs over the side of the bed and carried the phone with her down the hall. “Look, my date didn’t go quite the way I’d expected last night, and when it was over I didn’t want to do anything but get some sleep and decompress. Sorry to get you all spun up.”

At her front door, which was slightly ajar with Ava’s hand flailing around like an undead attacker from the other side, she sighed loudly into the phone.

“You’re insane. Move your hand so I can get the chain.”

“After last night, I don’t know if I can trust you,” Ava huffed, eyeing her suspiciously through the crack as she withdrew her arm. “Don’t let me down.”

Maggie slipped the chain free and opened the door to her friend, who, still speaking into her phone, asked, “You alone in here?”

Now
she asked?

“Of course I’m alone.”

Satisfied, Ava hung up. Then immediately dialed Sam. “I’m in. Bring donuts.”

“And coffee,” Maggie added, leaning close. “I forgot it at the store.”

Ava’s expression went from horrified to accusing in a flash, but then Sam said something and all that expressive irk went flat. “She’s still there?”

So much for breakfast delivery.

Maggie padded back to her room, exchanging her pj’s for a pair of leggings and a hoodie. When she came back, Ava was at the front window.

“Trying to catch a glimpse of the inglorious exit?” Maggie asked, slipping on her coat and then checking for keys and her wallet.

Ava tucked her phone into her front pocket and headed into the hall. “Nah, she isn’t leaving for a while. So what’s the
morning after
call for? Pancakes, a skillet, or was the date good enough to merit a low-carb egg-white omelet in anticipation of the lingerie show to come? Deets, girlfriend.”

Maggie was about to close the front door when Tyler’s voice sounded from the lower stairwell, bringing her around in a rush of nerves she couldn’t quite account for. “Yeah, going for the egg whites this morning, Maggie?”

Coming into view, Tyler’s brow and cheeks were dark with cold and exertion, his hair a sweat-damp rumpled mess that had probably been given a wet-dog shake and somehow come out looking like it had been finger-styled by a hair god to the stars. Dirty guys weren’t supposed to look like him. And queue her train of thought veering off track and into the land of inappropriate, because then she was wondering what kind of “dirty” Tyler might have going on. The good kind—

Ava’s elbow met her ribs, knocking her brain back into function.

“Egg whites?” she scoffed, though she suspected the sort of giddy rush she was experiencing was written all over her face. Because they were
friends.
He was
joking
with her.
Smiling.
Looking crazy good and the exactly right kind of dirty as he hiked up the stairs. Which reminded her…

“Not likely. I’m going for a skillet. Sausage, bacon, potatoes. Sour cream and extra cheese. Side of pancakes, too. Chocolate chips with whipped cream.”

The corners of Ty’s eyes crinkled as he let out a good-humored laugh, turning around to walk backward as he passed them. “Sure this isn’t some residual side effect of being left
unsatisfied
last night? Not quite getting your fill?”

Her eyes rolled, but her grin was at full tilt. “Speaking of unsatisfied, how’s Rosie? Hope she didn’t get jealous and hold out on you.”

His eyes flashed and he held up his right hand for her as he started the last flight at a jog. “Not my girl.” As his feet disappeared from view, he called down, “She’s a giver.”

Maggie snickered, locking her door. Then turned to find Ava gaping.

“Something you’d like to share with the class, Margaret?”

Maggie stuffed her keys into her pocket and started down the stairs. “Okay, so I didn’t actually go out with Hot Doc last night.”

Two weeks since their “date” and the friends thing was a done deal. So solid, easy, and seamlessly right, Maggie was occasionally left wondering why it hadn’t been that way from the start.

Yeah, there’d been the whole whatever-she’d-been-offering business. But everyone made mistakes, and she and Ty had found the means to put theirs behind them. Life was good.

Her friends were great.

And as Tyler held the door of The Bristol open for her to walk in ahead, she knew her dinner was about to be spectacular. The rest of the gang was all there, an assortment of high-end beers and handcrafted cocktails dispersed over their slice of the communal-seating table. Tyler took the open chair next to Ford, and Maggie snuck between the tables, sliding into the booth side next to Ava.

“So what did we miss?” she asked, getting situated.

Ava smirked. “Tony, here, was explaining his theory about Tyler picking you up this evening, and his firm belief Apartment Three is laying the groundwork to score.”

Not surprising. Tony was rough around the edges. He was a small-doses guy, his humor typically pushing past appropriate and his attitude often well into obnoxious. But he was Sam’s cousin and their friend, so generally Maggie took him with a grain of salt.

Something Tyler apparently did as well.

Shrugging out of his jacket, Tyler nodded sagely. “And here I just thought I was running late. How’m I doing, Maggie? That shared cab earn me a ‘sure thing’ or should I try to liquor you up?”

Seeing all the beers around the table, she smacked her lips. “Not going to lie—it’s going to take some booze.”

“Try mine. You’ll like it,” Ava assured, handing over her glass before continuing with her update. “So by Tony’s way of thinking, men and women can’t really be friends without—”

“
Straight
guys. And
hot
women,” Tony chimed in, wiping some beer foam from his mouth with the back of his hand.

Ava nodded. “Qualifiers noted.”

Tony leaned over the table, whisper-shouting, “I’m not saying you girls can’t be friends with guys. I’m saying it doesn’t go both ways, at least not to the same degree. With us—” He nodded around the table, seemingly unaware of the variety of looks the guys in question were giving him. Ford, distracted. Sam, annoyed. And Tyler…something else. Probably dumbfounded. “You make our hot meter spike, and the shutoff valve to li’l Jimmy doesn’t seal completely. We can be
friendly,
for sure. Hell, look at us,” he said, smiling at Ava, whose face had gone all sour lemon on him, and then at Maggie, who was wondering how exactly a guy turned out like Tony as opposed to turning out like Sam or Ford or, really, anyone else. “I think you chicks are great—don’t get me wrong. Doesn’t mean if I thought I had half a chance I wouldn’t get on you.”