radio?”
I let out a little chuckle. “Yup. Wanna come to the show?”
He twists his face, like he’s confused, or maybe a little stunned. “Just like that? Are you serious?”
I shrug. “White Water gave me two tickets in case I wanted to bring someone. I was planning to find some loner outside the venue to see if he wanted to come with me, but I guess you can have my extra ticket if you want.”
He catches my joke referencing yesterday’s game and narrows his eyes at me. “Do I have to promise you I’ll have a good time too?”
I bite my lip and hand him the ticket. “You set the rules. Now it’s your turn to follow them.”
He snatches the ticket from my hand. “Consider it a deal.”
Grinning, I make a move to open the door. “Guess you better go find a parking spot. I need to get to work, but I’ll see you inside.” I hop out of the car and head straight toward the security guard at the front of the building. I show him my White Water pass, and he shoos me in with a wave of his hand. “Have a good time.”
I give him a smile over my shoulder just as I see Desmond’s red car turn into the parking lot down the street. My confused heart pounds in my chest. “Thanks. I think I just might.”
22
Limitations
Desmond
Maggie is already inside and making her way through the growing crowd with a tray of White Water shots by the time I finally get in. In the time it took me to park and walk back to the entrance, the line to get in had wrapped around the building. Apparently, Maggie has some sort of special access, which makes me reconsider my feelings toward her “temporary” life. The perks of her side job don’t seem bad at all. She has flexibility, a decent payout, free booze, and concert tickets. And she seems to genuinely enjoy it all. Maybe a temporary life isn’t so bad.
The stuck-up model with designer boots and flawless appearance who initially walked into my kitchen with a confidence level so high, not even I could compete with—is transforming before my very eyes. At a turtle’s pace for sure, but she’s transforming no doubt. Every time I manage to pluck a feather and piss her off more, I get rewarded with a special peek under the armor she’s so carefully built. There is more to Maggie Stevens than meets the eye, and now I’m more curious than ever to discover it all.
She’s the first woman I see when I walk into the Paramount, and even as I down two drinks while sitting idly at a high-top table in the back of the concert hall, I can’t peel my eyes from her. Maggie dazzles.
“One White Water soda and lime,” she says cheerfully as she sets my drink in front of me. “Great choice.”
I decided to step out of my comfort zone of beer and support the reason I’m here tonight. “Thanks.” I flash her a smile and take a sip of the carefully concocted beverage. “When do you get to join me?”
“Um…” Her eyes drift toward the stage and pause on the crew fiddling around with equipment.
The very moment she looks away, my gaze slips to her fitted, sleeveless tank. It’s black with White Water’s logo on the front, and a deep slit down the middle reveals her chest. At some point between her exiting my car and me entering the venue, her jean jacket vanished, and the bright-red lipstick on her lips appeared. Her light-brown eyes have never popped more than they do in this moment, and I have the strongest yearning to see the same contrast in natural light through my camera’s lens.
When she caught me snapping photos of her at the game yesterday, I was not only shocked by her response but disappointed by it. The photos of her going down on that hot dog were completely natural, vulnerable, and raw. Through the lens, she’s the woman with no faults, no worries, and no fears. But on the other side of it, there’s much, much more, and her reaction confirmed it. There is something she’s hiding.
My eyes are planted on her mouth when her gaze shoots back to me. My head snaps up, but it’s too late. I’m sure she just caught me staring.
“I’m off the clock when the openers are done, but you don’t have to wait for me.”
My reactions to her all feel so