Passion and Peril: Scenes of Passion / Scenes of Peril

“No one,” Matt and Stevie said in unison.

“Oh, great,” Maggie said, looking at their matching Cheshire cat grins. “That’s all I need. You two as cohorts. As if I didn’t know who you were talking about. Come on, Matt. Let me grab my briefcase from my car, then we can go.”

“Have fun,” Stevie said. With his back carefully to Matt, he dropped her a wink that was loaded with meaning.

Maggie let her own smile drip saccharine. “You have fun, too, Stevie-poo. Maybe if you’re lucky you can get Vanessa and Brock to play Monopoly with you.”

“Sounds real neat, but no,” Stevie said. “I’ve got plans. I’m going to go drive past Danielle’s house, oh, twenty-eight, twenty-nine times.” He glanced at Matt. “Unrequited love.”

Maggie got into Matt’s car as Stevie leaned over to look in the window. “Maybe you can offer me some advice,” he said to Matt, “you know, with the wisdom of your great age and all. There’s this girl, see?”

“Danielle,” Matt clarified, looking up at Stevie.

“Check. She’s the most fabulous, beautiful, wonderful... Well, you know. But she doesn’t think of me as a guy. We’re friends, that’s all.”

Maggie leaned forward to look out Matt’s window at her brother. “Just go knock on her front door and tell her that you love her, for crying out loud!”

“Oh, no way,” Matt said.

“God!” Stevie reeled back in shock. “That’s very uncool.”

“Yeah, and potentially humiliating,” Matt said. “If I were you, I’d take my time. Go slowly. You know, don’t scare her away.”

“Meanwhile the captain of the football team takes the more direct approach and ends up taking her to the prom,” Maggie said.

“Oh, no.” Matt cringed.

“Oh, yes.” Stevie nodded. “Pathetic, but true. And on that cheerful note, I’ll bid you good night.” He vanished into the shadows.

Matt glanced at Maggie. “Your little brother isn’t so little anymore.”

“Scary, huh?”

He started the car, shaking his head. “Sometimes I wish I could be eighteen again. Man, what I’d give to be able to go back and do it over.”

Maggie groaned. “Not me. Once was enough, thanks.”

He pulled out of the driveway. “There are definitely some things I’d do differently.”

“Like what?”

“Like, I wouldn’t start smoking. I wouldn’t drink or do drugs. I would’ve taken better care of myself.” He glanced at her. “I would’ve asked you out.”

Maggie looked back at him, but now his eyes were firmly on the road. Vanessa had been right. Matt had wanted to date her in high school. Date. Right. Wow, she’d never known. “Why didn’t you?” she asked.

He glanced at her with a smile. “Would you have gone out with me if I had?”

“No.” Her loyalty to Angie had been too strong. She never would have risked that friendship. Even for... “Matt, to be honest, I never thought of you as anything but a friend.”

Ten years ago. Now she was aware of him to the point of distraction.

He smiled at her again. “That’s why I never asked you out. I wasn’t a big fan of rejection.”

They rode in silence for a few miles, then Maggie said, “I’m sorry about dinner. Are you sure you still want me to work for you? It’s obvious that insanity runs rampant in my family.”

He just laughed. “And it doesn’t in mine?”

He was pulling into the parking lot of Sparky’s, the town watering hole. “What are you doing? Why are we...? You don’t drink anymore. Do you?” she asked.

“No, I don’t,” he said. “But you do. And after that dinner you definitely need something with a kick.”

“Roast beef,” Maggie shook her head. “I can’t believe my mother served roast beef to a vegetarian. Why didn’t you let me say something?”

He pulled her out of the car. “Because people tend to feel embarrassed and rejected when you don’t take what they offer for dinner. I took the plate and didn’t hurt your mom’s feelings.” Still holding her hand, he led her across the parking lot and into the dimly lit bar. “But I didn’t eat the meat. It’s an old trick I learned in California. Cut it up and move it around the plate and no one notices that you didn’t eat it. Everyone’s happy.”

Maggie hadn’t been inside Sparky’s in close to seven years, but the place hadn’t changed. It was dark and it smelled like a frat-house basement.

Matt pulled two stools out from the bar, then stepped back so Maggie could climb up. He sat next to her, pulling his stool so close that his thigh brushed hers. He caught the bartender’s eye. “Coupla drafts.”

The touch of his leg against hers was making her crazy. Matt had never been careful with her personal space, constantly draping an arm around her, often coming up behind her to massage her shoulders or braid her hair.

His casual, friendly touch had always been part of the package. True, Maggie had heard tell that a friendly backrub had at times led to far more friendly activities, but she had never been subject to his amorous advances.

Or had she? Maybe she’d been too naive to realize....

He leaned against the bar and his shoulder grazed hers and she nearly jumped off the stool.

The bartender slid two foaming mugs of beer in front of them, and she gratefully took a long swallow. And risked a look at Matt.

His elbows rested on the bar and his T-shirt was pulled tight across his strong back. He was watching her, his face shadowy in the weak light, his eyes reflecting the yellow of a neon sign. It made him look otherworldly and alien, reminding her that he was in some ways a stranger, after all that time away.

Ten years ago, she never would’ve dreamed of kissing Matthew Stone. Tonight, she was having trouble thinking about anything else.

Maggie remembered her own words, spoken only minutes before to Stevie, realizing how impossible her advice had been. There was simply no way on earth she’d ever be able to turn to Matt and tell him that she was falling in love with him.

But she was.

But she couldn’t. What would Angie say if she knew? What would Matt say?

She stared morosely into her beer, taking another sip and feeling its coolness and accompanying warmth course through her.

Matt drew lines in the frost on the outside of his glass of beer. His glass of beer? What was a guy who’d been in a detox center three years ago doing with a glass of beer?

“You’re not going to drink that, are you?” she asked.

“No.” Matt laughed. “I’m not an alcoholic, despite what you heard from Dan Fowler today. I don’t drink because I choose not to, not because I can’t.”

He met her gaze steadily, and she felt herself blush. “I’m sorry.”