Raw [#Wattys2015]

Chapter 4

My pre-teen brain and I drove home, coming face to face with a wide-eyed Maggie.

"Oh my god, spill! I haven't seen that look in six years!" her shrill squeaky voice echoes off the appliances in the kitchen where we're standing.

Grabbing a bottle of orange juice from the refrigerator, I pretend not to know what she's talking about. As if lying to Maggie is possible with my flushed cheeks and her bloodhound detective tendencies. "What look?"

"The same goofy look you get every time you're smitten with a guy." She pulls herself up with her arms to sit on the countertop, letting her heels knock against the cabinet below her.

Leaning against the adjacent counter, I smile before taking a sip of my juice. "Oh, you mean the look I don't get when that loser Ian keeps creepily trying to make a move?"

She pinches her eyebrows together, the way she does when she knows she is about to lose at something. "Are you kidding? Ian is a great guy. Stop being so picky."

"I'm not being picky, I'm just not interested in him."

"Rory, you haven't been interested in anyone in six years. You haven't even tried to find someone."

I roll my eyes. "Perhaps I'm not interested in finding another asshole to bust my nose up."

My scalp prickles at the reminder of what I went through in my last relationship, recalling all the times I forgave him after he smashed his fist into another part of my body.

"Not every guy is like that, Rory, and it's clear that you've apparently found one worth being smitten over. It's written all over your face, so spill your guts or I'm just going to cut them out." She laughs at her own joke, but I don't' because she's right. When Maggie wants to know something, she is relentless and will stop at nothing until she learns every detail. Either I spill, or she will take matters into her own hands just like she did with Mr. Dress Jeans.

"It doesn't matter anyway, he is taken." By an oblivious, gorgeous goddess of a woman who doesn't deserve him because she could care less.

"Oooooh" she sing songs, clapping her hands together like one of those ditzy, valley-girls. "So, you're the other woman. Interesting!"

"Maggie! God! I am not the other woman. The guy doesn't even know I exist beyond my role in selling his condo."

"Wait a minute!" she jumps down, putting her bony hands on her hips. "You're crushing on a client! Rory freaking Patterson is crushing on a client? The woman who wrote the rulebook on how to follow the rulebook?" she loses herself in a fit of laughter, so I just glare at her until she decides to finish.

"It's not funny!" I insist, frowning at her. "I cannot get this guy out of my head and it's freaking me out." I scrunch my nose up, grimacing at the way unreasonably strong emotions flood back to me at the simple mention of his name.

She grabs my orange juice and sits it on the counter, raising her eyebrows with an "I'm up to something" look on her face.

"I know what you need." She sing-songs again, skipping to the freezer door and thrusting it open with enough force rip it off its hinges. "Rocky Road, Strawberry or Moose Tracks?"

Groaning in mock annoyance, I simply arch my brow in a challenging gesture, daring her to continue pretending like she doesn't know that my favorite ice cream is Moose Tracks. "Charleigh, get your skinny ass out here. We're eating Moose Tracks and listening to Rory's girl drama!"

"You know, you can't call it Rory-drama if you're not only partaking on it, but thriving on it as well." I grab three spoons and make my way to Maggie's super comfortable sectional couch. I seriously love this thing, whoever invented this fabric was a genius and should we rewarded every day for the rest of their life. I think technically it's microfiber, but it's so old and worn in that it feels like the softest combination of cotton and suede. It's perfect.