She was the moron, not Tony.
As her anger slowly dissolved, she took a few calming breaths. It’s not a big deal. Just a case of mistaken identity.
It’s not like she’d ever see her blue-eyed bad boy again, unless he decided to show up for that free drink she’d offered, but how likely was that? The man probably thought she was a nutcase.
A very astute assumption on his part.
Unable to stop it, a giggle tore out of her throat. It was a hysterical giggle, but she got some comfort from being able to laugh at the situation. The memory of her stranger’s bewildered blue eyes as he lay on the bed with an impressive erection flashed across her brain, turning the giggle into a full-out laugh. She’d never thought of herself as a wild woman, but after what she’d done tonight, she could never be accused of being dull.
Exiting the phone booth, Maggie resumed the walk home, her humiliation fading at each click of her heels. Okay, so she’d molested a man whose name she didn’t even know. Big deal. He’d liked it. She’d liked it too. And they’d probably never cross paths again, so really, what harm had been done?
She held back another laugh and crossed the street, and by the time she reached the high-rise she called home, her nerves had started to calm.
She used her key to open the door to the lobby, and then stepped inside and greeted the security guard sitting behind the desk. Considering the building was only blocks away from Central Park, the rent should have been astronomical, but Maggie had lucked out. When she’d moved here from Queens, she’d thought she’d never be able to find a decent place that wouldn’t drain her savings account, but on her very first day in the city she’d hit the jackpot.
Summer Windsor, a former waitress at the Olive, was subletting an apartment owned by her grandmother, and when Summer learned Maggie was currently living in a hotel, she’d offered her spare room. The rent was peanuts, which allowed Maggie to save for college, and she didn’t even mind sleeping on the couch when Summer’s grandmother came for a visit. In fact, she kind of looked forward to those visits. For a girl who’d grown up with zero family, sometimes it was nice having someone dote on her.
As she rode the elevator up to the tenth floor, she glanced at her watch. It was almost one a.m., which meant Summer was either sleeping, staying at her boyfriend’s, or practicing her steel drum.
Please don’t let it be option number three.
Her prayers went unanswered as she opened the door to the apartment and was instantly met by a wave of jingly notes, her roommate’s rendition of “Under the Sea”.
“You’re still at it, huh?” Maggie called as she tossed her purse on the coffee table and collapsed on the couch.
“The wedding is in three days,” Summer said from the other side of the room. “I have to practice.”
Summer had set the drum up right in front of the small dining room window. More than once the people who lived in the building across from theirs screamed for her to keep her day job. It was almost comical, actually. Summer, the blonde-haired, blue-eyed accountant, banging away on a steel drum so that she could play it at a Jamaican wedding.
Summer had met Tygue Ortega, the man of her dreams, during a vacation to Montego Bay. The two had fallen head over heels for each other, and a month later Tygue moved to New York. The blonde and her dread-locked soulmate had been inseparable for more than a year now, and they were flying back to Jamaica in a few days to attend Tygue’s brother’s wedding.
Where Summer had gotten the idea to play the steel drum for the joyous event, however, totally eluded Maggie. She couldn’t see Tygue asking his girlfriend to do it, which meant Summer had come up with that brainchild of an idea all on her own.
“I wasn’t expecting you back tonight. Why aren’t you with Tony?” Summer called, biting her lip in concentration as she banged away on the large instrument.
“You don’t want to know,” Maggie replied with a groan. She kicked off her heels and rested her legs on the glass coffee table.
Her ears got a much-needed reprieve as Summer stopped drumming. Her pale blue eyes flickering with curiosity, she rose from the stool and asked, “What happened?”
Summer walked over to the armchair next to the couch, and before her butt met the cushion, the entire story spilled out of Maggie’s mouth. The words came out like an out-of-control freight train, starting from the moment she’d entered the hotel room to the way she’d scurried off like a dog with its tail between its legs.
By the time she finished, Summer was laughing uncontrollably, her expression a mixture of amazement, amusement and appreciation.
“Yes, laugh at me,” Maggie said with a frown. “It makes me feel so much better.”