Maggie 3.2 (Patreon)

“I just can't believe you've never been rock climbing.”

“I know. I seem like a guy who might have been rock climbing,” Max said.

“You do. I went one time, but it wasn't planned. Bunch of my bros went to Chauncey Peak in high school and we were camping. Met some girls from Yale Mountaineering and tagged along with them. They took us to Traprock Ridge and showed us what they could do. I tried it but I was just there to get laid.”

“Did you? Get laid?”

Max heard three flat-footed slaps of thin rubber-soled shoes on the sidewalk and then his body was slammed with a light giggling monkey. Legs shot around his hips, thin arms clung to him and he stumbled forward half a dozen steps to avoid falling over.

“Get what?” the sweet voice said in his ear. Two hands were crossed over in front of him, his engagement diamond on her ring finger.

“Get nothing,” he said. “Never mind.” He grabbed Maggie’s thighs where they clung at his hips and hoisted her higher.

When Cole skipped a few steps and caught up with them, she said to Cole, “Well, how did he do? He grow any muscles?”

Max said, “Not yet.”

Maggie bit his earlobe and her breath tickled his ear and made him jump and squirm. She gripped him tightly so she wouldn't be thrown off, and it got her laughing.

“He did well, but I think he's mad because he wasn't as strong as he used to be.”

“Aw, Maxy,” Maggie said. “You're plenty strong.”

He hitched his step and pulled on her thighs again to keep her from slumping. They were walking down the Main Street of Farmingham village on their way to dinner at Altieri’s. It was October now, and while the fiery leaves still clung to the trees the sky was gray and it was getting dark earlier. The streetlights had flickered on and buzzed while throwing off their amber corona into the burgeoning dusk.

Maggie squeezed his neck tight and kissed his neck. “Your muscles sore yet?”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“You going to be sore tomorrow?”

Cole said, “He’s going to be sore tomorrow. He put out a max effort.”

Maggie laughed in his ear. “That's his new nickname—Max Effort. We should get him some business cards.”

“Excuse me for wanting to look good in our wedding pictures.”

“You look good now, Maxy. I love your body.”

Cole said, “You can lift all the weights you want, you’re still going to pale against your bride, buddy.”

“That's the point,” Max grumbled comically for them. “I at least want to look like I belong there.”

Cole laughed. “Nah, you’re wedding pictures are going to look like a kidnapping.”

Max hitched Maggie up again as her crotch slipped down to his rump. She hopped off and got behind Cole. Max watched her weave her arms around his neck, reaching up while he bent forward and she leap-frogged onto his back. Cole got her onto him and she clung comfortably, one hand running her untied hair back off her face.

Cole had one hand under her calf, her two legs were crossed over one another at his waist. She wore khaki chinos, slim fit, rainbow-striped socks under her black leather loafers with folded over kilties and dancing tassels. Max watched how Cole's big hand held Maggie’s slim leg, his thumb stroking the ridge of her shin.

“Wow, am I hungry,” she laughed. “What are you getting me?” She hugged her cheek to the back of Cole's neck, then extended her hand to Max, wanting him to take it. He worked closer to the two of them, got his fingers between hers and held her hand against his shoulder as the three of them walked together.

Max asked her what she wanted to eat, and she said, “I want... a pepperoni pizza... two beers, uh, fudge brownie with ice cream...”

Cole laughed. “Where does little Maggie put it all?”

Maggie said, “Brain power. My brain burns a lot of calories.”

“Mine doesn’t,” Cole said. “Mine stays mostly in neutral.”

They sauntered on in the cool colorless evening until they came to the warm light spilling out onto the sidewalk from Altieri's. There was one lone empty table in the busy restaurant and it was right at the front window that looked out to the street.

“Oh shit, come on quick,” Cole said. He pointed with his chin for Max to get the door so he could carry Maggie into the restaurant on his back. Max got the door, opened it, and Cole dipped low as he went so Maggie wouldn’t bump her head. Max dodged ahead and got the door on the other side of the vestibule and they hustled to the table. They claimed their spot ahead of two rushing sophomores who surrendered it to them—to Cole—without objection, and Cole backed Maggie onto one of the high chairs.

“Thank you, baby,” Maggie said, and pulled her shoulders out of her jacket then draped it behind her over the chair’s crest rail. Max sat across from Cole, and Maggie sat between them facing out onto the street.

Maggie’s familiarity with Cole was nothing new, but seeing it now in the light of the past weekend, it had amplified. Seeing Maggie clinging to Cole’s back, calling him baby, pressing her cheek to his neck... These were all things, that in this new territory they were exploring, poked and jabbed at his heart. It wasn't fun to see, but he couldn't deny the small jewels of jealous pleasure that came along.

Cole asked Maggie why she skipped painting and she said, “I don't know. I just wasn't feeling it. I was sitting there... staring at a blank canvas.” She shrugged, held her shoulders high, raised her eyebrows.

The two of them held eye contact. Max watched them with bated breath. His two best friends, eyes leveled at one another, the communication there—something that neither one of them was sure of, and Max sure as hell wasn't sure of, but it definitely felt like he was excluded. Then there was a nervous laugh and everyone felt a bit awkward. Cole and Max leaned back, shrugged off their jackets, and they all looked through their menus though they already knew what they would order. One of the waitresses they knew well came along, laughing with them and then making a joke with Cole. She was a cute little Vermont girl, fresh-faced and well-fed, and very friendly. They ordered, and when the waitress left, the uncomfortable silence resumed.

There was something between all of them and they were conscious of it. They were also all very aware that it was something that should be addressed, but none of the three of them were willing to be the first one to mention it. So they sat across from each other, eyes darting from chests to hands to drink menus to napkins, and they did everything but talk about what had happened.

Max opened his mouth as if to say something but he hesitated and sat there with his mouth open, the two of them looking at him. Thankfully, his phone, sitting on the paper placemat, vibrated against the wood table. He was instantly grateful. Looked down to his phone sitting face up, saw the familiar family photo portrait.

“Hey, it's my dad,” he said to the table, eyes turned down. He picked up his phone and answered, a relieved smile on his face, showing it to his two friends who were watching him. The restaurant was lively, the connection quiet, and he strained to hear his dad.

“What was that, Dad?” he said, putting a finger into his opposite ear.

“I said, What’s up, Maxy.” His dad’s tinny voice grew louder.

Maggie bubbled next to him, “Say hi for me, Max.” His dad was already on to the next sentence and now Max couldn’t hear that. He winced and shushed Maggie with his palm, angled away to hear him better.

“Sorry, Dad, I couldn’t hear you.”

As his dad spoke, Maggie was at Max’s shoulder, off her high chair, loafers on the floor and leaning against Max. “Hi Mr. Milton,” she sang over his shoulder and into his phone.

Max pulled away again. His Dad said, “Is that my Maggie?”

“Yes, Pop.”

“Hey, Mags,” his dad yelled into the phone.

“Dad says hi,” Max told Maggie, two fingers over the phone’s mic.

His dad said, “So how was the big weekend, kid? You never called.”

“Yeah, sorry, Dad, I forgot.” He stepped down off the high chair and swam his shoulders through the tight crowd, out to the maître d’s booth and then into the vestibule. A line had formed already and the overflow was backed up, so he passed out to the fresh fall air and on to the street.

“What was the church like?”

“Oh you know,” Max said. “It was... Like, it’s Rhode Island. It was this wooden church, painted white. Right by the water...”

“Yeah, yeah... You like it?”

“Oh yeah, I like it a lot, Pop.”

It was cold out on the street now, the sun down, the gray gone, and somehow a chilling blue had seeped into everything. Maggie and Cole sat together in the center front window, the letters of Altieri’s in gold arced above their heads. Maggie was laughing and smiling, cocking her head to Cole as they talked, doing it in an affectionate way. She laughed loud, a guffaw, and her hand gripped Cole’s wrist.

“And how was the T-1000?”

“Whats that?”

“The T-1000. Martin. That’s his designation at the factory, isn’t it?”

“Ha, ha, Dad. He was fine.”

“The Ter-min-a-tor,” his dad said in a chilling monster-movie voice, thick with a Schwarzenegger accent. Then his dad laughed, Mom giggling in the background too. “Tell me about the reception. What are we doing?”

Max told him about the Poirot, about the menu. His dad got a kick out of the extravagance. He wanted Max to guess how much the Beckers were going to spend. Max had no idea. He could picture his Dad right now, slippers with the open back, legs splayed on his recliner. His mom would be sitting with the TV paused, her feet tucked under her, a plaid pillow clutched to her stomach, watching her husband mirthfully.

Inside the restaurant, Maggie was telling Cole a story now, sitting up straight, her face earnest, her eyebrows dancing with enthusiasm. She would flick her hair back, and smile warmly while it was Cole’s turn to speak. She’d even bite her lip and play with her earring. It was killing him. He wanted to know what they were talking about. Wanted to be in there with them.

When he was telling his dad about the campfire and the beach and Maggie’s brother Ken and about Stanford Med, he saw at last the waitress coming with their order and he told his dad he had to go because dinner arrived.

“All right, kiddo. Call me later in the week. You might even think about calling twice a week, maybe chatting your mom up. She misses—”

“Okay, Pop, sorry, I will... Really, I gotta split.”

“Fine, fine, Maxy, my boy. Give my love to that little princess of yours, tell her we love her.”

“I will, Dad.”

“Love you, kid.”

“Love you, too, Pop. Tell Mom I love her.”

He disconnected the call and pressed the phone to his chest. Watched Maggie and Cole drawing pieces of pizza up high, sagging cambered strings of bright mozzarella clinging to the stainless platter. They looked happy. They looked content with each other’s company. He loved both of them. Hated the dagger in his heart when he thought of them doing things without him. But they had always done things together. Maggie and Cole were friends. They would be alone at times. Now though, it was with the benefit of having an intimate exchange. One both of them liked very much. They had fucked, and they’d both been really good with each other.

He sighed. It would be tonight. Maggie and Cole would be alone tonight without him. He looked at his watch. He had twenty-five minutes for dinner, then he had to go to his teaching session.

* * *

Maggie pushed her plate away. They always thought she ate a lot but she really only had two pieces of pizza and the brownie wasn’t that big. Big enough that she had a bit of a sugar sizzle humming through her central nervous system. She was full, but she wasn’t stuffed. Max pushed his empty plate away and looked like he was going to burst. His face had gone red like a tomato.

“Ah, I don’t now why I go to the gym, it just makes me eat more,” he complained, a hand on his stretched stomach.

Cole said, “You’ll burn some calories tomorrow. I’ll put you through a leg day.”

“Tomorrow?”

Max’s phone alarm chimed a sound of rising digital bubbles. His stuffed face transformed to pain.

She knew what that expression meant. Max would be leaving them now to go to Sperling for his TA students. She also knew he wouldn’t say anything, wouldn't try to prevent her and Cole from hanging out. And while he would keep it bottled in, she also knew that his pain was pressing against his inner lining like the pizza and beer and brownies were pressing up against the inside of his stomach. Her poor Max was tortured. His heart, his belly, and ultimately his cock and balls. That’s where all his feelings originated from these days. Her dirty Max and his dirty desires. He was as dirty as she was. His suffering was some masochistic form of pleasure. It had to be. How would she work with him? What made her Max tick?

His narrow mouth worked around, eyes lowered, pensive, lost in tortured thought. At last he said, “I guess I better get going.”

She didn’t answer him, only watched him. Didn’t look at Cole either. Cole said nothing. Max got his wallet out and leafed through cash, flicked out enough bills to cover the meal for all three of them and a tip for Jenny.

Cole said, “Hey thanks, man. I’ll get next time.”

“Yup,” Max said, folding up his wallet and tucking it back in his pocket. He fumbled his phone, checked the screen nervously one more time, looked to Cole then back to Maggie. He sniffed. “I’m going to be done around ten o’clock. You guys... you know where you’re going to be?”

Cole shrugged, then looked to Maggie. “You free?”

“Yeah.” She turned to Max then. She shrugged, saying, “I don’t know. Cole and I will hang out.”

Max nodded.

She let him off the hook, let him have three thick heartbeats, slowed like sludge with dread. She said, “Come by my room when you’re done?”

“You’ll be there?” A brightness flickered in his eyes.

“Probably,” she said. Then, “Text me.”

His expression resumed a blankness. “Okay.”

He leaned in, took her hand, and they kissed. Max’s eyes trembled with all he wanted to say, but his mouth stayed closed. Maybe he wanted to show that he trusted her. She wanted him to trust her. It was distinctly possible however that he loved the danger. Max was thrilled by her hanging out with Cole after what they’d done. If she asked him if this was okay he’d say No, but if she didn’t ask, he’d twist and turn not knowing what they were doing without him, and strangely, this was the weird part, he would get off on it.

Max tapped the edge of his phone on the table a few times. “Yeah, okay. I’ll... I’ll see you guys later.”

“Bye, Maxy,” she said.

“Bye, buddy,” Cole said.

Max turned and left without looking back. His journey took him back to campus, so he didn’t pass by the window.

Cole leaned back, looking to see if he could catch a glimpse of Max.

She asked Cole if he wanted to order another pitcher and he worked his hands together, looking her over, expression as blank as Max’s had been. He nodded. “Yeah, okay. Let’s have some more.”

She waved Jenny over, pushed Max’s money to her, saying, “But we’re going to order another pitcher.” Jenny went off, weaving through the noisy crowd.

Cole said, “You feel like some Xbox?”

“Yeah, I do,” she said, showing him her teeth in a genuine friendly smile.

The pitcher came and Cole poured, and in fifteen minutes they had it lowered to suds. They talked about school and they talked about Max, and Cole made furtive jokes about people they knew hanging out in the restaurant.

Whatever tension Cole had felt about the evening it was gone by the time they’d reached the bottom of the plastic jug of Miller. Cole threw down a twenty and grabbed his jacket. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

* * *

They walked together and she noted a stiffness still between them. It felt awkward to be alone with him. Cole was her good friend and she wanted things to be the way they were last week. But part of her enjoyed this weird new thing, too. It was fun to be Cole’s friend, but it was also fun to be a little anxious. To wonder when they were going to be intimate next. If there would be a next. She wanted it to happen, but there was no guarantee it would. This felt distinctly like a date right now. It had that same exciting tension. She’d only ever dated her Maxy boy. But this was what it was like in those early days with her fiancé, before he was her fiancé. Wondering what Max felt about her. Wondering if Max liked her. Wondering if they would get frisky. Did Max like her body? Did she perform well for him? Did he want to have sex again? Those were exciting times. The most exciting in her life.

This was strange territory with Cole. They were friends, but now had been naked, engaged in particularly graphic sex. Had a threesome. It was a Wednesday night and not one of the three of them had the sense to draw up a set of rules. She belonged to Max. Maybe there were no rules drawn up though, because there were no rules... Common sense should dictate, right? Don’t fuck Cole tonight, Maggie. That was obvious. Max would be upset. Not I’m leaving you, it’s over upset, but more like genuine hurt. She didn’t want Max to hurt, but she was aware that Max was sexually curious about hurt.

So she kept it light, and conjured a pleasant last-week’s-Maggie smile on her face and decided they would be friends tonight like they had always been. Her and her buddy Cole would play Xbox, they would have a drink. It would be casual and fun just like it always was and she wouldn’t fuck him. She wanted to, could feel that tightening inside her, knowing what it would be like, but that was enough. She knew what Cole was like, but she was Max’s girl. She would fuck Cole again, knew it, but it would be an organized inclusive affair that wouldn't hurt her fiancé.

When they got to Samuelson they heard raucous cheering coming up from the lower level. She could see sneakered feet, a dozen sets or more, all aimed, toes forward, to where the TV would be. The ping-pong table was inactive and littered with pop cans and solo cups. There was a gathering down there and it looked like it was standing room only.

“Ah shit,” Cole said as they stood at the top of the short but wide flight of stairs.

“What is it?”

“I forgot. Ole Miss and Alabama.”

“Football?”

“Yeah.”

A roar built up in the crowd gathered below, feet went to toes, bodies leaned forward, there was a chant from some, a Yes...yes...yes... repeated as a play developed on the big screen. The big screen that the Xbox was attached to. The crowds chanted mantra culminated in a roar as there was touchdown or a sack or whatever excited guys who watched college football.

Cole said, “Hey, come up to my room.”

As the cheers dragged on from below she watched Cole’s face. Tried to read it. There was a wariness in his eyes, and she imagined hers showed him the same wariness. They stared at each other for a long moment, putting nothing into words. Applause and cheering echoing up from the rec room, loud banter, and someone whooped. She bit her lip.

“Yeah. Okay,” she said.

Cole cocked his head. She’d said Yes already but he acknowledged the reluctance, saying, “My roommate got a TV last week. He has an Xbox, too.”

She lightened, some of the taboo washed off her agreement to go to his room. Then a funny feeling, wondering if maybe he wasn’t interested in her sexually anyway. She frowned. She’d thought he was.

“Let’s go,” she said, gesturing with a hand to the flight of stairs twenty feet down the hall that would lead them up to his dorm room. Cole smiled now, and there seemed to be a rapprochement here. A bridging of two halves that used to come together quite nicely when they were just friends. She would hate to lose that.