Stay With Me (Sugarland Creek Book 2): Chapter 8

Fuck me sideways, what have I done?

The beige walls with the posters of naked women are all too familiar and make me dry heave, the memories of last night playing in a loop. Of all the men in the world, why did I have to end up at Travis’s place?

I was in recovery! Two years of no Travis. Two years of not going back to him.

Two years down the drain.

Over…just like that.

Alcohol-infused IV straight into my arm and my dumbass ends up back here.

God, I’m pathetic.

The moment I saw Lydia Marrow—besides wanting to vomit on her shoes—I wanted to flick her long claws off Tripp’s arm. If the rumors are true, she tried to trap her ex-boyfriend into having a baby, and as soon as he found out, he dumped her. Whether she did or not, I don’t trust her. Especially with Tripp.

And it made me get absolutely wasted.

Noah and I danced nonstop and continued drinking. I took shot after shot, hoping to wash the image of Lydia fucking Tripp out of my head. I did my best not to pay attention to them, which was easy enough since my brothers hung out in the back to play pool and darts. When Noah and Fisher were ready to go, I was still partying with a couple of our other friends, so I told them I’d Uber home since I only live a few blocks away. There’s no way I planned to drive, but somehow between scheduling my ride and the exit, Travis convinced me to go home with him.

“Maggie…” He groans, tightening his hold on my stomach. “Ride me before I lose my mornin’ wood.” He grinds his cock into my ass, and I gag.

I could not be more dry.

Shuddering at the thought of him touching me again, I slide out from under the sheet and search for my clothes.

“It’s Magnolia,” I tell him for the thousandth time. “And this was a mistake.”

“You don’t mean that. C’mon, we can shower together, and you can suck me off.”

“I was drunk, you moron,” I remind him, grabbing my dress and panties, then sliding them on.

“We’re good together, doll. I’ve changed, and I promise this time⁠—”

“There’s no this time. You and me, never happenin’ again.”

A cocky smirk flashes across his bemused face as he crosses his arms behind his head. “You said that last time.”

Finally finding my shoes, I swipe them off the floor and scowl at him. “Lose my number.”

Once I grab my phone and bag, I aim for the door and am relieved when I see the disposed condom on the floor. At least he managed to get one on.

“You’ll be back! You always are…”

If I wasn’t in such a hurry to wash last night’s regret off me, I’d march back into his room and stab him with my high heel.

It’s Sunday morning, which means downtown’s quiet except for the church bells. All the shops are closed, and Ubers are limited.

I decide to do the walk of shame down the five blocks to my apartment. Living in a small town means nothing’s too far away, but it also means Travis is too close.

Ugh. I hate him.

But more than anything, I hate myself.

After a scalding hot shower and brushing my teeth, I go through my messages to make sure I texted Noah that I was safe and sound.

Two hours later…

I cringe at my drunk texting skills. Thought I was getting better at that.

Then I sent her a drunken selfie with a cringy-as-hell smile and one squinted eye.

Jesus. I’m a mess.

Her most recent text was from an hour ago.

Instead of texting out a response, I send her a selfie with my middle finger.

Thank God Sundays are my days off because I’d be drinking more of the coffee than serving it.

Once I hit send, I look through my other messages and see Tripp’s name. We hardly ever text because he never responds anyway. And apparently, I sent him a message at two o’clock this morning.

Oh. My. God. I smack my forehead and pray for a quick death.

It’s not the first time I’ve drunk texted Tripp, but this is at the top of the most embarrassing things I’ve said to him. Now that I’m aware of how bad his anxiety still affects him, I feel even worse for acting completely out of pocket.

What’s even worse is Tripp responded at seven this morning when he was probably getting up for work.

Tripp Cameron! Shit, I knew that.

But what the fuck kind of response is that? He doesn’t even acknowledge the Lydia or balls comment or the fact that I was drunk off my ass. Tripp’s already hard to read in person, but over text, he comes off like a robot.

So if he’s not going to mention the elephant in the room, then I won’t either.

It’s hours later, and he’s probably still working, but I can’t help wanting to get any kind of response from him.

To my complete surprise, the jumping dots appear on the screen right away.

And as per usual, I can’t tell if he’s being a sarcastic asshole or awkwardly flirty.

My smile widens at how the mention of a child isn’t what he focused on but rather the name of said child.

I’m sorry…Did he just…Excuse me while I pick up my jaw off the floor.

I hit send before I can word vomit another sentence because oh my God did I really just text that?

It’s the hangover making me feel brave or the filter from my brain to my mouth is broken.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Tripp doesn’t text back, and I spend the rest of my day obsessively not checking my phone.

It’s the Monday-est Monday I’ve had in a long-ass time. My espresso machine is having a full-on hissy fit, and my paper delivery is delayed until Friday, which means I’m going to run out of cups and lids before more arrive. Since I woke up late, by the time I arrived at my trailer parked downtown, I already had a line waiting for me.

All I want to do is eat four massive tacos and take a six-hour nap.

After I finish serving my final customer of the day at three, I lock up and walk to the Mexican restaurant down Main Street. Landen texted earlier and said he’d be in town, so I invited him to meet me here for an early dinner. Whether he could or not, I had no problem sitting alone to sulk about my poor decisions and karma’s way of smacking me across the face.

As soon as I take a large gulp, Landen walks up and leans into my ear.

“Knock me up, cowboy?”

He chuckles and I slap my palm against my mouth to keep my drink from spewing all over the table. When he sits across from me, I swallow it down and glare at him.

“I hate you.”

“Is that any way to talk to your future kid’s uncle?”

I kick him in the shin under the table.

“Not funny, Landen!” I grit out. “He’s never talkin’ to me again.”

He opens up the menu and scans the options. “I wouldn’t say that…”

“Wait…I’m surprised he told you.”

“He was actin’ weird all mornin’ until I finally asked him what was going on because he kept zonin’ out every time I said something.” He snags a chip and dips it into the salsa, then bites into it with a loud crunch.

“How desperate does he think I am now?”

“Quite the opposite. He was so shocked by your message that he contemplated for three hours how to respond. He kept typin’ out replies to be funny or flirty, but it was like he couldn’t get his head out of his ass long enough to come up with anything, so he just gave up. Now he’s hyper-fixated on how to start up another conversation. Personally, I woulda gone with Get your sexy ass over here right now and spread those baby-making legs, but he was all about playin’ it casual.”

I reach over and smack his bicep. “This is why you’re single.”

“Single by choice, thank you very much.”

I roll my eyes, knowing he’s full of shit. When the right woman comes along, there’s no way he’ll be able to resist being obsessed with her.

“So he doesn’t think I’m a complete weirdo?” My heart pounds so hard I can feel it beating in my ears.

“Nah. But I do think he’s at war with himself about givin’ in to his feelings. For whatever reason.” He steals two more chips before sucking them down with the water I ordered for him. He has to go back to work after this, so I knew he couldn’t drink and operate heavy machinery. It’s why I am because he can drop me off on his way back to the ranch.

“Did you know he has anxiety attacks? I found him on the floor at the tux fitting fightin’ through one.”

“He was? I knew he’d experienced them in the past, but I didn’t know he still was. Kinda surprised he didn’t tell me.” His brows etch together in concern, but if I know Tripp, he’s not one to ask for help or share what he’s going through to avoid inconveniencing others with his issues. It makes me sad to think of how many times he’s suffered alone.

“He and Billy talked about being each other’s best men, so being there was triggerin’ to those feelings.”

“Shit. I shoulda known that. He’ll never not feel guilty for what happened, no matter how much time has passed. I know he misses him and it was traumatic to watch his best friend die, but I’d hoped it was gettin’ easier for him. I hate knowin’ there’s nothing I can do to fix that.”

Me too.

“Do you think that’s why he doesn’t date much? Well, besides this past weekend.” I roll my eyes, taking a long sip of my margarita.

He snorts, but before he can respond, Miss Maria comes over. She’s been the owner of Maria’s Kitchen for as long as I can remember and serves the best food in town. Landen orders like he’s going into hibernation for a month, and I get the taco platter with rice and beans.

I might’ve also told her to bring me a refill with my food.

“You know he ain’t really datin’ her, right? He was playin’ wingman,” Landen explains.

“What’re you talkin’ about? Why would you need one of those?”

“I wanted to hook up with Quinn, but I knew we wouldn’t get the chance if she was too busy worrying about Lydia all night, so I asked Tripp to keep her entertained for me so I’d get all of Quinn’s attention.”

“And I’m sure it was such a hardship for Tripp to entertain Lydia all night.”

“Soundin’ a little jealous, Magpie.”

“Ew, don’t call me that.” I throw a chip at his face. “And I’m not jealous. But Lydia?”

“For what it’s worth, I guilt-tripped him into it since it was my birthday. But it didn’t work anyway because after your little scuffle with her, the girls left.”

I sit up straighter. “So he didn’t take Lydia back to his place?”

“Nope. I knew he wouldn’t sleep with her because he’s basically a monk, but I didn’t think she’d start a fight. So now they’re both written off in my book.”

“What do you mean? How come?”

“Because Quinn took Lydia’s side and you’re my friend.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “And my future sister-in-law.”

I lean over the table and smack his arm. “Stop sayin’ shit like that. It’s gonna give me hope for something that’ll never happen.”

“Never say never, Maggie Mae. Just have patience. I think Tripp’s comin’ around to the realization he deserves to be happy and lettin’ himself admit what he wants.”

“Why can’t anyone just use my name? Are y’all allergic to it or something?”

“Yeah, it’s pollen season.”

“Cute.” Grabbing a chip, I drown it in the salsa before taking a bite.

“You let him call you Sunflower or Sunny,” he argues.

“I don’t let him. He’s just done it forever. There’s no point in scoldin’ him each time.”

“Ya know…he only has a nickname for you. That’s gotta mean something.”

“I figured it was because I’m Noah’s best friend and he saw me like an honorary annoyin’ little sister.”

He shrugs as Miss Maria returns with our plates. We thank her, and I dig in once she walks away.

“Maybe in middle school, but I think when y’all got older and hung out more, something shifted. You weren’t exactly subtle about your crush, but you kept going back to Travis, so he probably thought he’d never have a chance.”

My shoulders tense at the mention of my ex.

I hate that Landen’s right, too. Over the years, I’ve had a bad habit of giving him multiple second chances. And now I’m living with the regret that I slept with him a couple of days ago because I thought Tripp was dating Lydia.

Finding out it wasn’t even legit has me wanting to throw up my food before I even digest it.