Chapter 48 Hey
Tyler’s brows drew together. His smile faded. “Are you hiding something? Is there something you know my friends might know about you that you don’t want me to know? Because I don’t get why it has to be such a big deal for you to meet the boys. Seriously.”
“What?” Maggie hissed, eyes widening. “What makes you come to such a conclusion?”
“Because you’ve given me no other choice.” He dropped his phone into the cup holder with a soft clack, screen lighting his chin for a second before it dimmed.
“Ughhh…” Maggie growled low in her throat, rolled her eyes so hard her lashes fluttered, then grabbed the door handle. “Let’s go meet your fucking friends. Happy?”
She shoved the door open. One foot hit the gravel— then Tyler’s palm landed gently but firmly on her shoulder. She froze, neck twisting so she could look back at him over her shoulder.
“I know it was wrong of me to just bring you here without telling you beforehand,” he said quietly, thumb brushing once across the fabric of her sweater. “Knowing you don’t like clubs. For that I’m sorry. But can you just have an open mind? Don’t be moody around the boys. We won’t take long inside. I introduce you, we chill for like ten minutes— like I said— and we’re out. I promise.”
Maggie stared at him for three full seconds. Then she shook her head once, slow and deliberate. A scoff escaped her lips. “I’m being moody, right? I mean, you said it.” She yanked her shoulder free. “Let’s just go.”
She stepped out fully, slammed the door— hard enough that the car rocked once— then started across the lot toward the entrance without waiting. Gravel crunched under her sneakers; her ponytail swung with each brisk step.
“Wait up!” Tyler called, voice cracking slightly on the second word.
Maggie didn’t respond. Didn’t slow. Didn’t look back.
Tyler scrambled out, locked the X5 with a double beep of the fob, and jogged after her. He caught up in six strides, fingers closing gently around her wrist. He spun her around— careful, not rough— so she faced him.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry I said you shouldn’t be moody. Are we good now?”
Maggie looked up at him— his six-foot-three frame towering over her five-foot-four one, shoulders blocking most of the neon glow behind him. She forced a smile— bright, brittle, sarcastic. Then she dipped into a shallow, mocking curtsy.
“I’ll be on my best behavior before your friends,” she said, voice dripping sugar and venom. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you, Your Majesty.”
Tyler let out a long, slow sigh, shoulders dropping. “Alright. This is gonna be fun.”
“It sure will.” Maggie turned on her heel and resumed walking.
They reached the entrance together. Two bouncers— broad-shouldered, black T-shirts stretched tight across chests, earpieces coiled like black snakes— blocked the velvet rope. One lifted a meaty hand.
“IDs.”
Tyler pulled his wallet first, flipped it open, handed over his driver’s license. The bouncer scanned it with a handheld light— blue beam sweeping across the holograms— then passed it back. Maggie fished hers from her back pocket, handed it over without a word. Same scan. Same nod.
“You’re good,” the second bouncer grunted, unhooking the rope.
They stepped inside.
The club hit like a wall— heat, bass, the sharp tang of vodka and sweat and fog-machine haze. Strobe lights sliced the darkness in white and purple arcs; bodies pressed shoulder-to-shoulder on the dance floor, arms raised, mouths open in silent laughter under the pounding beat. A DJ booth glowed at the far end like a cockpit; the man behind the decks wore oversized headphones and a gold chain that caught every flash.
Tyler leaned close to Maggie’s ear so she could hear over the music. “They’re in the VIP section— up those stairs to the left.”
Maggie didn’t answer. She just started walking, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease— shoulders squared, chin lifted, expression carefully neutral. Tyler followed half a step behind, one hand hovering at the small of her back without quite touching.
They climbed the short flight of black metal stairs. A second rope, a second bouncer— taller, shaved head, arms like tree trunks— glanced at Tyler, recognized him, unhooked the velvet without a word.
The VIP area opened up: lower lighting, plush sectional sofas in deep burgundy, low glass tables scattered with bottles and ice buckets. A handful of guys sprawled across the seats—five of them— laughing loud, phones out, one pouring shots from a bottle of Casamigos.
Tyler’s face lit up the moment he saw them. “There they are.”
Maggie slowed. Her jaw tightened— just a flicker— then she forced her mouth into a small, polite curve.
Tyler stepped forward, arm sliding around her waist— light, possessive. “Yo! Look who I finally dragged out!”
The group turned as one. Shouts erupted— names called, hands raised, grins wide and sloppy.
“About damn time, man!” one yelled— Dre, dreads pulled back, gold grill flashing.
Tyler laughed, pulling Maggie closer. “Guys— this is Maggie. My girl.”
Maggie lifted a hand in a small wave. “Hey.”