Mabel Armstrong is on the verge of giving up. But just when things feel bleakest, there seems to be a shift in the universe. People come out of the woodwork. Her ex won’t leave her alone. An old friend finally tries to become more. Even the cute guy at the coffee shop starts paying extra attention. Maybe Maby is a heartbreaking, and at times, hilarious story about coping with loss, finding love in New York, and learning to recognize hope in the middle of it all.
I take off running with him not far behind. When we reach the stairs, he swoops me up, takes the stairs two at a time, and tosses me on the bed. He stares down at me. “Now what?” he asks. “Let’s not sleep with our clothes on tonight.” His shirt is over his head with one yank from the back. I lean up on my elbows to watch. “Your turn,” he says. “Your pants are still on.” He unbuttons them slowly and takes his sweet time pulling them down. His thumb loops under the waistband of his boxer briefs and my mouth waters waiting for him to take them off. He says something, but I don’t hear any of it. “What?” I ask. “I said—are you sure?” He puts his hand over his mouth and looks at me, his eyes narrowing. After a long pause, he says, without conceit: “When we make love, it’s gonna change things. I want to know if you’re ready for that before we do.” I move until I’m on my knees in front of him. “Things have already changed for me. I’m ready … if you are.” He grins and pulls my dress over my head. “Haven’t you been hearing me? I’ve been ready for you for a long time, Maby Armstrong.” His hands travel down my chest and he unhooks my bra, sucking in a breath when it falls to the ground. He smiles at my yellow thong with black skulls. “You’re so edgy,” he smirks, getting on his knees while he pulls them off. He looks up at me. “I plan to spend a lot of time in this general vicinity.” He waves his hand over the area from my lips to my thighs. “And especially here,” he whispers, pulling me into his mouth. I hold onto his hair for dear life. I nearly fall back on the bed, but his hands are gripped on both cheeks, keeping my buns of nothing close to steel in place.