Becoming His (18 page)

“I don’t know, I need to sort through some boxes, figure out what I’m going to be bringing to San Diego.”

“It’s coming up quick,” I reply lamely.

“Yeah.” Max rubs a hand down the back of his head as he takes a couple of steps back. “Alright, well, I’ll see you.”

“Bye, Max.”

J
enny takes the opportunity of being alone together on our ride home from the gallery to discuss what’s going on in my love life. After the boys had left last night the three of us had dissected and exhausted her on-again, off-again relationship with Paul, and she seems eager to learn what’s happening with Eric and Max. I explain to her that I’d been planning to end things with Eric today at lunch until he canceled on me. Jenny is more excited about the fact that I’m finally ending things with Eric than Kendall, as she’s confident that Max likes me, and I confide what had occurred the night before.

She’s a ball of animation, talking a mile a minute, as she discusses how I should break up with Eric as soon as possible, and how I need to tell Max.

“There’s lover boy now!” she says with a smile. I follow her eyes to Max’s house and see him in his garage, doing something with his motorcycle.

“Hey, Max!” Jenny yells, working to catch his attention.

“Hey,” he returns. Jenny gives me a gentle shove as she makes her way into the house.

“What are you doing?” I ask, slowly walking up the driveway as he turns his attention back to his bike.

“How was lunch?” I hear the contempt in his voice and realize I need to explain what my intentions had been and should have when I’d mentioned it. It just seemed too obvious at the time, and I didn’t want him to get the impression that I was solely breaking up with Eric because of him.

“Um, it didn’t happen,” I reply, taking the last couple of steps closer to him.

“Isn’t that a shame.”

“I want to go for a ride one day.” I’m slightly taken aback by my own admission. Max looks up at me with calculating eyes. He watches me for a good minute without saying anything and then shakes his head.

“What? Why? Do you think I’m going to scratch her or something?”

“Because everyone would see up your dress.” Max’s response is teasing, but his tone lacks any inflection as he tosses a grease rag at me, hitting my cornflower blue sundress before it falls to the garage floor. I laugh uneasily and bend over to pick it up.

I take a deep breath through my nose and dig my fingers into the rag. “I wasn’t going on a date with Eric today. We were meeting for lunch—”

“Max!” My words freeze on my tongue as I turn to see Felicia Erickson, a girl from my class, coming up the driveway wearing a pair of daisy dukes and a sequin tank top that shows off her large chest paired with a killer pair of black heels detailed with rhinestones.

I’m starting to feel too much for Max and it hits me like a medicine ball to the gut. I’m not one of
those
girls. I’ve
never
been one of
those
girls, and
those
are the kind of girls that Max likes. The kind he’s
always
liked. I rest the grease rag that I’d picked up on the hood of his Jeep and retreat out of the garage.

“Hey,” Max replies but reaches out and grips my hand, his sole focus on me. “What was your lunch?” he asks.

I shake my head as the reality of this whole situation sets in. Max closes his eyes, letting out a deep breath, and drops my hand. My skin prickles as the air hits where his hand had touched me, and I back up a couple of steps, nearly bumping into Felicia before clearing the garage.

I watch as she fills the space I’d been occupying seconds ago. Max stares at me, not blinking for a long moment, and I question if he’s going to say something else to me. Then I see his face dip as he kisses her.

I turn to leave, and it takes nearly everything in me to not break into a sprint.

I
don’t see Max for three days after that kiss. I’m not sure who’s working harder at avoiding who.

“I know you’re having a difficult time right now, and both Eric and Max are complete dickheads, and I completely suck for whining to you right now, but I’m having the worst day.”

I look over as Kendall throws herself across my bed. Her blond hair splays across my pillows as she looks to the ceiling.

“What’s going on?” I drop the stack of books I’ve been going through, sorting the ones I’ll be bringing with me to school. I make my way over to her, more than happy to distract myself from my spider web of thoughts.

“Jameson’s going home this weekend because his sister’s getting married.” I nod. “He’s bringing a date,” she adds quietly. “A female date. A female date that he dated most of high school.”

“What?”

“Yup, flying home to attend his sister’s wedding … with his ex,” she deadpans.

“How long has it been planned? Did he just tell you today?”

“She called and he acted like nothing was wrong! I swear to you, Ace, I’m done. I’m not going to play these games with him. I’m so pissed right now!” She hits both sides of my bed with her fists.

I don’t know what kind of reassuring words to offer her, so I grip her hand and squeeze it as I sit beside her. “Mom and Dad are going to be gone for two weeks. Let’s have a party!”

Really, having a party is one of the very last things I want to do. I still haven’t fully recovered from the last one we threw that ended with people throwing up in the swimming pool and giving Zeus beer. The icing on the cake occurred when I interrupted a couple having sex on my parents’ bed, which to this day is easily classified as one of the top five most awkward moments of my life. We took the comforter to be dry cleaned along with all of the throw pillows, but I still can’t wipe that image from my mind. And it took me a few weeks before I could brave the pool again, but for Kendall, I’m willing to go through it again, with some revisions to the execution, like locking all of the bedroom doors and putting the cover on the pool.

“I’m going to go and call Shelby.” She pops up, pulling her phone out and hitting send before leaving my room.

I turn back to my books, wondering what’s going on with Jameson.

Kendall breezes back in my room smiling. “We’re going to Vegas!”

“We, Kemosabe?”

“Yes, you! You have my old license! This way you can get some space from Max and Eric, and I can go have fun while Jameson screws his ex.”

“I’m not going to Vegas, and neither should you. You need to talk to the moron. I’m sure if you explain it to him in reverse roles he’ll understand.”

“I’m done talking.” She turns on her heel and leaves my room without another word.

I slide to the ground with a sigh and reach for my phone. Finding Jameson’s number, I send him a text,

Me: Don’t be an idiot and screw things up now, stupid.

Jameson: Wuts tht suppsd 2 mean?!

Me: Get a clue!!! You can’t date Kendall and go to a wedding with your ex. In what reality does that sound okay?

Jameson: Shes the 1 tht dsnt wnt 2 date exclusively.

Me: What in the hell is wrong with the two of you?!?!?!

Jameson doesn’t reply.

I
pull my heel behind me, stretching my quads as I glance to Max’s driveway expectantly. I’m already fully stretched and just stalling. Last night I’d blown off a text he’d sent suggesting we hang out. He followed it up with another saying he’d meet me at six to go running and talk. We haven’t run together in over a week, but the talking is far more disconcerting than the actual running.

It’s nearing twenty after and he still isn’t outside. Anger and embarrassment trickle through me at the reality that he stood me up. I should go knock on his door and wake him up, but I really don’t want to face him. Perhaps it’s just better to leave things the way they are and continue ignoring one another.

When I arrive home from my run, I shower and dress quickly and then begin wandering through the house searching for something to organize or clean—something to fix. Unfortunately for me, my mother is the biggest clean freak in existence; even our spice cupboard is alphabetized and organized based on sweet and savory spices for cooking. My parents are still on vacation celebrating their anniversary, and Kendall left for Vegas yesterday so the house is empty. I contemplate calling one of my sisters, but I really don’t want to discuss my relationship status, and that seems to be the only thing they want to discuss lately.

I begin scrubbing the kitchen table and chairs, spending extra attention on the ladder backs only to realize my efforts seem fairly futile tainting the gratification I’m seeking.

The doorbell echoes and I drop my lemon-scented rag and pray it’s someone to distract me, and not Max.

Disappointment floods me when I open the door to find Landon. “Hey, Ace. Sorry to bother you. Is Max over here?”

“No, I haven’t seen him.”

“Weird. I talked to him last night and he said he was going running with you this morning so he’d be up early for me to come by and get the keys to the house in San Diego.”

I shake my head. “He didn’t go with me this morning.”

“Huh?” Landon scratches his head as he turns to look back at the Millers’. “I’ve been trying to call him and ringing the damn doorbell for like ten minutes.” My heart rate begins to noticeably increase.
Could he be hurt?

I follow Landon next door, leading him into the backyard, recalling Max mentioning a window back here with a broken latch that he could fit through. Luck’s on my side when I shift a window and it slides open.

“Start calling you MacGyver,” Landon teases, climbing in after me.

“Ah, keys!” He grabs one of three single keys sitting on the entry way table. “He’s probably just passed out. He said he was really tired yesterday. Give him hell for me,” Landon says, pocketing the key. “I’ve got to run, the furniture guys are going to be there before me.” He crashes his chest into my face in a chaste hug and then retreats out the front door as I debate checking on Max.

I deliberate for a good five minutes before deciding to go upstairs. Once I’m outside of Max’s closed bedroom door it takes me another few minutes to regain my resolve.

I softly knock on his door. Silence greets me and I feel the panic begin to rise in my chest, a result of the few horror movies I’ve endured, I’m sure.

I slowly push down on the lever, praying I don’t see anything that will make me want to bleach my retinas. I push the door open just wide enough to peek in, and a wave of Max’s scent greets me before I see him in a tangled heap on his bed. Thankfully alone.

Slowly, I take a few steps closer and notice that he’s covered in a sheen of sweat. Reaching the side of his bed, I gently place my hand to his forehead and feel the heat of his fever.

I spend most of the day reading as Max sleeps and occasionally incoherently mumbles. I wake him up twice to take something for his fever.

“W
hat time is it?” I look up to see Max looking pale and pained as he squints, trying to focus on me as I stand from the beanbag chair.

“Nearly eight. How are you feeling?” Although I’ve been here all day, I suddenly feel like I’m intruding as I rest my e-reader on the chair.

Max turns to look out the window, and I realize he’s not clear if it’s morning or evening. “Shit, Ace, I’m sorry,” Max groans, lifting a hand to run it over his face. “You should go. I threw up like four times last night. Didn’t you get my text?”

I’d looked at my phone more times than I care to admit this morning checking for any missed calls or texts. It’s pretty obvious why I never received them.

My mind wants nothing more than to retreat at the mention of puke; there are few things I hate more, but my traitorous body only steps closer to him.“It’s time for you to take these again,” I say, opening the pill bottle I’d left on his night stand and shake a couple of pills into my palm. I hold them out with the glass of ginger ale. Max looks at me a brief moment before accepting them.

“Again? How long have you been here? How’d you get in?”