Authors: Cora Carmack
Max
H
E WAS HUGGING MY MOTHER.
A total stranger. I could only handle a few hugs a year from her without feeling smothered, and he was wrapped up in her boa constrictor arms for three, four, five seconds.
It was still going.
And it was a full-on hug, not one of those awkward side ones that I gave my dad.
Jesus Christ, her head was tucked under his chin. His chin!
The seconds seemed to expand into lifetimes, and his wide eyes caught mine over my mother’s head. From the way my mother was latched on, he was never going to get free. It was like one of those sad stories where a little kid smothers a cat because he hugs it too hard.
He laughed and patted her on the back. Unlike my laughs around my parents, he managed to pull it off without sounding like he was being held at gunpoint.
Finally after a nearly TEN-second hug, she released him.
At ten seconds I would have been hyperventilating. Then again, she probably wouldn’t have let go of me after ten seconds. I’m convinced she thinks if she could just hug me long enough, she’d squeeze all the devil’s influence out of me.
He stayed there, still in hugging-range, and said, “It’s so wonderful of you both to make this impromptu trip. Mackenzie won’t say it, but she misses you both terribly.”
I cringed when he called me Mackenzie, and my mother beamed. I didn’t know if her aversion to Max was just because she thought it was a boy’s name or if calling me by a nickname reminded her of Alexandria . . . of Alex.
She looked at me over his shoulder, and there were tears in her eyes. Fifteen seconds and he had her crying fucking tears of joy. Were my ex-boyfriends really all that bad in comparison to him?
Okay, so I had made the mistake of introducing them to Jake. He’d insisted on them calling him by his nickname . . . Scissors.
But that was a low point! And it had mostly been to piss them off. Not all of them had been that bad. My pretend boyfriend turned to my father and said, “Sir, I’m Cade Winston. You’ve raised an amazing daughter.”
My father shook his hand and said, “Really?”
REALLY. He said
really.
No, “Thank you” or “I know.” It took him a full five seconds before he smiled . . . like me being amazing was his doing. He said, “It’s nice to meet you, son.”
They’d already married me off.
I needed to sit down.
I didn’t even say anything as I moved toward the table, but my pretend boyfriend, Cade, must have some kind of weird sixth sense. He was at my side in seconds, pulling out my chair for me. My parents stayed standing a few feet away, staring, like they wanted to preserve this picture of us in their memories forever.
Cade grabbed my hand and laced our fingers together. His skin on mine caused a jolt of electricity to run up my arm. It shocked all of the exasperated thoughts out of my head, and I sat staring at him as my parents stood staring at us. Mom pulled out a handkerchief. Maybe someday I’d be able to look back and laugh at the ridiculousness of this moment. Maybe someday I’d also get on a subway car that didn’t smell like urine. The future had much to look forward to.
Finally Dad turned to Mom and said, “Let’s get some coffee, Betty. Cade, Mackenzie, we’ll join you in a moment.”
I waited until my parents were in line, and then I turned on him, barely containing the urge to do physical harm.
“What the hell was that?”
His brows furrowed, his head turned to the side, and our hands were still laced together. Why hadn’t I pulled my hand away yet?
“I was meeting your parents.”
I tried to hold on to my anger, but really boys should not have such gorgeous eyes and long lashes. An unfamiliar heat crept up my neck, and I knew I was blushing.
I was
not
a blushing kind of girl.
I ripped gaze away from his face, and then my hand out of his. My voice was shaky and all my anger had fled when I said, “More like ruining my chances of them ever liking one of my actual boyfriends.” It was easier when I wasn’t looking at him. My thoughts became clearer. “I mean, you
hugged
my mom. Hugs are like crack to that woman.”
“I’m sorry. You didn’t tell me your last name, so I improvised.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. He had done a pretty good job, and my parents seemed convinced and happy. He was clearly good at this kind of thing. That should have made me less nervous. It didn’t. I still felt like I was going to go into cardiac arrest at any second. “Just . . . don’t hug her again.” Heaven forbid she start expecting me to follow his lead. “I just need to survive this without them getting suspicious. No need to go for the Oscar. And the last name is Miller.”
“Of course, I’m sorry, Mackenzie.”
The name grated against my ears. It had been years since someone besides my family called me that, and somehow I hated it even more now. I was almost snarling as I said, “
Don’t call me Mackenzie.
It’s Max.”
My anger didn’t faze him at all. He paused for a second, and then smiled. “Max. That fits you much better.”
Damn him. He had this way of extinguishing my anger that was so beyond frustrating. He put his arm around my chair and turned toward me. My personal bubble popped like a frat boy’s collar. Between the arm on my chair and the one resting on the table in front of me, I felt surrounded by him. His caramel-colored eyes were right there, and the scent of cologne, spicy and sweet, wafted up to my nose. I should have pulled away. I should not have been looking at his eyelashes again. He leaned in, and the stubble on his jaw brushed my cheek. Warning sirens blared in my mind, even as I closed my eyes. He whispered, “Your mom is coming back. I’m sorry. No more hugging, I promise.”
His lips were still by my ear when my mother returned. He was pretending. He wasn’t putting the moves on me. He was just trying to keep my mom from hearing. That’s all. The warning sirens quieted, but I still felt ill at ease.
Cade stood and pulled out my mother’s chair for her while my father waited on their drinks. I closed my eyes and tried to sort out the mess of my thoughts.
Mom asked, “So, Cade, Mackenzie tells me the two of you met at the library.”
I opened my mouth to answer, but Cade spoke first.
“Oh, yes. That’s right.
Max
”—he shot a quick smile at me—“actually helped me find the book I was looking for. I was looking in the entirely wrong section.”
Mom’s perfectly plucked eyebrows arched. “Is that so? I wasn’t aware she knew her way around a library. When she was younger, we could barely convince her to read anything unless it was one of those lyric sheets that came with a CD. Normal children you can bribe with candy to do their homework. Not our Mackenzie.”
I ground my teeth to keep from popping off about just who the
normal
one in our family was. Cade didn’t miss a beat. “Well, it was a book on music composition I needed for my paper, so I got lucky in finding an expert. She was exactly what I needed.” He looked sideways at me, and the arm around my chair moved to my shoulder. “She still is.” This guy had the strangest affect on me. A really small part of me wanted to swoon at that cheesy declaration. Most of me wanted to vomit. Not that it mattered, since this was all pretend.
It did the trick for Mom though. She aww’ed loudly and forgot about how much she hated my interest in music.
“Paper?” she asked. “Are you in school?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m getting my master’s from Temple University.”
Jiminy fucking crickets. What happened to not overdoing it?
“Master’s degree?” Mother’s face lit up for a moment, and then dimmed. “In music?”
“No, ma’am. Acting, actually. I was writing a paper on the use of original music in theatre.”
“Acting? Isn’t that nice.” Mother’s smile stiffened. Finally, something my mother didn’t love about this guy.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s what I love. Though I’m also interested in teaching on the collegiate level.”
“A professor, how wonderful!”
I give up.
In the war for my parents’ approval, I’d lost to a complete stranger.
Dad returned with two mugs of coffee, and asked, “What are we chatting about?”
Mom didn’t give either of us a chance to answer before she exclaimed, “Cade is getting his master’s degree to become a college professor. Isn’t that just fantastic?”
Mom could qualify for the Olympics in selective hearing.
“That does sound nice.”
Cade said, “Thank you, Mr. Miller.”
Dad paused in blowing on his coffee to say, “Oh please, call me Mick.”
MICK?
I had a nightmare like this once. Though, in that one I was naked. I wish I could say knowing it could be worse made things better, but it didn’t. Cade grinned easily, and relaxed back into his chair. He looked so calm, almost like he was enjoying this.
“Of course, Mick, thank you. So how was your trip?”
Dad huffed. “Terrible. Airports are the armpits of the universe. They treated your mother and I like we were terrorists, making us take those X-ray things. Probably gave us cancer. I say we get rid of them and go back to train travel. It takes longer, but it sure would be simpler.”
And so began the crazy.
Cade said, “You know, I’ve only taken a train once, but I thought it was a really enjoyable experience. I’ll have to try it again sometime.”
Trains. I kept reminding myself that it could have been worse. If my father had tried to talk trains with Mace he probably would have assumed my dad meant the perverted kind of train. That would have been disastrous.
“Enough about us. I want to hear more about you. Why has our baby girl been keeping such a nice boy a secret from us?”
Cade looked at me, and I glared at him.
Now I get to talk?
He laughed, and squeezed my shoulder. His fingers stayed there, distracting me as he spoke. “I can’t speak for Max, but I think we just wanted to keep it between us for a while. Take it slow.”
And there were the magic words. I didn’t do long relationships, and I’d take things slow when I was dead. Life was too short. I think my three months with Mace was one of my longest relationships, and we were already talking about moving in together. Good thing we hadn’t done that yet.
My parents
hated
my tendency to move too fast. By the time they finished their cups of coffee, my parents would probably be begging to trade and have Cade as their child.
“What about hobbies?” my dad asked. Probably looking for someone to go golfing or play tennis with him. Lord knows none of my previous boyfriends had.
Cade shrugged. “School takes up most of my time. I also volunteer once a week at ASAP, it’s an after-school program for at-risk youth.”
Unfuckingbelievable. Mace didn’t know the meaning of “Hey, I don’t want your hand on my ass in public,” and this guy didn’t know the meaning of “Lay off!”
I leaned over, placed my hand on his thigh, and pinched. His thigh was strapped with muscle, and he didn’t even jump at my pinch. He put his hand over mine, and flattened my palm against his leg. I tried to pull away, but he held it there, his large, warm hand pressed mine into his hard thigh. Now it was me who needed to be pinched because I was looking at my hand on his leg, and thinking too much about the skin that lay beneath the material of his jeans. I’d forgotten why I was upset in the first place.
I shook my head and smiled at my parents; splitting my lips to show teeth felt like cracking open concrete. “Listen, Mom and Dad, Cade and I really have to get going. I didn’t know you guys were coming or I would have rearranged my schedule.”
Dad hefted himself up from the table, and tugged his pants up higher. “Oh, no worries, Pumpkin. We’re staying at a hotel not too far from you in the nicer part of town.”
Meaning my place was a dump. Which it wasn’t, it was just in Chinatown, and Dad felt uncomfortable when all the signs weren’t in English.
Mom joined him, “Besides, we’ll see both of you tomorrow for Thanksgiving!”
“Oh, Mom, I really don’t think Cade can—”
“Nonsense. I heard him say over the phone that he was free, and I won’t take no for an answer. No more hiding this nice, young man from us. You clearly adore each other, and sooner or later
slow
becomes an excuse like any other.”
We
did not
adore each other.
My eyes caught on the line of his jaw, but I forced my gaze away.
We didn’t.
I didn’t care how handsome this guy was or how warm his hand was on mine.
“Mom—”
“Mackenzie Kathleen Miller, don’t you argue with me. Now, Cade.” She fixed her eyes on him, and it was her maniac stare, the one like the picture on my cell phone. “Tell me you’ll see me tomorrow, and then go talk some sense into my daughter.”
Cade looked at me. I knew what he was going to say, and had no way to stop him, short of tackling him (which was either a very good or a very bad idea).
“Sure, Mrs. Miller. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Excellent.” She leaned down and placed a kiss on his cheek. “What happened to calling me Mom?”
Cade
T
here was a moment of silence after Max’s parents left that reminded me of those few shocked seconds right before a car crash. Your brain screams at you to step on the breaks, but it takes too long for your body to follow through. It was in those quiet seconds that Max smiled a slow, sinful smile.
Then slapped me.
It didn’t hurt. Not really.
But it felt surreal, like the car had crashed, and I was flying through the windshield. I’d never been slapped by a girl before. I think I was definitely the only guy in the world to ever get slapped for impressing a girl’s parents.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
Max’s cheeks turned pink, and she raised her hand to do it again.
“Easy, babe.” I caught her hand as it started to swing, and pushed it down onto the table. That meant I had one hand pressed to my leg and the other to the table. The violent little thing was tied up in knots. She tilted her chin and met my gaze like she was going into battle. Fire sparked in her eyes, and she looked dangerously sexy.
“Why are you trying to hurt me?” I asked.
“Because it will make me feel better!”
Having her hand on my thigh was not helping me take her anger seriously. And her skin had flushed from her cheeks, down her neck, and I wished she wasn’t wearing my scarf. “It’s not like I wanted to say yes. Your mother isn’t exactly easy to say no to.”
She huffed and squirmed in her seat, trying to pull her hands free. It only brought her closer to me. The red in her cheeks matched the vibrancy of her hair, which smelled divine.
“You could have at least not made up such a ridiculous backstory. I mean, volunteering at an after-school program? I told you to take it easy!” She growled the words through gritted teeth.
“Max, I didn’t make that up. I just told the truth. And stop struggling, people are starting to stare.”
She stopped and a lock of scarlet hair hung down in front of her face. She blew it back and said, “You told the truth?”
After a few moments, I released her hands, and held my right out between us. “My name is Cade Winston—MFA student, volunteer, mom-hugger, and your boyfriend for the next twenty-four hours. It’s nice to meet you.”
She hesitated, and her lips puckered. I knew she was only thinking, but the pucker sent my mind running in an entirely different direction.
“You really do volunteer to help kids after school?” She made it sound like I was aiming for the Nobel Peace Prize or something. They were just kids who needed a place to hang out.
I said, “I really do.”
After a few moments of hesitation, she slipped her hand into mine and shook. She frowned and said, “Max Miller—musician and raging bitch. I’m sorry for slapping you.”
“And pinching me,” I added, even though I wasn’t sorry. It had given me an excuse to touch her.
“And pinching you. And thank you, I guess, for today. And for tomorrow. And sorry number two that you have to spend your Thanksgiving with my crazy parents.”
I smiled. She had this scrunched look on her face, and I could just tell that an apology from this girl was a rare occurrence. I shrugged. “Hey, don’t feel bad. I was planning to spend tomorrow home alone with some Chinese food. I’m sure your mother’s turkey is much better.”
She smiled begrudgingly. “It is. She’s a crazy good cook. Emphasis on the crazy.”
“But the slapping . . . that you can feel bad for.”
She rolled her eyes, and moved away. “I said I was sorry!”
“What? No offer to kiss it better?” She raised an eyebrow, but I swear her eyes dropped to my lips for just a second. I thought of kissing her, just doing it, without thinking about the fact that we didn’t know each other or about her real boyfriend. But she stood, and the moment passed.
She said, “Well, Cade Winston, I really have to get going. I’m already late for my band practice, but can you come over early tomorrow before my parents arrive? We can map out the rest of our story then, so there’s no more need to
improvise
with hugs.” She grabbed a pen from her purse and wrote her address and her number on a napkin.
I pocketed it, threw my empty cup in the trash, and followed her to the door. I knew she said she had to go, but I wanted just a little bit longer with her. “You never got to drink your coffee,” I said, thinking back to when she’d dropped it earlier during the phone call from her parents. “Let me get you another cup.”
She shook her head. “I should be the one buying you coffee.”
“You’re having a stressful morning. You deserve a break.” She looked at me like I’d just made some grand gesture. Her boyfriend must have been a real dick if she was impressed by a cup of coffee. I added, “Besides, I don’t actually drink coffee, so it’s a moot point.”
She laughed. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever actually heard someone say ‘moot point.’ And if you don’t like coffee, what are you doing in a coffee shop?”
“I was supposed to pretend to be a girl’s long-lost brother, but she canceled at the last minute. It’s cool, pretend boyfriend gigs are so much more fun.”
We stepped up to the cashier, and she said, “Medium coffee.”
I watched her mix in a cream and two packets of sugar. As she stirred the drink, she eyed me like I was a puzzle to piece together.
“You’re kind of funny, Winston.”
She took a sip of her coffee, and what was left of her lipstick left a red smudge on the rim of the cup. It drove me crazy.
I said, “I’m more than kind of funny. You’ll see.”
“And cocky.” She smiled up at me. “You’re a little hard to puzzle out, you know.”
“I’m willing to spend as much time with you as you’d like while you try to figure me out.”
She laughed. “Let’s just stick with tomorrow for now. See you later, boyfriend.”
“Until tomorrow, Mackenzie.”
She made a noise halfway between a scoff and a laugh, and shook her head. As she pushed open the glass door at the front, she called over her shoulder, “You do not want to play that game, honey.”
She looked back just for a second as she crossed the street, and her eyes met mine through the window. A thrill bubbled up in my chest that reminded me of a race, of auditioning and fighting for a role that I knew should be mine.
I stood there like an idiot watching her leave until the cashier said, “Hey man, did you need something else?”
“No, I’m good, sorry.”
I stepped out into the crisp winter air thinking about how good I really felt. She didn’t know how right she was. This whole thing
was
a game. She wasn’t my girlfriend, even if her parents did love me.
Especially because her parents loved me.
I’d never dated a girl like her, and she’d probably never dated a guy like me. But sometimes you don’t know what you’re looking for until it’s already knocked you flat on your back. And what was the point in living if I was only going to travel the same roads again and again?
I replayed the last twenty minutes or so in my mind—our conversation, the meeting with her parents, seeing the way her face went red when she was mad. Maybe I was broken, but even the slap had felt kind of good.
Despite the absolute absurdity of everything, it was the most normal I’d felt in months. Like the clouds had finally parted. Like I’d pulled my foot free from being stuck in the past and had stepped into the now.
It felt better. And I was determined for it to stay that way.
It was time to start living, to actually enjoy my life. And I just so happened to know someone who was
really
good at enjoying life.
I dropped my stuff off in my apartment, and then went across the hall. I rapped my knuckles against my neighbor’s door and called, “Milo! You home?”
The sound of some kind of Latin music, salsa maybe, was leaking out from underneath the door, so I knew he was home.
“Milo!” I pounded against the door a few more times.
The door flew open, and Milo lowered a pretty brunette into a dip so fast that her head nearly hit me in the crotch. I jumped back.
Milo grinned up at me, his teeth white against his dark skin. He pulled the girl up against him fast, and her curls went flying.
I glanced at my watch.
Only Milo would be doing the salsa in his living room at 10:00
A.M.
“Too loud, amigo? I’ll turn it down.”
I held up a hand, “No. No, it’s cool. I was actually wondering if you wanted to hang out tonight?”
He quirked an eyebrow at me. I’d been bailing on plans all week due to holiday dread and depression, but it was time to shake that off.
“I have plans already, man, but you should come with. This is my friend, Sasha.” The brunette stayed tucked into Milo’s side but waved her fingers at me. I didn’t recognize her, but Milo spent time with a new girl every week, so that was unsurprising. “She’s dancing tonight. A new job.”
“Oh, like a show?” I asked.
Milo laughed raucously. So did Sasha.
“A little like a show, mostly like a bar.”
I blinked. She was dancing in a bar. Was she a stripper?
Milo must have known me well enough by now to interpret the look on my face. He said, “Easy,
hermano,
it’s not like that.”
Then what was it like?
“I’ll knock on your door at nine, okay? We’ll have a good time.”
Then Sasha tugged on his arm, and they went back to their dance. The dance was all swaying hips and skimming hands, and it looked much more interesting than anything I’d ever done at 10:00
A.M.
I’d intruded enough on his early morning seduction, so I closed the door and retreated back to my apartment.
Something told me I was going to be in for an interesting night.