“You didn’t call your best friend for seven years?”
His expression was humorless. “I swung by the gallery the other day and made a fucking fool out of myself. I’m used to things in my life being simple. I’d just had seven years of casual fun on the road, and yeah, I hadn’t spoken to Mateo and Rafael during that time, but I didn’t think it was a big deal. Figured I’d walk back into his life and we’d be best friends again. Even though I didn’t even know he’d gotten engaged.” His jaw tightened. “My mom kept her relationships pretty loose. But maybe that’s why she never came home. Too many people that she disappointed.”
“Would your mom change her behavior if a close friend was upset with her?” I asked, truly curious about the answer. He’d described his relationship to her as complicated. Given the expression on Mateo’s face when she came up in conversation, I could tell she evoked a number of different reactions and opinions.
“Of course, she would,” he said quickly. “All of that to say, he was pretty clear that he was pissed and hurt. As he should be. And he was pretty clear in how I could be a better friend, and I sure as hell listened.”
I crossed my legs, tugging the fabric down to my knees to maintain some semblance of propriety. “It seems like Mateo’s already on the way to forgiving you. Watching the two of you, it’s obvious how far back your history goes. If you put in the work, I bet you’ll gain his trust again.”
“You think so?”
“I know so,” I promised. The smile that lit up his face lit up my entire body. Then he raised his beer at me from across the room.
“How long has your family made you feel like the odd one out?”
I paused mid-sip, more than a little surprised. “Always,” I said, the truth sliding out quickly. “You know what the lifestyle is like for musicians at The Red Room. That was our house, all the time. And it’s always hard for me to describe because I’d never deny how fun that was. How much music was always on, always being played, always being discussed over dinner. That we spent our nights dancing or watching my parents play. It’s not for lack of love on their part. It was always a house filled with love and loud music.”
Max was quiet, dark eyes pinned to mine. “The flip-side of that was it made me feel very out of control. I know kids complain about their parents grounding them or making them do homework. But I think it does give children a sense of safety and stability. Guidelines, rules, boundaries.” I smiled a little. “My parents had no boundaries. I’m not sure Roxy and I would have graduated from high school if I hadn’t kept track of our tests, our field trips, our appointments, my college visits and exams, Roxy’s art internships. They tease me for being different, for working for The Man and climbing a corporate ladder that shouldn’t exist. For wanting to plan for my future instead of living spontaneously. But their love and support can’t be disputed. Which is why it’s been hard for me to be honest with them about this. My parents are so kind, so nice. Being honest would hurt their very sweet feelings.”
I took a giant swig of beer, let the bubbles make me slightly light-headed.
That wasn’t a truth I’d ever said out loud before.
“Is that why you avoided The Red Room for a year?” Max asked.
“Well, I was trying to snag myself a husband, and that was awfully time-consuming.” Max’s jaw clenched. “But, yes. It felt like a year where I wanted to focus on my own happiness and goals, which is easier when I’m not bending my schedule backwards to see them.” I shook my head, attempting an answer that was slowly shifting by the day. “But this week, being at The Red Room again, seeing my sister more…” I swayed a little bit to Zeppelin because I couldn’t help it. “Maybe I’ve been going after some things the wrong way. Maybe. I’m not sure yet. What I do know is that I will fight tooth and nail to keep your dad’s place open. That’s my priority right now.”
True affection flickered across his face. “The fight is much appreciated.”
I set my beer down and pressed the backs of my hands against my cheeks. “Am I flushed? That was a lot of vulnerability.”
He tapped the tip of his boot against my foot. “It’s okay to be vulnerable around your friends.”
I debated tossing out the question dancing between us, the question pushing me to step right up to the edge of my comfort. Which was, of course, if he had meant what he said last night. If he was flirting with me, knowing that I was only interested in pursuing him if he could give me the trust and commitment I desired.
I wanted to know if we were dancing up to that edge together.
“Thank you for that,” I finally said.
He was staring at my mouth. Then he wiped his hand down his thigh, kicked the ground a little. I tilted my head, waiting.
“Do you want me to share something vulnerable with you? Balance it out?”
I laughed slightly, sounding nervous. “Sure. Like what, though?”
“Mateo thinks I have a crush on you.”
Every drop of air left the garage. My skin buzzed lightly. “Oh?”
His gaze traveled all the way up the length of my body. I felt it, same as if he’d used his actual hands on me. “That would be an actual first for me. But given that we’re just friends, and you’ve got yourself a light celibacy situation, I’m not sure how to tell if its real.”
I tightened my fingers in my skirt to halt their shaking. “I read an article about crushes once. Turns out you can have them on your friends.”
His lips twitched. “Is that so?”
White-hot energy crackled in the space between us. “As long as you’re not secretly pining for me, then I think we’re still safe.”
“I’d say the same for you too, princess.”
“I’m not,” I said quickly. “Secretly pining for you.”
He crossed his arms again. “But would you say you had a crush on me?”
I couldn’t lie. He’d been so open. “A little one.”
A full smile appeared on his face. It was downright dazzling. I swayed toward it, hypnotized. “Little?”
I shrugged. Took my feet all the way up to that fucking ledge. “Maybe I need to be convinced.”
His fingers dug into the muscles of his biceps. He finally let go, released his arms, and patted the seat beneath him. “You ever ride a motorcycle before?”
My nipples were already hardening. The sight of him handling the bike, fully confident and fully competent, was a heady seduction I hadn’t expected. In general, motorcycles seemed like metal death-machines. My sister was no stranger to motorcycles and men who rode them. But I’d always steered clear. They seemed risky and reckless and much too dangerous.
“Never. But I’m a bit… intimidated by them.”
“Most things in this world should be intimidated by you, Fiona Quinn.” He patted the seat again. “Hop on. It’s still busted, so I can’t even turn it on. But I can give you a simulation if you’re curious what it feels like.”
What it feels like.
Call it overwhelming lust, clouding my long-term vision and repressing my rational thinking. Call it my subconscious, greedy to take him up on his illicit advice: When was the last time you did something that felt good?