The room seems to be getting hotter. I'm sweating, my heart is racing, and it's getting hard for me to breathe. There's something so sensual about this moment. About how tender he's being, how delicate, like I'm a brittle piece of porcelain he's afraid is going to crumble with his touch.
I'm wet. Just his touch to see if I'm all right is making me drip. “I'm fine, really, I just twisted it a little. I need to walk it off, it's no big deal.” Clenching my thighs, my panties are hot and sticky.
Damn it! Not now, not here!
His fingertips massage with firm, wide circles as his eyes stay on mine. “Yeah, well, I know a thing or two about sprains. When I was a kid, if I got hurt, or my brother got hurt, we had to take care of each other.”
I watch him as he examines my leg, running the very tip of his finger over my ankle and across the top of my foot. His touch tickles slightly, but it burns more. My body is reacting in ways I've never felt before.
I can't control the speed of my heart. I can't control the flutter in my belly or the rush of tingles as they sweep up my legs and across my torso. His eyes meet mine and I wonder if he's feeling the slamming of my pulse.
“So, you have a brother, I know that. But, what about the rest of your family? Mom? Dad? What do they do?”
Did I see any of them at the courthouse?
I'm racking my brain, trying to picture who his parents were. I don't remember anyone crying or weeping in the courtroom for either of the boys. They must have been there though, angry, full of hatred that I was pointing out their children as arsonists to a judge.
“Well,” he says, dropping his eyes back to my foot as he picks up my shoe and starts to put it back on for me. “My father is a mechanic, my only brother is in prison, and my mother is dead.” Finishing off the bow of my lace, he stands back up. “I think you're going to live. It’s not broken.” He tries to laugh, but it sounds fake. Running his hand through his hair, he lets his gaze shift over my face.
His mom is dead. . . The words sit there for a second as my brain slowly begins to process what they mean.
“I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I had no idea.”
Holy shit, I really did ruin his life.
This immense feeling of guilt and sadness consumes me suddenly. I destroyed his family. A family that had already lost one, was now down another.
And it's all my fault.
Max cocks a brow as he stares at me. I can see it in his eyes, he's not sure why I'm apologizing.
Raking my fingers through my hair, I tug it firmly against my scalp. “I'm such an asshole, I completely destroyed your family. This is all my fault, Max, all of this is my fault.”
“Whoa, whoa, slow down, Prairie—”
Cutting him off, I take an awkward, unbalanced step backwards. “But it's the truth. You already lost your mom, and then I get your brother taken away on you. He's locked up behind bars, no wonder you hate me. . .” Tears bubble up on my lids as I ramble. Blinking, a single tear breaks free, slipping down my cheek. “If I had just denied being there, if I had just looked the other way, or lied—I could have lied. And your brother wouldn't be in prison right now. I. . . I'm—”
His lips press against mine out of nowhere, and I suck in a surprised breath. His mouth is soft, just as delicate as his fingers, but there's a strength in his lips, a passion that causes my heart to stop for a full beat.
The air gets sucked from my lungs as the tip of his tongue tempts the opening, barely breaking the surface of my mouth. And just like that, as quickly as he's there, he's gone.
Max pulls away, and I waver slightly on my feet as I touch my lips, still able to feel him. My skin buzzes, tingling like I licked a hot pepper. I'm speechless, left with a pool of desire between my legs.
“I. . . um, I. . .” stuttering, I don't really have any words to say, I'm just trying to end this feeling inside me.
“That was just to quiet you down,” he says. But I can see him breathing heavily, his chest is rising and falling rapidly as his hands twitch at his sides.
He liked it, and so did I.
Inhaling slowly, he takes a small step back. Holding out his hand, he rests the other on his hip. “Don't blame yourself for anything in my life, Prairie.” Slicing the air, his eyes steady on mine. “Not a damn thing is your fault. I was six when my mother died, I barely remember her. And that shit over the summer, you didn't know who I was, or who my brother was. I took the wrong road long before you ever got involved. This isn't your fault, and I know that, even if it's hard for me to not want to blame someone else for this shit. It can't be you—I won't let it be you.”
Max isn't trying to put on an act right now. His walls are down and he's spewing truth like a broken faucet. Maybe he doesn't realize it now, but his words mean everything to me.
I know deep down it isn't really my fault, but I almost can't help but feel some guilt. I’m the nail that sealed the coffin, that's my role.
But I had to hear it from him to truly believe it. He's just the confirmation of what I already knew was true. His words are the comfort I need.
Pressing up on the tips of my toes, I kiss him back. I kiss him so he knows I'm thankful for what he said. I kiss him so he knows that he isn't the bad guy.
I kiss him because it feels right.
And sometimes, what’s right doesn't make sense.
7
Max
Running flat palms over my head, I stand outside the front door. The music is blasting, and I can hear people inside. Cars line the street on either side, a few are even parked up on the sidewalk.
There's a moment, just a single blip in my brain, when I think about turning around and leaving. I don't belong here, and I haven't belonged at a party like this for a really long time.
I can't believe I'm fucking here right now.
Looking around, I glance back over my shoulder. I'm not sure if Prairie is here yet. I don't see her car, but she might have come with Amy.
Bringing my knuckles to the door, I hesitate. They float in the air, while my head reminds me exactly why I should leave.
You hate her! She's nothing, she's no one, she doesn't deserve even a second of your time!
My brain is right, it knows the truth. But it isn't my brain that's in control right now. It wants to fight to take over, it wants to push the red emergency eject button and get the fuck out of here.
So, what do I do?
I don't listen.
I knock.
The door flings open and Chad's mouth hangs open as he looks me up and down like he's seeing a ghost. “Are you fucking serious?” Holding a closed fist to his mouth, he laughs. “Max Ramon, you finally crawled out from under your rock. How's it feel to take in fresh air?”
“Dude, seriously, I didn't come here to fight or any shit like that. I'm here to have a good time, that's it.”
“A good time. . .” he draws the words out as he smiles and yells over his shoulder. “Brent! Hey, Brent!”
Brent Jones is a six foot tall, two hundred pounds, linebacker. He moved here a few years back and slipped right into the position on the football team.
“Yeah?” Walking up, he chugs whatever was left in his red cup, and throws it over his shoulder.