“I hope they have a good psychiatrist then, because there’s not a chance in hell I’d ever sign up for that nonsense.”
Most people would be offended by someone turning their nose up at their job like they’re too good for it.
Not Aviana. It’s why she’s so great on reality TV. She loves herself enough for everyone in the entire world.
“We’ll see.” Aviana pulls out her lipstick, reapplying the vampire-red shade without a mirror like some kind of witch. “You should see the pay raise we got for this season.”
“Lawyer,” Vonnie says. “I’m a lawyer. I cannot go on your ratchet-ass show and get my spot back at the firm I want.”
“The Bachelorette was a lawyer and she’s still working.” Aviana is always ready with a reality show rebuttal.
“You know what?” Vonnie lifts her French martini to her lips, still not changing her drink even though she helped me pick out the specialty drinks for the night. “I’m not letting you get me worked up tonight. I have to talk in front of people. I should be meditating, not dealing with your crazy asses.”
“You made me wear torture devices, you are stuck with us or I will heckle you,” I threaten her, and she knows I mean it.
“You’re evil.”
I point to my feet that might be bleeding at this point. “Heels!”
“Oooh! Those are cute!” Poppy, my puking, mood-ruining friend, says. “I didn’t think you owned heels.”
“I don’t,” I say. “I came in my fancy jeans and my HERS T-shirt. Vonnie provided this entire outfit.”
Vonnie lifts a single appraising eyebrow. “She says things like ‘fancy jeans.’ I knew to come prepared or she’d be sticking out like a sore thumb in dark denim and scuffed sneakers. Even the bartenders and waitstaff you hired are in black skirts and white button-up shirts.”
She has a point, but again, I ignore it. “My shoes were not scuffed.”
“And that’s exactly why I dressed you. Maxwell is going to be here and someone is going to bid on him.” Vonnie reminds me of something I do not want to think about. “You want him to walk out of here looking at all the women who will be, without a doubt, throwing themselves at him while you’re in the back wearing fancy jeans and sneakers?”
“We’re just—” I start, but Vonnie does the zip-it motion in front of my face . . . so I zip it.
“That was a rhetorical question,” she says. And even with the music playing on the speakers and the growing crowd chatting around us, the laughter of my friends still rises above the noise. “And knock it off with the ‘just friends’ crap. We all saw you two together after the game last night. I thought you guys were gonna rip each other’s clothes off in the hallway.”
“Oh, you are so full of shit.” I roll my eyes.
“Girl.” Vonnie tilts her head to the side, pursing her lips like she can’t believe she has to have this conversation with me. “Are you really trying to stand there and tell me you weren’t staring at Max looking fine as hell in that suit for a solid two minutes before your mouth remembered how to form words?”
“I did not!”
“You should have seen them both when we showed up at Max’s with dinner last night,” Poppy, the traitor, chimes in. “He must’ve forgotten that we made plans. Even though I was midstride to his bathroom when he opened the door, I still didn’t miss the crestfallen look on his face, and I swear I could hear Brynn’s heavy breathing from across the room.”
“Fine!” I throw my hands up. “Yes, I think he is extremely handsome. I mean, I do have eyes. But,” I rush out before the squeals of my crew rupture my eardrums. “Whenever we are together, he’s always dodging texts or taking calls out of the room. We are friends, but I don’t think he’s in the position to commit to one person. And I’m not really a relationship person anyways.”
There. Now maybe they’ll leave me alone.
“Bullshit!” Charli does a terrible job of masking the word in a fake sneeze.
Okay, maybe they won’t.
“You know.” I glare at the group of laughing faces circling me, noticing that Jacqueline snuck into our huddle at some point. “I don’t know why I’m friends with any of you.”
I turn to leave, trying my hand at an exit as dramatic as Vonnie’s entrance, but I only make it three steps before someone steps in front of me. Thanks to my numb feet, I can’t stop in time, and topple into a hard, suited body.
Maxwell’s hard, suited body to be exact.
His hands wrap around my waist, preventing me from going down, and with my luck, starting a domino effect with my affluent guests.
“You all right?” he asks, staring into my eyes, making my insides melt and my cheeks blush. I hope he didn’t overhear my crush declaration!
“Yeah. Sorry. Heels,” I say, suddenly unable to form complete sentences.
“Like I said, bullshit,” Charli says behind me, followed by a gaggle of giggles.
Ugh.
Fucking Lady Mustangs.
Sixteen
I remember when—all those hours ago—I thought Maxwell looked as good as he was ever going to look.
It’s such a shame, because I thought I was prepared to see him tonight.
Update: I was not prepared.
Yesterday he was professionally dapper.
Tonight? Well, tonight he’s “I want to be the hottest player on the stage and bring in the most money” hot. And let me tell you, it’s a level of hot I’ve never encountered in real life.
I think he must have gone to the barber again, a barber who used facial hair as a contouring tool, because his cheekbones and jaw—while always notable—are striking . . . like cut-from-granite, what-mythological-gods-are-modeled-after striking. His full lips look fuller, and I’m not sure if that is from another contouring trick, the lighting, or my imagination replaying our time on his couch. And he’s in a red suit.
Quiet and shy Maxwell in a red suit.
A red suit that fits so well, it might as well be his second skin. And that’s saying something. While Maxwell isn’t a lineman, he’s still an athlete and his legs are thick, solid muscle. Wearing a slim-cut suit like it’s the only thing you were made to wear is impressive as fuck.
It would probably be a good thing if I had enough shame to at least pretend I’m not ogling him, but I don’t and I’m taking my time adhering this image to my brain so I can think back on it in bed . . . I mean at some random time in the future. Then my gaze reaches his feet and I gasp.