I turn to look at him, and he’s got his phone aimed directly at me. I throw my hands in front of my face and lunge at him. “What are you doing?” I ask, even though it’s obvious that he’s recording me.
Since I’m using both hands to conceal my puffy, dark-circle-covered eyes, I use my feet and shoulders as weapons. And I fail miserably again. We both end up sprawled out on my couch, but the only reason Maxwell quits recording is because he’s laughing too hard to hold his phone.
I make a mental note to register for another self-defense class soon.
“Sorry, you know I can’t say no to Vonnie.” He tucks the phone into his sweatshirt pocket. “She scares me.”
“Touché.” She is terrifying when angry. Which reminds me . . . “I forgot to tell you, but my mom signed the papers!”
“Already?”
“Like you said, Vonnie is scary.” I shift into crisscross-applesauce position on the couch. “And Eloise went with her. I imagine both of them together as some kind of high-fashion, crime-fighting superhero duo.”
Now that I’m really thinking about it, I might need Aviana to pitch it to the CW.
“Speaking of your mom and Eloise though,” Maxwell says, changing the subject, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “I know what happened with your mom in the hospital was hard and I’m sure doing it in front of a crowd was even harder. But I want to let you know how much it meant to me that I could be there for you. Obviously, you are aware that there is a lot of conflict between me and Theo. It’s deep and it’s ugly and it’s something that I’ve never really talked about before.” He laces his fingers with mine and lets out a deep breath. “I want to talk to you about it. Not tonight,” he adds in quickly. “I have to check in at the hotel soon and you need a decent night’s sleep, but soon . . . if you want.”
“No, I mean yes, I do want. I want to talk.” I trip over my words, but my dad had a heart attack and I haven’t slept in days, so I feel like I have a good excuse.
He leans in, touching his lips to mine. I think we both want more than that, but after the last few days, Maxwell knows that I’m too tired—physically and emotionally—to act on it.
“Wanna try and squeeze in a couple episodes of Parks and Rec before I leave?” he asks.
And I hate myself for it, but my eyes well with tears again.
A few days ago, I feared my life was splintering and would never be complete again. But now, sitting on a couch, watching a show, all I can envision is a full and beautiful future with this amazing fucking man by my side through it all.
Thirty-eight
I always thought I knew how much I loved my job, but being away from it for a week made me even more aware.
I love my customers. I love my staff. I just love it.
My dad’s heart attack has made me realize how freaking short life is and how fast things can change. I feel like a new person. There’s this zest for life inside me that was never there before as I serve drinks and greet customers. Having my man looking fine and kicking some serious football ass on the TVs surrounding me doesn’t suck either.
Poppy is at the hospital with my dad so I could come into HERS for a while today. Vonnie offered me a ticket for her box, but I’ve been gone for too long and I knew today was going to be extra crazy with it being a playoff game.
Paisley took amazing care of the place while I was gone, and I know that I need to give her a promotion. She deserves it and I’d actually like the freedom to take more time off with the way things with Maxwell are progressing. She even came up with a playoff cocktail. I tried it when I got in this morning (when it’s your job, drinking vodka in the morning isn’t a problem, it’s dedication) and almost kissed her.
“Two Championship Chuggers.” I place the icy mugs in front of the women in their Mustangs jerseys. “Just holler if you need anything else.”
I start my walk back to the bar, weaving between huddles of women and a few scattered men, when applause and cheers break out all around me. I look at the closet TV and join in the celebrating when I see Maxwell getting off the ground with the football in his hand. He tosses it to the nearest referee and the camera zooms in on him as he runs to the sideline, his teammates slapping the back of his helmet as he goes . . . his tight ass looking extra freaking fabulous today.
I make it to the back of the bar, but when I do, Abby is chewing on her bottom lip and looks nervous beyond belief.
I feel my forehead wrinkle as my eyebrows scrunch together. “Is everything okay?”
“I—I don’t know? A police officer came in. He said he needed to speak to you, it sounded urgent. I had him go wait in your office.”
I look over my shoulder and see that my office door that’s normally closed and locked is cracked open.
Now, if I were thinking clearly, I’d know that if anything had happened to my dad, Poppy would get in touch with me, and there’s really no reason a police officer would come when no crime was committed. But thinking clearly and rationally has never been my strong point, and fear nearly chokes me as I sprint to my office.
I push open the door and see the officer in his uniform standing in front of my picture wall.
“Theo.” My shoulders sag in relief. “What the hell? You scared me.”
“Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to.” He tucks his hands into his pockets. I’m not sure if it’s a move to highlight the fact that he’s armed or if it’s an innocent gesture, but either way, there’s something not right here.
“Well . . .” I close the door behind me and make a point not to lock the door. Maxwell’s warning about Theo echoes in my mind. “What can I help you with?”
“I just wanted to talk to you when I knew Max wasn’t going to be around,” he says, and a fizzle of unease starts to crawl up my spine. “I know he hasn’t been honest with you, and I don’t want you to be blindsided when this comes out.”
The unease blossoms into full-blown dread. I know I should turn him away and wait for Maxwell to open up, but part of me just needs to get this over with.
“Have a seat.” I gesture to the open chairs as I round my desk. My knees are already starting to knock together, and I’m thinking that sitting through this conversation is the best decision.
“I’m sure you’ve caught on to the fact that there’s tension between us?” he asks.
“Ummm, yeah. It’s pretty hard to miss.” I try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, but this isn’t the kind of conversation I appreciate dragging out.
“Well, it wasn’t always like that between us.” He leans back in the chair, and the acrylic groans under his weight. “We actually used to be really close.”