"So, Jory, we're hoping you could clue us in on a few things." Pawl sent a meaningful glance to the other members of the ambush squad. Sweat rolled down my spine and soaked my shirt. "If you don't mind."
I took a sip of my drink, something limey with a confident pour of vodka, to buy myself a minute. I did this whenever I needed a pause from my students—save for the vodka. It gave me time to think and breathe. There were moments when I had to tamp down some frustration or conceal a laugh in my water bottle. Kids often said hilarious and wildly inappropriate things. Even the best of us struggled to keep a straight face sometimes.
I wasn't sure I could keep a straight face for this. I kept my gaze on a tight circuit between the door—come on, Max, get in here—and my interrogators. Still, I didn't know what I'd do if they'd staged this coup to break up Max and me. Would they do that? Could they? I didn't need their approval but contending with their disapproval was a different story. And why would they disapprove? I had more than my share of issues but that didn't mean I needed to be run out of town.
Pawl draped his arm over my shoulders, leaning in close to ask, "How is he doing? We're worried about him."
"I—what?" I blinked at him, thoroughly confused.
"He looks so much better," Joseph offered. "He looks alive again."
"Happy too," Bryce added. "You can tell his spirit is in a much better place."
"How is he doing?" Pawl repeated. "Have you noticed any Eeyore days?"
I shook my head. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Tom nodded, finally understanding my confusion. "After Max left his ex, he went through some difficult periods. Some Eeyore days. You know Eeyore. From Winnie the Pooh. He used to be all Tigger but things went from bad to worse with Teddy. Tigger faded away. Eeyore took over."
"I don't believe that," I said with a shocked, humorless laugh. I knew he'd struggled after his breakup but this sounded nothing like the Max I knew. "I can't see Max being—being Eeyore."
Bryce and Flinn exchanged a loaded glance. "Believe me," Flinn said. "It was a rough time for him. It seemed like he was slipping into a depression, but he didn't want to discuss it with any of us."
"He never wants to bother anyone," Bryce added. "Even when we want to be bothered."
"Especially then," Joseph said.
"We didn't know what to expect when he told us he'd met someone." Tom tipped his chin in my direction. I was the someone. "We were worried it wouldn't be healthy for him."
"Thanks," I muttered.
"You are adorable and all the precious things," Joseph said. "But we didn't know that at the start. We didn't know if it was a rebound or a repeat of the cycle with Teddy—"
"I don't cheat on people," I said, louder than I'd anticipated by the sudden snap of quiet.
"Of course not," Tom said.
"Dude, we're Team Max, and you're the MVP of that team," Flinn said. "We're asking you these questions because we want to believe he's out of the Eeyore days, but since he's spending all his free time with you, we're not sure what's up or down."
When I didn't respond because I was honestly trying to put all of this information into a logical order while also convincing my brain this wasn't a fight-or-flight situation, Bryce said, "We need to know if he's really doing okay or if we should push him to visit a doctor for some help. I'd been keeping an eye on the situation, but then my mom passed, and my entire life was on hold for three months."
"And I had to duck out when a few of my athletes got caught up in a gambling scandal," Flinn said. "I've spent the past couple of months on the road more than off and I didn't check in with Max nearly enough."
"I got engaged," Tom said, holding up his hand to show off his ring. "And we left town for a bunch of weddings and then we spent a month hiking overseas. I know I didn't talk to him nearly enough."
"We've been shitty friends," Pawl said. "That's what we're trying to tell you. Max would run barefoot through the streets if we needed him, and somehow, we all managed to flake out on him when he needed us too much to ask for it." He shook his head and glanced down at the floor, his lips pressed together in a line as his chin wobbled. "We had the situation with Max and his Eeyore moments in hand until life cocked it up for us this summer. Now that we're not falling apart anymore, we want to thank you for being there for him. He's happy as a fucking clam and we're damn lucky he found you. He can't stop talking about you, by the way, so please don't break his heart." He tapped his glass to mine. "We've probably been shitty friends to you too, but I swear to gumdrops, we're working on it. Now, tell us. How's Coach doing?"
I parted my lips to respond but Max's blond head and smiling face joined the group. "There you are, babe!" He pushed his way through the wall of my finely dressed captors, cupped my jaw, and kissed me as if we'd been separated for years rather than minutes. When he came up for air, he plucked the cocktail from my hands and swallowed it in two gulps. He held up the empty glass, saying, "Another, please. My boy has worked his ass off this week and he deserves some holiday cheer. Move it, Joey. I know you can mix a cocktail faster than that."
I caught Tom's eye and grinned. "All Tigger."
As predicted, we didn't get back to Mallori's house until late. After midnight, before dawn. Somewhere in the middle. The specifics of it were hazed over and gilded around the edges as only vodka could. Vodka and fiercely protective friends.
Since Tom and Wes sent us home with a holiday-printed Pyrex dish of leftovers—which we gorged in the back of the Uber to some extremely righteous Christian rock—we didn't raid Mallori's kitchen or call up for pizza.
Instead, we stumbled into the house, laughing and groping and loudly shushing each other as we shrugged out of our coats, kicked off our shoes. The now-empty Pyrex found its way to the sink with a clatter that probably woke the entire street. Max gathered me up in an embrace that was more tackle than hug and flattened a hand over my mouth.
"You're in my bed tonight," he said, wedging his thigh between my legs. "I want you there every fuckin' night, Jory. You know that?"
It wasn't a question in search of a response but I nodded anyway. I did know. He told me this almost once a week. On occasion, he shared this along with visual proof. His cock in gym shorts or boxer briefs. Under a thin sheet or in his fist. Dripping wet after a shower. I knew.
Neither of us was in a situation where we could manage regular sleepovers. My roommate was nuts about keeping everything just so and he hated unscheduled visitors. Max lived here with a family of four and often had unscheduled visitors in the form of his niece or nephew bounding down the basement stairs to tell him some amazing new thing.
None of these conditions were ripe for the carnality of a hot new relationship.
We spent a lot of time kissing in cars. We took long walks, went to the movies, ate at cozy restaurants where it was necessary to sit extremely close together rather than a product of our lust. And we capped those outings with at least an hour of car kissing. On the nights we retreated to Max's place, we'd settle a blanket over our laps and ignore the television while maintaining some deniability if the kids—or Mallori—came down for a visit.