Authors: Cora Carmack
Not that it mattered. She was taken.
I was doomed to always be attracted to the girls I couldn’t have.
Plus, what she’d told me earlier . . . it couldn’t have been easy. I could tell how raw the memories left her, and the last thing I wanted was to take advantage of that tenderness.
I was about to nudge her awake when her eyes opened, and she caught me staring at her. She blinked a few times and then her eyes narrowed on me. She sat up and slid to the complete opposite side of the bed.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Whatever closeness we’d gained earlier didn’t appear to have carried over through her nap. The walls were back up and I was still on the outside.
“I swear it’s not as creepy as it looks.”
“Said the serial killer to the police.”
Her hair was messy and closer to how it usually was.
I said, “I was about to wake you up. Your mother just said dinner is ready.”
“My
mother
was in here?”
I was coming to enjoy that wide-eyed exasperated look she got every time something concerned her mother.
“She might have taken a picture of us.”
She grabbed a pillow, and I narrowly blocked a swipe to the face.
“
You let her take a picture of us?”
I grabbed the pillow when she went in for a second swing, and used it to pull her closer. “I didn’t
let
her. I woke up to the flash.”
“Seriously?” She made a noise that was part groan/part growl and buried her face in her hands. “Kill me now.”
I kept the pillow between us as a buffer and said, “It’s almost over.”
“You’ve not been to one of my mother’s Thanksgiving dinners. It’s only just beginning.”
She slid off the bed and went to the bathroom to splash her face with water. I followed and did the same. It was frighteningly domestic as we both tried to maneuver around the small space without bumping into each other. I was struck by the oddity that I had known this woman just over twenty-four hours. And twenty-four hours from now, we would likely go our separate ways, never to hear from each other again.
I swallowed, and she looked at me from the bathroom door.
“Well, are you coming?”
“Yeah, right behind you.”
We were ambushed with another photo attack as soon as we entered the living room.
“Mom! Seriously?”
Mrs. Miller’s eyes reminded me of those commercials about abused pets—designed to make you feel bad. “I’m sorry. Cade mentioned earlier that you were okay with pictures, and I—”
“Oh did he now?”
I was in trouble. She fingernails scrape for the owlmylaced her hand with mine and squeezed a little harder than was comfortable.
“Oh, you know,
sweetie.
I told your mom how upset you were that you overslept because you wanted to look nice for them. We talked about how nice it would be to have pictures to commemorate our first holiday together.” Mrs. Miller snapped another picture while I was talking to her daughter. “Mrs. M, don’t mind Max. Maybe we should just save the pictures until after dinner.”
“Of course, and for the last time, Cade. Please call me Betty. Or Mom.”
Max smiled widely at me, but I had a feeling it was more like those predators on the Animal Channel, baring their teeth in a show of aggression. She leaned up, smiling all the while, and said quietly, “If you call my mother ‘Mom,’ I’m going to replace that turkey in the oven with your head, okay?”
I smiled back, and curled a hand around her cheek. “I’m calling your bluff, Angry Girl.” Max was glaring at me, but I could tell she was glad to be back in normal territory. Normal, of course, being our attempts to piss each other off. I called to her mother in the kitchen, “Mrs. Miller—I mean Mom—your daughter says the sweetest things sometimes. I think it would shock you how romantic she can be.”
Max laughed low in her throat. Her eyes glinted. She placed her hand over the one on my cheek and said, “It’s on now, Golden Boy. You’re going to be sorry.”
“I can take it.”
And if this is what made her feel better, less vulnerable, then I could.
There was a feast on Max’s table, and her living room was looking decidedly more lived in. Max waited until we were seated at the table to launch her first attack.
“Oh, Dad, I know you usually say grace, but do you think we could let Cade? He’s
very
religious, and I know he would be so happy to do it.”
I smiled and shook my head. She was going to have to try a lot harder than that to throw me off.
“Mick, I would be happy to say the prayer, but I would never want to change your holiday traditions.”
Max’s dad waved a hand. “Nonsense. Pray away, son.”
I smiled at Max and took her hand. I pressed a chaste kiss on the back and then reached for her mother’s hand on my other side.
“Dear Heavenly Father, we thank you for allowing us to be together today. Thank you for guiding Mick and Betty safely here to Philadelphia that we might join together as a family to eat and give thanks. More than anything, I thank you for bringing Max and I together. It feels like
only yesterday
we met, but she has changed my life in so many
interesting
ways. Sometimes, I feel like our relationship is too good to be real. I pray that you will continue to bless us all and may our day be filled with food and fun and fellowship. It is in your holy name we pray, Amen.”
As soon as the prayer was over, Max tugged her hand from mine. Max’s parents held hands a little longer, glancing at us, and then sharing a knowing look. While they watched I leaned over, and placed a kiss on Max’s cheek. There was no harm in taking a few liberties with my role, especially since this gig only lasted through the end of the day. I whispered, “You’re gonna have to do better than that, Angry Girl.” fingernails scrapehe wasowlmy
She waited until her parents weren’t looking to flip me off, but we were both smiling.
I said, “Why don’t we make a toast?” The Millers were against alcohol, but I figured the sweet tea would work. I held up my glass and said, “To new beginnings, new family, and a promising future.”
Max looked queasy, but she took a drink when the rest of us did. Mrs. Miller placed a hand over her heart and said, “Cade, I’m sure Mackenzie has made it no secret that we haven’t approved of some of her boyfriends.” Max snorted, and I took that to mean that
some
meant
all
. “But I have to say, you are one of the most pleasant, put-together young men that I’ve ever met.”
Mick paused in carving the turkey to say, “Yep. Looks like our Max is finally learning how to pick ’em.”
I saw Max’s spine straighten out of the corner of her eye. She was looking at her father in shock, no doubt because he’d
finally
used her nickname. I’d only known them a day, and even I knew how big a deal that was. As I watched Max, the shock gave way to confusion and then finally anger. Her eyebrows pulled together, and those full lips flattened into a line. She did one of those long, slow inhales, and I couldn’t blame her.
We should have stopped it all then, put an end to the charade. I thought of standing up, faking an important phone call or an illness. But then Max decided to take her anger out on me. And because I cared about her, I let her.
“He is pretty wonderful, isn’t he?” Her tone was sugary on the surface with poison laced beneath. “Especially when you consider where he was just a year ago.”
Uh-oh. I didn’t like the sound of that.
“A year ago?” her dad asked.
“Oh yes. A year ago he was in a really bad place. Weren’t you, honey?”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “I suppose.”
“You suppose? Oh, honey, don’t downplay how far you’ve come. You worked so hard to overcome your . . . addiction.”
Her mother choked on her tea. I closed my eyes to stay calm.
One of Max’s hands was curled into a fist on the table, and I covered it with my own. I turned to her parents and put on my best smile. “Max likes to exaggerate. She thinks it’s
funny
.” I shot her a look and searched for an excuse that would smooth things over with her parents. I looked at her father, whose eyebrows had drawn together in a suspicioclass=us"x1BM" aid="H5
Max
I
excused myself under the pretense of freshening up for those godforsaken pictures, and fled to my room.
I swear this guy had to have like supernatural powers. He had that mind-control power like the people on
The Vampire Diaries
. Or some scientist had experimented on him as a child, and now he had, I don’t know, extra potent pheromones that bent other people to his will.
It would explain why he was so damn likable.
Stupid magic sweat.
I sighed and turned to close my door, but Cade slipped in before I could.
“You’re looking even angrier than usual, Angry Girl.”
This guy had the worst timing in the world.
I closed the door, and left him for the comforting expanse of my bed. Maybe I was still sleeping, and this all had been one horrible, confusing,
awkward
nightmare.
“What are you doing here?”
“Just visiting my sweet, loving girlfriend.”
I threw a pillow at him in lieu of a reply.
He caught it easily, and then leaned back against the closed door, staring at me. The guy was straight out of a preppy GAP catalogue.
And I liked it.
What the hell was wrong with me?
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked. “I can make an excuse.”
There was no way my parents would accept an excuse. My mother was like an octopus, and he was pretty damn wrapped up in her tentacles already. But his sincerity made something pinch in my throat, and I had to look away from him again. How did he always know exactly what to say?
Supernatural. Had to be.
“Max, it’s not worth it. Lying just puts off the inevitable. Sooner or later, they’re going to have to accept you the way you are.” fingernails scrapemostowI wondered if
I laughed bitterly. “Well, they’ve gone this long without accepting it. I’m sure they could squeeze in another twenty-two years.”
I heard the floorboards creak as he walked toward me.
“Max . . .”
I sat up and swung my feet over the other side of the bed, so that my back was to him. I’d already spilled enough of my secrets today. I wasn’t doing it again. And I needed to get this all under control before I snapped.
“It’s fine. We’ll just finish out dinner, and then it will be over. I’ll tell them in a week or two that we broke up. They’ll get over it.”
Doubtful. Something told me I’d hear about Cade as the “one that got away” for the rest of my life.
He said, “Just tell them I chose fantasy football over you. Your dad seems like the kind of guy that would buy that.”
“How flattering.”
He laughed, “You know I’d always choose you over football, Max.”
I looked at him over my shoulder and asked, “Are you sure you’re from Texas?”
He smiled and said, “Truce?”
I nodded.
He threw the pillow he was holding, and it nailed me right in the face.
“Now, a truce.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Stalker.”
“Liar.”
“Jerk.”
“Loving girlfriend.”
“You suck at insults.”
“You cringed when I said
loving,
so it counts.”
“Golden Boy.”
“Angry Girl.”
I smiled, feeling a lot less angry. He was good at that.
We returned to the living room, and though dessert was painful, it wasn’t excruciating. Cade chatted with my parents, so I didn’t have to. Cade was also exceptionally good at keeping them on innocuous topics that wouldn’t erupt into the arguments that normally typified our holiday dinners.
He was exactly what our family had been missing . . . well, since Alexandria’s accident. She was the good one, the one who always knew what to say and how to act. She was the ingredient that made our family work, and she was gone. Having Cade here made it easier to remember her withoht smile. I re
Cade
T
he rest of the night went quickly, and before I knew it, we were saying good-bye. Mrs. Miller hugged me tightly, and Mr. Miller shook my hand.
“Say we’ll see you again soon, Cade. Christmas?”
I looked at Max, and she shrugged and said, “Sure, we’ll talk about it.”
We’d be “broken up” before then. I wondered how she would actually do it. She should make me the bad guy, that way she wouldn’t get any flack over it.
“Have a safe flight tomorrow,” I told them. Mrs. Miller hugged me again, almost like she was assuring herself I was real. Then they walked down the stairs and left. I closed the door and took in Max’s apartment. Her mother had insisted on leaving behind all the dishes she’d bought, along with some pillows, an afghan, the Christmas tree, and who knows what else.
It wasn’t empty anymore, but it was still lifeless because it wasn’t Max.
“Well, Angry Girl . . .”
“We survived,” she said.
I wasn’t ready to leave, but I didn’t have another excuse to stay.
I had one more reason to keep us together, but I was pretty damn certain it was a bad idea. When I’d agreed to do all of this, she’d promised me a date.
It had seemed harmless before—an innocent attraction. I had thought it would get my mind off of Bliss, and it had. I had thought of it like a date with a safety net, because we both knew it wouldn’t go anywhere.
But I didn’t know that anymore. Well, maybe my mind did, but the rest of me didn’t. Any date between us now wouldn’t be harmless, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be simple.
So as much as I wanted to, I didn’t mention the date.
She said, “Thanks for putting up with all of this. After what I’ve put you through, I probably fingernails scrape sit">FINDING IT
should
have paid you. You could have put it on your résumé—expert boyfriend.”
“Hey, I got some pretty great food out of it. I think that’s enough for most guys.”
“Food and sex,” she said.