Chapter Twelve
Thirty minutes later, Max made it out of the building with his smuggled bundle. After a quick stop at Larry’s coffee stand, he walked through the park, his breath puffing in the cold air, and T-Bone on his leash, stopping to sniff and mark his territory every so often.
Not five minutes after grabbing his coffee, Max heard a child’s voice rang out. “T-Bone!”
“What the—”
Three kids of varying ages ran over to give the little dog love.
Max looked around for parents only to find a college-aged girl sitting on a bench with her phone in hand, waving. The nanny he guessed. Okay, so these kids knew the dog?
Seeing him being petted by children, other kids then begged their parents to see the “doggie.” A few minutes later Max was mobbed.
“The dog’s a kid magnet,” he muttered.
Sure enough, T-Bone stood still and calm—except his odd tail, which wagged at a frantic pace while all the kids clamored to pet his tufty fur or lean over to give him kisses. One little girl giggled over his one floppy ear. “He’s so cute!”
“I swear he is smiling,” Max grumbled.
And of course, Gina allowed it. The woman probably lapped it up. Only instead of irritation, something warm and fuzzy settled in the region of his heart.
Mid-thought, a girl tugged on T-Bone’s ear a bit too hard. The dog didn’t make a sound or a move, even though he was obviously uncomfortable. Max knelt to the child’s level. “Hey, sweetie. You don’t want to hurt him, do you?”
The child, maybe three years old, shook her head, her big brown eyes wide.
“You know what he really likes?” Max asked.
Again, she shook her head.
“He loves it when you scratch his chest. Watch, he’ll roll over so you can pat his belly.”
Max reached out and scratched at the white patch on T-Bone’s chest. Sure enough, the dog flopped to his side so that his belly could receive some good rubs.
“See?” Max asked.
The little girl giggled and gave his tummy a couple pats.
After a few more minutes, Max glanced at his watch and gave a start. That was twice today his schedule had been thrown off. “Sorry kids, gotta run.”
The kids groaned, reluctant to stop their play. Max scooped T-Bone up, despite the dog hair that would stick to his shirt like cactus needles. “You’ll have to see him again another day,” he said to the protesting kids.
Then he grinned to soften the words and carried T-Bone out of the park.
“Let’s get your water bowl and food,” he chatted conversationally. T-Bone seemed to smile at the idea.
Using Gina’s spy bag, he managed to get upstairs and to her apartment without any trouble. The same colorful chaos as last night reigned, but he ignored it, until he wandered into her bedroom and stopped dead.
In the middle of a bunch of paint-stained clothes sat a large model, of a stage he assumed. Gorgeous and intricate, with moving parts that would slide back to reveal new rooms and scenes. A two-story tall curved wall showed both the outside and inside of a castle, depending on which direction it faced, and could also split in the middle to provide yet another view.
Gina was incredibly talented.
A swell of pride rose inside him—foreign and inexplicable. She wasn’t his to be proud of. Not really.
But that issue took a back seat to a bigger problem staring him in the face.
The woman’s creative process was pure mayhem. She kept her tools in shoeboxes, for heaven’s sake. Max glanced at his watch again, doing some mental math. Luckily the game today was a late afternoon one, so he’d have time before meeting Drew at the bar.
Five hours later, Max pulled up a stool to sit beside Drew, doing his best to hide a frown at there being the third person at the bar with them. Was nothing in his life sacred?
He was off-center enough as it stood. He’d spent half of his damn day fixing his fake girlfriend’s pandemonium, organizing it all in the nicest gesture in the history of fake boyfriends. And every single second he’d been asking himself why he was bothering.
Meeting Drew at the bar was supposed to put him back on schedule, back on the right foot. They had a standing meet-up at one of their favorite sports bars to watch Sunday football, only today, Drew showed up with Brandon.
Not that Max didn’t like Brandon. The guy was decent, funny, and shared interesting stories about being a bomb tech. However, his being here was one more thing not going like it should in Max’s life.
Right now, T-Bone was snuggled down in his palace in Gina’s bathroom and a certain brunette wouldn’t vacate his thoughts. Even sitting there, his dick was ready to go at the slightest thought of her. What bothered him most, however, was not that he had to watch the dog, or even the cleaning, but that he missed Gina.
A situation that passed “problem” status and went straight to DEFCON 5. Missing her meant she was getting too close. Fixing her shit meant she was getting way too close. He couldn’t let her in more than she already had managed to infiltrate his life. He liked his life the way it was, dammit.
“Nate.” He caught the bartender’s attention. “How about we change the figure skating to the game?”
The bartender flicked him an annoyed glance. Damn. He’d let his irritation with himself leak into his voice. Get a grip, Carter.
“What’s up your ass?” Drew asked beside him.
Max ignored him as Nate switched the channel. He picked up his beer and took a long swig instead.
“Gina?” Drew prodded. Trust him to poke at an open wound with a stick.
“No,” Max denied abruptly.
“The woman you brought to the Christmas party?” Brandon asked from Drew’s other side.
Max shot Drew a warning look, which his friend interpreted with ease. The fewer people who knew about Gina and his deception the better.
“Max doesn’t date,” Drew explained. “He hooks up. And Gina’s stuck around longer than most.” He shrugged as if that explained it.
“What’s so special about her?” Brandon asked. “Does she have chocolate-flavored nipples or something?”
“Watch it,” Max growled.
Brandon grinned as he held up a hand. “No offense, but I don’t do relationships, either. Based on how you couldn’t pull your eyes or hands off her at the party and your…ray of sunshine act now, I’d say this girl’s obviously got under your skin.”
Max eyed Brandon. The guy sounded jaded. Still, maybe he had a viewpoint worth considering. “And?” he prompted.
Brandon shrugged. “Until you figure out what’s special about her, and if it’s worth keeping around, I’d say steer clear, cut the ties, or at least keep her at a distance. Otherwise, you’re only setting both of you up for pain.”
Max nodded slowly. A few of the women he’d encountered had wanted more, and it had caused issues. Only his rules had kept things in check, as those ladies never knew much about him, making it harder for them to track him down. Gina, on the other hand, not only knew where he lived, but was situated a few doors down.
Still, the thought of cutting ties or keeping his distance didn’t sit well, even as logic dictated that was his smartest move.
“Whatever the hell special means,” he muttered.
Brandon snorted. “Hell if I know. The one woman I thought was it slept with my brother. Ask Drew, he seems blissfully ignorant.”
“Hey,” Drew grumbled.
“Did I say ignorant? I meant whipped.” Brandon’s good ol’ boy grin took the sting out of his words.
Drew laughed. “I think you owe me a beer for insulting my girl.”
Brandon tipped his glass in Drew’s direction. “Fair enough.”
Sobering, Drew turned back to Max. “Special is you can’t picture your life without her in it. She makes you want to be a better person.”
“Thanks for the Afterschool Special definition,” Max drawled to cover his true reaction. I’m so fucked.
Drew cast him a studious look, seeing more than Max wanted, probably, then frowned. “If it’s gone that far, what’s the problem?”
“The problem is me. No woman is going to stick around for my brand of…” Max shoved his fingers through his hair. Like Max’s family, Drew saw it more than most, but Max still had no intention of labeling himself. His need for control and order was exhausting. Even if he wanted a relationship… “I like my life the way it is.”
Drew considered him. “Then Brandon’s right. End it before you both get hurt…unless you think she’s worth the risk.”
…
Gina dragged herself down the hall to her apartment, her feet protesting each and every step along the way. As soon as she was inside, she dropped her bags by the door and leaned back against the closed door.
Who knew wrapping Christmas presents could be this exhausting?
After her stint as an elf, she’d headed to her gift-wrapping gig. Mid-shift, her boss had asked her to work a double, at time and a half, closing out the store at eleven that night. Of course, she’d jumped at the extra money, but now exhaustion didn’t begin to cover her physical state. Walking dead was closer to how she felt. She’d practically been asleep on her feet as she’d made her way home.
She flexed her fingers, which ached more than her feet, and glanced at the pads, semi-expecting to see massive blisters on the tips, but they only appeared a bit red. At least she’d given Max her spare key so he could let T-Bone out. No need to drag herself downstairs before she fell into bed for a week.
Levering off the door, she intended to do just that. But as soon as she made it into her room, she froze.
She’d left the place in a bit of a shambles mid-project, her own system that worked for her. Anytime she made physical models, a certain amount of chaos reigned until she was done. This model, more complicated than most, was also taking longer than most.
Except, the huge mess she’d left no longer existed. Her model still sat on a platform in the middle of the cloths she’d laid down to protect Sabrina’s floors and furniture. Everything else that had been scattered about or piled in shoeboxes was now organized into what appeared to be brand new boxes, bins, and containers.
Oh. My. God.
Only one person could have done this.
Max.
She stared at her half-finished model with a sickening lump forming where her stomach was supposed to be.
For someone who hated people fixing his life, Max had done the same thing in a big way. Hell, she’d even told him while decorating his apartment that she had a process. That changing it ruined everything.
She was exhausted, but now she was also teetering between wanting to fall into bed and wanting to punch Max in the face.
Grumbling under her breath, she tried to let it go and get ready for bed instead. A quick check revealed T-Bone snuggly sound asleep in her bathroom. With jerky movements, Gina kicked off her shoes—which had been zero help after that many hours on her feet—and flopped face down onto the bed with a ploof.
Her mind whirled. What Max saw as chaos was her creative process. She’d had everything grouped and laid out the way she needed it for each stage of the project. Now she was just…lost.
Angry heat rolled through her body. So much for letting it go.
A tiny whimper followed by scratching caught her attention. Her voice must’ve woken the dog. With a groan, she heaved herself back up and let T-Bone out of his pen. Then she resumed her spot on the bed. T-Bone jumped up beside her, turned in a circle, and snuggled into her side, content to lay there with her.
“I’m going to kill Max,” she told T-Bone.
He didn’t move, other than to prick his one ear up at Max’s name.
Gina ran her hand over his tufty fur, trying to calm down, sleep moving further and further out of her grasp. It was no use.
Just like every other boyfriend, he couldn’t handle the way she lived her life. He’d seemed cool with the odd jobs, and the dog, and eventually the decorating, sort of, but Gina herself…she was too much. Like always.
T-Bone snuggled closer and gazed at her with those big brown eyes, his doggy senses keying into her spiraling mood.
Seriously, where did Max get off? While she wasn’t a neat and tidy type person, she wasn’t a total slob. Only the way she created got bad, but that worked in her head. She knew where each tool, each paintbrush was. Now she’d have to go through everything to find it, slowing down her progress.
She lay there for a few more moments, getting more and more worked up. Why couldn’t he just leave the dog and ignore her stuff? It’s not like he was her real boyfriend. Unless this was payback for decorating his apartment?
Unfortunately, now she was wide awake. No way could she go knock on Max’s door at midnight to give him a piece of her mind. Resigned to fuming alone, she changed into PJs, got ready for bed, and slipped between the sheets, T-Bone beside her.
Only sleep didn’t come. She lay in her bed, tossing and turning and getting more and more pissed at Max.
When 2 a.m. came, she gave up. According to Sabrina, Max was in the gym by now most nights. Gina debated for a solid fifteen minutes, but she knew she wouldn’t get to sleep until she let him have it. With a hmmph, she threw back the covers and headed down to the gym.