The Consequence of Revenge
“Fine.” He dropped my hand. Was he seriously admitting defeat so soon? “We should probably plan my revenge tonight anyways.”
“Revenge?” Keeping up with Max was like trying to follow the thought process of a first grader on his first day of school. One minute he’s talking about pencils, the next he’s eating the crayons.
“For Reid, tell me—” Max put his hands on his hips, drawing my eyes to exactly where I had no business looking. He groaned. “Okay, tell me but please don’t stare at me while I ask you this question, it makes things—”
“Hard.” I grinned.
“You have no damn clue.” Max swore violently for a few seconds.
“Garfield?” I offered. “That help?”
“Right, thanks.” Breath hissed between his teeth. “Reid told you what, exactly?”
I scratched my head. “He said that you were nervous and having a rough night and that if I just rubbed your leg you’d feel at ease. He said it was one of your things.”
“One of my things?” Max’s eyebrows shot up as he repeated under his breath, “One of my things, that bastard!”
“I’m guessing it’s not?”
“The hell it’s not!” Max roared. “Any guy would sell his soul to get a woman to touch him like that. The problem isn’t the touching; it’s the situation that caused it! Damn it, Reid!” Max’s voice rose. “Look at the goat, notice anything?”
Um, yeah. It was entirely too pleased to be eating Max’s clothes.
“Look closer.”
I looked closer.
“Get there faster.”
I blinked. “Holy crap, are those your boxers?”
“All of them. Just in case you weren’t aware.” Max swore. “Oh, and P.S.: Here’s a free anatomy lesson. The better the clothing barrier the less chance you have of a . . . cheerful surprise.”
I giggled and then full-out laughed my ass off.
“Yeah, so now it’s war, and during wartime, we don’t laugh. We get even.”
“And how do we plan on doing that? Hmm?”
Max’s grin was pure evil. “Oh, I have a few ideas. How comfortable are you with scaring him shitless?”
I pretended to think about it.
“Not the time for hesitation. You’re either hashtag Team Max or hashtag Team Reid.”
“Did you just hashtag yourself?”
“Yes!” Max threw his hands in the air. “Because what we’re about to embark on is Twitter-trend-worthy, all right? You in or out?”
He held out his hand.
I grabbed it. “In, of course.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Who says I’m yours?” I teased.
“That,” Max said seriously, nodding toward me. “That look in your eyes. It says it for me.” His tone was confident, but something in his eyes gave me pause. He looked . . . unsure of himself.
He tilted his head, licked his lips, then opened his mouth—but no sound came out. Was it possible he was feeling just as unsure as I was?
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
BECCA
Max walked over to his suitcase and pulled out a black bag with masking tape across it. Written on the masking tape was “OMRT.”
“Uh—” I pointed. “What’s that stand for?”
“Operation: Max’s Reign of Terror.”
“Yeah, and it’s not weird you actually labeled something that. That doesn’t make me doubt your sanity at all.”
Max rolled his eyes. “Please, I’m always prepared for all possible outcomes. I’m like freaking Bradley Cooper in Limitless but with better eyes.”
Max had finally snapped.
“Pay attention.” He unzipped the black bag. “Because this is going to take a type of finesse that can’t be taught, although it could possibly be learned if you have someone like me to teach you. Lucky for us I was born with it.”
I tried desperately not to roll my eyes. “Fine, what do I do?”
Max pulled out a needle and flicked it with his finger.
“Whoa!” I held up my hands.
“HA!” He laughed. “Freaked you out, right?”
“I’m not laughing.”
“Please.” He snorted. “It’s one tranquilizer.”
“Tranquilizer? Where the hell did you get a tranquilizer?”
“Online. What you think? I zookeep on my days off?”
“No,” I snapped. “Because having days off means you have days off, meaning you’re employed!”
“Who says I’m not employed?” Max asked, his shoulders tense.
I shuffled my feet. “Well, are you?”
“Are you?” he snapped then let out a groan.
I held up my hands. “Whoa there, easy. And for your information, I don’t just work at Starbucks. I’m a student, you know, studying to do something with my life.”
Max let out a snort.
It was the first time I’d seen his happy-go-lucky façade stripped and in its place something that looked a lot like regret and a bit of anger came to the surface.
“I, um.” I exhaled loudly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Damn it, Becca. I can’t concentrate with you breathing down my neck! Now, hold the needle while I pull out the Bengay.” Okay, so apparently that part of the conversation was closed. Max was back to his oddly attractive self and I was left wondering what the hell had just happened. Clearly jobs were a bit of a sore subject.