The Cora Carmack New Adult Boxed Set: Losing It, Keeping Her, Faking It, and Finding It plus bonus material (25 page)

14

Max

T
his was a catastrofuck of colossal proportions.

I hit accept and said, “Hi, babe.” The sound on his end was garbled and booming. He must have been in some kind of club because the music was blasting. “Mace?”

“Maxi Pad!”

And . . . he was drunk.

“We’ve talked about this, Mace. There are funny nicknames, and there are atrocious ones. That one is the latter.”

“Maxi . . . Come meet me at Pure.”

Shit, if he was there, he’d probably been popping pills rather than downing beer.

“I can’t, Mace.”

“Yes, you can. Christ, Max, this shit is awesome. You have to come try it.”

Just as I thought. I wasn’t judging him. I’d done too many screwed-up things over the years to do that, but I didn’t have room for that kind of stuff in my life. If I dealt with my pain that way, there would be no reason to put it into my music instead, and then I’d be left with nothing.

“Listen, Mace, I had a really rough day at work.”

“I’ll take your mind off of it.” His voice was gravelly and slurred. His voice normally made me weak in the knees. Not tonight. I wasn’t up for any kind of solution he had to offer.

“No, Mace. I’m just going to go to sleep.”

“Fuck, Max. First, you bail on me this morning.”

“My parents are in town, and
you
bailed on
me
.”

He didn’t even listen to me, just kept right on talking. “Now, you won’t even come out when I won’t see you at all tomorrow.”

I couldn’t deal with this right now. It took all of my control not to just hang up the phone.

“I can’t, okay? We’ll talk when you’re sober. Good night.”

I clicked the phone off and sank down onto the couch. I pressed the cool phone screen to my heated cheek, and placed my other hand on the cushion beside me. There were so many thoughts running through my head—thoughts about Mace and Cade. But it had been a long, emotional day. I wasn’t stupid enough to let myself make a decision in the heat of the moment. Even if I could still feel Cade’s hands on my back, and his face beneath my fingertips when I closed my eyes.

Catastrofuck. Definitely.

All I wanted to do was take a shower, but then I’d screw up the bandages on my back. Instead, I shucked off my clothes and fell into bed and oblivion.

He tugged on my hair, and I felt the pull run down my spine all the way to my toes. He pulled my head back, and his lips came down on my neck. He dragged his mouth softly down the column of my throat, and then his teeth grazed my collarbone.

I moaned embarrassingly loud.

He rewarded me with another nip of his teeth.

I burrowed my hands underneath his shirt, and dug my fingers into his lower back. His hips pressed forward into mine, and I could feel his muscles flexing beneath my palms.

He left my collarbone, and nosed aside my shirt, kissing down my sternum. His tongue dragged across one of the branches on my tattoo, and I felt like I was burning alive. His stubble scratched against my sensitive skin, and my legs went weak.

“Please,” I begged.

“We shouldn’t,” he whispered.

I pulled his mouth to mine, determined to convince him. I wrapped an arm around his neck, and a leg around his hips, and pulled him into me. He steadied himself with one hand against the wall, and the other on my ass.

“Yes,” I hissed between kisses.

His kiss was intoxicating. Slow and fast. Soft and hard. I melted into him, happy to follow his lead.

He pulled back again. “You’re sure?”

Dear God, yes!

I nodded, and he spun me from the wall onto a bed. His hands ran up my legs, raising goose bumps and making me squirm. His fingers hooked around the fabric of my panties and pulled them down gently. My shirt was already gone, disappeared somewhere in the frenzy. He pressed his hips into mine, and my eyes rolled back in my head. Then the whole world rolled, and I was astride his hips. His messy hair looked so good against my pillow, and his brown eyes were so dark they were nearly black.

He slipped his hands underneath the frills of my skirt, gripped my thighs, and said, “Ride me.”

What was it about a nice boy saying naughty things that was so damn hot?

I threw my head back and groaned.

“Max.”

“Oh God,” I whimpered.

His hands traced my jaw, then gripped my face hard.

“Max, are you okay?”

God, yes.

I was so far beyond okay that I couldn’t even string together a sentence.

Hands gripped my shoulders, and the world spun. I opened my eyes, and I was no longer on top. Cade was hovering above me, entirely too far away. I reached a hand out toward his jaw.

That was odd. His stubble was gone. He’d shaved.

I hooked my hand around his neck, and pulled him closer.

He resisted, only for a second, but it was enough to give me pause. I blinked. My mouth was dry, and my head felt foggy.

His eyes were on my lips, and his expression pained. “Max . . .”

He pulled away from me, but I kept my hand wrapped around his neck. His movement pulled me up into a sitting position.

His took me in, and his eyes went dark. He exhaled sharply. “Oh fuck me.”

That was the plan, but his voice sounded strained, not seductive.

He averted his eyes to the ceiling, and plucked my hand from the back of his neck. I pulled my hand free, and let it run down his chest.

He didn’t pull my hand off of him this time, but he said, his voice low and gravelly, “Golden Boy nickname aside, I’m not a saint, Max.”

His body was stiff next to mine. I rubbed at my eyes, and slowly the world started to resurface. I was in my bed. In my apartment. Light filtered in through the window, and Cade was sitting on my bed,
fully clothed,
staring at the wall like it was Hitler.

Oh holy Hell, I was dreaming. I’d just put the moves on him in my sleep! I covered my mouth with my hand and racked my brain to try to remember if I’d said anything that would give me away.

When the shock wore off, I let my hand drop to my chest, where my fingertips touched bare skin.

I looked down and had to resist the urge to scream.

I WAS NAKED.

Like, gave him a look at my full-tree tattoo, naked.

Like, curl into the fetal position and die of mortification, naked.

I jerked the covers from my waist up to my chin. Beside me, Cade let out a long breath, and his shoulders relaxed.

As calmly as possible I asked, “What is going on?”

Inside, I was anything but calm. Only a sheet and a few measly articles of clothing on his part separated me from him, and my mind was still fogged with dream-induced desire. And to be honest, I was a little offended that he managed to look away.

A small, crazy part of me wanted to drop the sheet again and see how long his resolve could last. Cade pushed himself to his feet, and moved all the way across the room.

He said, “I knocked, but you didn’t answer. I was outside, and I heard you groan. It sounded like you were hurt or sick.” He looked back at me, and now I knew how he’d managed to look away from me . . . guilt. He hadn’t even done anything wrong! I was the one having pervy dreams about him, and I didn’t feel the least bit guilty. He said, “I swear, the door was unlocked, so I came in to check on you. I swear, I wasn’t trying
anything.
I’m sorry.
”

I wondered if I dropped the sheet now if he would try something. My body was wound so tight, I felt like I’d been dangling off the edge of a cliff for hours. And I
wanted
him to try something. I shook my head. I was so turned on that just the brush of the sheets against my chest made my breath catch in my throat.

No. Bad Max. You’re with Mace. Focus.

I must have forgotten to set my alarm before I went to bed.

The alarm had been important, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember the reason. I looked at Cade, and his eyes focused on the sheet fisted in my hands and held in front of my chest. A chill ran down my back, raising goose bumps. I shifted and
may
have turned my bare back toward him
slightly
. I saw his eyes go to the curve of my spine, and he swallowed.

The devil made me do it.

And by devil, I mean my uterus.

He took a step toward me, and I smiled gleefully for a few seconds.

Then I remembered why my alarm had been so important . . . and why he was even here.

Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving
plus
my parents.

Thanksgiving plus my parents plus me
naked
in a room with Cade.

That equaled disaster.

My seduction plan forgotten, I slid off the bed, careful to keep the sheet wrapped around my body. “Shit. What time is it?”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Almost nine.”

SHIT.

Right on cue, the buzzer on my apartment rang. I heard my mother call through the door. “Mackenzie, sweetie!”

And then, because I was the dumbass who couldn’t remember to lock her apartment, I heard the door swing open, followed by another “Sweetie?”

It was like one of those God-awful zombie movies, where you can hear them coming and you have nowhere to go. You just have to make peace with getting your brain eaten.

Mom was the zombie, and if she walked in here to find me naked with a boy, even a Golden Boy, both our brains would end up barbecued.

“Um, just a second, Mom!”

Shit. I went to run my hands through my hair, but forgot I was holding a sheet, which then slipped.

Cade made a noise in the back of his throat, and turned away. My hormone-riddled body really liked that sound, but this was
not the time
!

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

I must have uttered at least one of those out loud because Cade said, “It’s okay. I’ll go out and talk with them while you get ready.”

“You don’t understand! If you come out of my room, and then I go take a shower, my parents are going to assume you and I are sleeping together.”

“So don’t take a shower. You look beautiful just how you are.”

His eyes slipped down to take in my sheet, and he didn’t even look sorry. Where had all that guilt gone?

Down girl. Still not the time.

“I smell like smoke and alcohol and sweat, which is just as bad. Plus, bed head looks just like sex hair.”

He stepped up and rested his hands on my shoulders. It was meant to be reassuring, but it was bare skin on bare skin, which didn’t relax me at all. As twisted as it was, something about this whole situation still had me turned on. A small part of me
liked
that we could get caught, even if there wasn’t really a “we,” and no actual sex had been had.

“I’ll tell them the truth,” he said. “You overslept. I just got here.”

“Yeah. Like they’ll believe that.”

His thumbs stroked my shoulders softly, and my body almost wilted.

“I’ll make them believe. I promise.”

He stepped away like he hadn’t just caressed my bare skin, and I wasn’t naked beneath my sheet. His expression was calm and unreadable. It was like he wasn’t affected at all.

Were some men of a different species? Did they have different DNA that enabled them to be so much better than other guys?

I resisted the urge to drop my sheet again just to get a reaction out of him. I closed my eyes, and nodded. I kept my eyes closed as he slipped out of the room so that I wouldn’t do something stupid. I stood there, frozen and turned on, even after I heard him greet my parents.

It was going to be a long day.

15

Cade

F
or the second time in this apartment, I had a very awkward problem at a very inappropriate time.

If given the choice between facing Max’s parents like this and jumping into an active volcano, I would have to make a serious pros and cons list.

I took a few seconds to focus, even though I knew a few seconds would never be enough to get the sight of Max out of my head. She was exquisite, and my self-control was a thin line at the moment. Even now, I was fighting the urge to go back in there and kiss her, which was not helping me fight the other problem I had going on.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts, adjusted myself as best I could, and walked down the hall into the living room.

Please God don’t let Max’s mother try to hug me.

Max’s mother gave a shrill squeal when she saw me. “Cade! I didn’t know you were here.”

She was wrestling a turkey out of a cooler, and left it to come toward me for what I could only assume was a hug.

I moved like she was one of the Philadelphia Eagles coming in for a tackle, and darted around her.

“Here, let me get that for you!” I bolted for the turkey in the cooler, and used that as my excuse. I stepped right up to the counter, thankful for the cover that it gave me. When she didn’t call me on it, I breathed a sigh of relief and started trying to free the poultry.

The turkey was squishy and smelled like, well, raw meat. It helped diffuse my issue a little bit.

It was a big bird, and it was a tight fit in the cooler.

Tight fit.

Don’t go there, brain. You were doing so good.

I said the alphabet in my head to distract me as I pried the turkey free. It took a few minutes, but I was almost completely under control by the time I got the bird loose.

“Where do you want it, Mrs. M?”

Mick had just finished piling the last of their things on the kitchen table. It looked like they had brought a whole apartment with them. She grabbed a large pan, and brought it over to the counter beside me.

“Right in here, if you please.”

I did as she asked, then rinsed my hands in the sink.

I still had my coat and scarf on. Time to tell the truth and hope I could sell it. “Mackenzie overslept.” I figured throwing out Max’s real name might help, considering their refusal to call her by her nickname. “I actually just got here a few minutes before you guys.” I unhooked my scarf from my neck, hoping it would lend credence to my story. “She was working late last night, and must have worn herself out.”

Don’t go there either, brain. Focus.

I slipped off my coat, too, and then realized I had no idea where to put it. Did Max have a coat closet? Her parents weren’t wearing theirs. Where had they put them? Our whole story was going to come tumbling down because I didn’t know where to hang my coat. There were two doors that could be closets. Or they could be bathrooms or laundry rooms or who knows what.

“So, Mackenzie is getting dressed now?” Her mother’s brow furrowed, and I imagined her thinking the things Max had been afraid of.

“I think she might be taking a shower, actually. I told her not to worry about it, but I think she wants to look nice for you guys.”

Hopefully she wouldn’t come out in sweatpants or something.

“Do you think she wants to take pictures?” Mrs. Miller’s eyes lit up like Christmas had come early. Ah, well, that seemed to distract her pretty well.

“I think so. It is our first Thanksgiving together, after all. I think it’s something we should commemorate.”

I took a chance and opened one of the doors in the living room. BINGO! Coat closet. Day = saved.

I was sliding my coat on a hanger when Mrs. M attacked me from behind. Her arms went around my middle and squeezed so hard, I thought she was trying to give me the Heimlich.

“I am just
so happy
you came into Mackenzie’s life. Even after only a few weeks, you’ve had such a wonderful influence on her. She never lets me take pictures of her.”

Well, damn.

Max was going to be furious.

I smiled and said, “Oh, I don’t think I’ve changed her. She was amazing before me, and is amazing now.”

“Mick? Are you listening to this wonderful boy? You could afford to take some lessons from him!”

Mick heaved himself up off the couch and came into the kitchen. “You’re making the rest of us look bad, son.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Mrs. M swatted her husband on the arm.

“Don’t you dare listen to him, Cade.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I sighed. I had a feeling this would be happening a lot today.

I watched Mrs. M putter around the kitchen. I offered to help a few times, but she always waved me off. When she wasn’t cooking, she was decorating Max’s empty apartment. She’d brought throw pillows and afghans and picture frames. I was beginning to understand that Max was the complete opposite of her parents . . . probably because she
wanted
to be the complete opposite of her parents.

“Where are you from, Cade?”

“Texas, ma’am.”

“Oh, where at? We live in Oklahoma!”

“I grew up in Fort Worth.”

“And your parents are still there?”

I fidgeted, scratching at the back of my neck.

“My grandmother, actually. My mother died, and my dad isn’t really in the picture.”

She stopped, her hand still shoved up inside the turkey, and looked at me.

“Oh, honey. Bless your heart.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I was young. I don’t really even remember her. Besides, I have my grandmother. That’s enough.”

She used her turkey-free hand to gesture me closer. “Come here.”

I took a few steps, and she kept waving me closer until I was right beside her. Then with one hand still intimately exploring the inside of a turkey, she wrapped her other arm around me in a hug.

She said, “It doesn’t matter if you don’t remember your mother. I’m still so sorry for the things you had to face. It must have been difficult.”

It was weird, but the awkward turkey hug did make me feel better. I got why Max was so weird about her parents, but I would have given anything to have parents that would show up unannounced and intrude upon my life. Grams was too old to do anything like that, though I’m sure she would if she could.

“Um . . .
what
is happening right now?”

Mrs. M released me and I stepped away from her and the turkey. Max stood at the end of the hallway. I guess she decided against the shower. Her choppy red hair was styled calmer than I had ever seen it. She was wearing a turtleneck sweater that covered her multitude of tattoos. She was wearing less makeup, too. She looked like herself, still, but at maybe 25 percent of her normal vibrancy.

I missed the real her.

“Oh, nothing, dear,” Max’s mom said. “Cade just told me about his parents.”

“Right. His parents,” Max said. She shot me a wide-eyed look.

So, I changed the subject. “Mrs. Miller, tell me what Max was like as a child.”

Max groaned. Her mother practically cheered.

“I just happen to have baby pictures with me! I keep a photo album with me at all times.” Max stalked into the kitchen and threw herself down on the stool beside me.

“Yay. Baby pictures. What a great idea,
sweetheart.
” She laced her fingers with mine, and then lightly dug her fingernails into the back of my hand in warning. All I could think about was what it would feel like to have her fingernails dig into my skin under different circumstances.

I pulled her hand up to my mouth, and kissed the back. Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a breath. I smiled evilly and said, “Oh,
honey,
you can’t blame me for wanting to see your baby pictures.”

While her mother was distracted in the living room finding the album, Max leaned into my ear and said, “You bet your ass I can blame you. You’re not funny, Golden Boy.”

“Really? I thought it was hysterical.”

“Later, when we’re alone—”

“—I like the sound of that.”

She laughed loudly in the direction of the living room, totally fake, and then turned on me. “Don’t think I won’t murder you, pretty boy.”

“So, I was golden and now I’m pretty?”

She took another deep inhale, and I imagined she was counting to keep her anger under control. I liked her like this. With her cheeks pink and her eyes sparkling, she looked like herself despite the major style change.

“I can’t help it. It’s just so much fun to get you riled up.”

“You really want to play that game?”

“Here we go!” Her mother flitted into the room and slid the album in front of us.

The first picture was of the day they brought Max home from the hospital. The nursery was a mishmash of different pinks and had
MACKENZIE
painted across one wall. Max looked like most babies—small with a pink, pinched face, and no hair. Mrs. Miller had fluffy, curled bangs and looked like something out of
I Love the ’80s.

“Mrs. Miller, I have to say, you don’t look a day older now than you did then.”

She giggled, and swatted me on the shoulder. “Oh, stop.”

Max untangled her hand from mine and said under her breath, “Really, please stop.”

Max took control of the album and flipped through the book quickly, giving me barely any time to look at the pictures, but one thing was obvious. Max’s parents never let her be herself when she was younger. They dressed her in pink, frilly things that you could tell she didn’t like. Her hair was blond and always curled in perfect ringlets.

I leaned into her ear and whispered, “You’re naturally blond? It’s getting easier every minute to picture you in that cheer uniform.” If looks could take physical form, the one she gave me would have been a bitch slap.

She looked picture-perfect in every photo. Like a Barbie doll, and her smile in each was just as plastic. She was beautiful, but sad. She flipped the page, and I was treated to the real Cheerleader Max mid toe-touch.

“And now I no longer have to picture it.”

Her glare stayed firmly in place, but her lips curled up at the end slightly.

“Did you play sports?” Mrs. Miller asked me.

“I did, yes. Football and basketball.”

Max paused in turning the page and said, “Really?”

“I did grow up in Texas. Plus, I was good at it.”

She laughed. “Of course you were.”

“I bet you were a great cheerleader.”

“Great? Not really. Nearly homicidal? Sure.”

I got to see her in a bubblegum pink prom dress and graduation robes. We were approaching the end of the book, and I kept waiting for a more recent picture of her with her new, non-Barbie look. They never came. The album just ended, as if the last few years had never existed. I saw the relief written across her features when she flipped the last page. It was replaced by shock and something else I couldn’t identify when she saw a final picture taped to the inside of the back of the book.

It was a family photo, and she looked twelve, maybe thirteen. She had that distinctive preteen glare down pat. Behind her was a guy I assumed was her brother. He had the same blond hair and wore a letterman jacket. On the end was a girl, probably sixteen or seventeen that was the spitting image of Max. Or I guess it was the other way around, since her sister was older.

“Your brother and sister?” I asked.

Something in Max’s expression fractured. She spun to face her mother, and her expression was terrifying and terrified.

“No. We’re not doing this! Do you hear me? If this is why you came, you can leave.” She slammed the album shut, and stormed back into her bedroom.

I expected her mother to act shocked or upset, but she calmly picked up the album and returned it to her things, like she was picking up a book and returning it to the shelf. She walked back into the living room and took down a picture she’d placed on the coffee table, too.

I wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but I knew it had something to do with what Max mentioned about holidays the night before. And whatever it was, it had Max broken up into tiny little pieces that I hadn’t glimpsed until just now.