The Cora Carmack New Adult Boxed Set: Losing It, Keeping Her, Faking It, and Finding It plus bonus material (27 page)

18

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.”

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 without hurting.

When Mom brought out the pumpkin pie, she wouldn’t let anyone have a slice until they’d said something they were thankful for. Dad was thankful for the good food, and Mom was thankful that they got to be in Philadelphia for the holiday.

I wasn’t even lying when I said, “I’m thankful Cade could be here today.”

He had an arm around the back of my chair, and his hand came up and touched my hair lightly.

My mother said, “What about you, Cade? What are you thankful for?”

His eyes stayed fixed on mine. His hand brushed the side of my neck where my bird tattoos were hidden by my turtleneck sweater. He said, “I’m grateful that the past is the past, and the future is ours to make.”

I blinked, and thought
pheromones.
I mouthed, “Show off,” then slid him my piece of pie (which I also didn’t like). Somehow, Mom never seemed to remember that.

Mom asked, “Anyone want coffee with their pie?”

“I do,” I said.

Mom stood, and Cade joined her. He cupped my shoulder and said, “I’ll get it.”

“I take it—”

“One cream, two sugars. I remember.”

Seriously, this guy was good.

I watched him as he fiddled with my coffeemaker and chatted with my mom. The guy was too selfless . . . too everything. There had to be something wrong with him. Guys like him didn’t exist. And if they did, one had certainly never been interested in me.

19

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
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.

Cue awkward silence. Her cheeks flushed prettily, and I let the silence go on for a little longer, just because I liked seeing her out of her element.

Finally, she threw her hands up, exasperated, and said, “What? It’s the truth! Are you implying that you don’t think about sex constantly, Golden Boy?”

“Oh, I definitely think about it.” I was thinking about it right now, and it was not making leaving this apartment any easier. My eyes, as usual, were drawn to her lips, and I had the sudden urge to ruffle her hair so that it was closer to her normal style. I wanted her out of that ridiculous turtleneck, so that I could see her creamy skin and the art that enhanced it. God, was it only this morning that I’d seen her tree tattoo in its entirety? I could still picture the bare branches and twisting roots. I wondered what it meant to her. I wondered what it would be like to trace the lines with my fingertips. With my lips.

She cleared her throat, and I realized I’d been standing there staring at her, imagining her naked for who knows how long.

I coughed. “Well, I should probably go.”

Go beat my head against a wall. Go jump in front of a moving car. Go get a life. Any of the above was appropriate.

“Right,” she said. “Um, thank you . . . again for all of
this
.”

I shook my head and smiled. “It was nothing. I’ll see you around, Angry Girl.”

I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. She said, “Good night Cade.”

I only let myself look back for a second, and then I said, “Good night.” I walked down the flight of stairs and out into the street. Chinatown was fairly busy, since the restaurants were all still open on Thanksgiving. I took one last look at the door to Max’s building, and then promised to forget it.

I refused to let myself want what I couldn’t have. I wouldn’t go through that all again. I said, “Good-bye, Max,” and set off for the nearest subway stop.

I was too lazy on Friday to get out of bed. I lay there until far too late in the afternoon to not be pathetic. Eager to accomplish at least
something
during my day, I dialed my grandmother’s phone number.

I’d lied to Bliss about her being ill because I knew Bliss wouldn’t question it. Grams had gotten sick around the beginning of our senior year—pneumonia—and it had scared the shit out of me. She was all I had, and I’d thought I was going to lose her. I was twenty-one, and my entire life had revolved around partying like most kids in college. But that’s not how I wanted our final months in college together to be. That was around the time when I made myself start getting serious about the future. That was around the time I started having feelings for Bliss, too.

It took her to the fourth or fifth ring to answer, probably because it took her that long to get to the phone. She was old . . . and as she liked to say “slow as molasses.”

She answered, “You got me.”

I’d never heard anyone else answer the phone like her.

“Hi, Grams.”

“Oh, Cade! It’s so good to hear from you. We all missed you terribly yesterday.”

I closed my eyes, surprisingly affected by the sound of her voice. It must have been the discussion of my parents yesterday and all that time with the Millers. Family was fresh on my mind.

“I missed you, too, Grams.”

“How was Thanksgiving with Bliss, dearie?”

I hadn’t told Grams about any of the stuff that had happened with Bliss. I’d told her I was having Thanksgiving there because I couldn’t afford to come home, and I didn’t want her insisting on paying for the trip. Her retirement check barely covered all her bills, and she’d done enough for me. I hated lying to her, but it was a necessary evil.

“Oh, you know Bliss and me, things are always interesting.”

I heard her raspy laugh on the other end. “Oh, I bet.”

Grams had met Bliss during the second show of our senior year. We went out to dinner after the play, and on the way out of the restaurant, Bliss had walked into a glass door. Grams told me afterward that she knew I loved Bliss because I didn’t laugh at what she called “the funniest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

God, I missed her. And Bliss. I missed a lot of things.

“So everyone made it yesterday?”

“Oh, yes, yes. The little ones asked after you.”

Every other holiday, some aunts and uncles and cousins joined us. It didn’t make for a very big family gathering, but I suppose I had more than a lot of people do.

“I wish I could have been there. I can’t wait for Christmas.”

I wasn’t sure yet exactly how I was going to afford to go home for Christmas, but I would. If I had to take out more loans on top of my school ones, I would. It wasn’t like I wouldn’t be paying those back for a century anyway.

Someone knocked at the door, and I said, “Hey, Grams, someone is at the door. Can I call you back later? I want to hear all about how yesterday went with the family.”

“Of course, honey. Tell Bliss I said hi.”

I swallowed and said, “Uh-huh. Love you. Bye.”

A second round of knocks came as she said good-bye and hung up the phone.

Through the door, a voice called, “
Hermano!
You in there?”

“Just a sec, Milo!”

I rolled off my bed and pulled a T-shirt over my head. I padded barefoot toward the door of my studio apartment, and undid the dead bolt.

I yawned and pulled the door wide.

I was in pajama pants, and Milo looked like he’d raided Urban Outfitters. He said, “Whoa. Either you had a really late night or are currently having a really early one.”

“Sadly, neither.”

Before I could invite him in, he’d already passed by me and plopped down on the futon in my living room.

I laughed and closed my door.

“This isn’t still about that Bliss girl, is it?”

It felt good to be able to say, “No, it’s not about Bliss.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve already gotten your heart broken by some other
chica
. I only left you alone for a day.”

“No, no broken heart. Just an unavailable girl.”

Milo stretched his legs out in front of him and nodded. “Ah, you know the cure for that don’t you?”

“What?”

“An available girl.” Laughing, I made my way to the fridge and held up a beer in offering. Milo nodded, and I grabbed one for each of us. He said, “I’m serious. I happen to have it on good authority that you picked up a phone number the other night. Forget the unavailable girl . . . both of them . . . and call the blonde from the other night.”

That wasn’t a bad idea.

Dating was the solution to my Bliss (and now Max) problem.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” I told him.

I picked up my phone to find her number, and he said, “Whoa! Whoa! Don’t do it now,
hermano.
You’ve got to give it a few days. You know the rules.”

I rolled my eyes. Right . . . Milo had rules for just about everything—drinking and dating being the two most prominent.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll call her tomorrow.”

He made a face and said, “Eh, better make it the day after. That girl was all over you at the bar. We don’t want to encourage too much clinginess. The day after tomorrow will be much better.”

So Sunday afternoon, with Milo obnoxiously watching from my sofa, I called Cammie. I pulled out my cell, found her in my address book, and hit send quickly, before I could change my mind.

She answered on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Cammie?” I asked.

“Yes?”

I said, “This is Cade.” Then I couldn’t remember if I’d actually told her my name at the bar, so I added, “We met at Trestle a few nights ago.”

“Oh.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “Hi, Cade.”

“Hi.”

Milo whispered, “Set the date up for this weekend. Give her plenty of time to get nervous about it.”

I rolled my eyes, but asked, “What are your plans this Friday night, Cammie? And whatever it is, can I steal you away from it?”

“Steal me? I think I’d go quite willingly.”

She giggled.

Now I just needed to figure out where we would go. And how to get her there. If I were still back in Texas I would have picked her up, but I didn’t have a car, and it seemed odd to pick someone up for the subway.

“Excellent,” I said. “It’s a date. I’ll call you back in a few days to let you know what we’re doing.”