He snorts, unbothered. “Nobody’s reeled you in this much in a long time, right?”
The worst part? He’s right. And he knows it.
“Why did you even insist on hanging out with me?” I ask, spearing another fry and popping it into my mouth.
“Because I don’t have any friends,” Maksim says with a casual shrug, like he just mentioned he was out of milk.
I pause mid-bite and stare at him. “Huh?”
He leans back in the booth, chewing slowly, his gaze drifting around the retro diner before coming back to me.
“I have people who want to be my friend,” he says through a mouthful of burger. “I talk to them, hang out when I’m bored. But…”
He swallows and takes a sip of his soda. “I don’t see them as my friends. I’ve never actually wanted friends.”
I blink at him, trying to reconcile that statement with the guy sitting in front of me. Maksim doesn’t look like someone who shouldn’t have friends. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, handsome in the kind of way that makes people stare. Tattoos cover his arms in bold sleeves, with smaller designs crawling up the side of his neck—birds in flight just below his jaw. He recently got a spine tattoo and wouldn’t stop posting about it on Instagram, flexing in every mirror he could find.
He’s got piercings scattered across his face and ears— a silver stud in his nose, a triple helix climbing one ear, and aneyebrow piercing that complements his face. His buzzcut is in the awkward stage of growing out, bleached in streaks that look like deliberate art.
He has that edgy bad boy look, dangerous but magnetic. And yet… under all that ink, metal, and bravado, there’s this playful side that’s annoyingly contagious. Even when he’s driving me insane, he somehow makes me want to keep listening.
“You’re studying me,” he says suddenly, one brow arched in amusement.
I clear my throat and drop my gaze to my plate. “I’m not.”
He grins, leaning forward like he’s in on some private joke.
“I like someone.”
I glance back up at him, caught off guard. His smirk lingers, but there’s something else in his eyes, something that almost looks serious.
“I’ve liked this person for years,” he continues, his voice gentle, picking at the edge of his fries. “And they like me back… I think. But they keep holding back.”
There’s a quiet moment between us then—him leaning back with that careless grin, me pretending to focus on my food but wondering what kind of person could make Maksim sound like that.
I look back up and catch him staring at me. I raise a brow.
“What?”
“Well, give me some advice.” He exhales like this is the heaviest problem in the world. “I need to know how you pulled Alex into being so obsessed with you. What trick did you use? What voodoo?”
I blink at him, incredulous. “I didn’t use any voodoo or tricks… Maybe ask Igor. He looks like someone who’s been in plenty of relationships and would know how to make someone obsessed or whatever.”
“Mmm, Igor likes women,” Maksim says with an eyeroll. “He wouldn’t know how to pull a man.”
That makes me pause, fork halfway to my mouth. “Wait. What?”
“Christ, Lucas—keep up.” He leans forward, suddenly serious, like he’s about to tell me the kind of secret that changes the course of history. “I’m gay. Been gay since the womb. The man I like? Also gay and he’s thirty-two. He was married to this annoying guy, but they thankfully divorced two years ago. His family’s law firm handles all my family’s business matters, and his family and mine are very close.”
I open my mouth to say something, but he’s on a roll.
“We had a one-night stand the day he finalized his divorce, which also happened to be my twentieth birthday. Years of fantasizing about him, and I finally—” Maksim throws his hands up in the air for emphasis— “get to sleep with him. And then after that, He disappears. Leaves the country for a year and a half. No contact. Nothing.”
I’m already struggling to keep up, but he’s not done.
“He came back recently because his dad retired, so now he’s officially our family lawyer. And yet, he still acts like nothing happened that night. Pretends I don’t exist. We can be in the same damn room and he’ll talk to everyone but me.”
I just stare at him. My brain is still trying to process everything—each sentence slamming into me before the last one has even settled.
