Max eyes the neon lights warily. “Umm, Eli? I think I’m overdressed for this place.”
I glance at her. “You’re wearing a sweater dress.”
“Exactly. What do women wear in this place? Thongs?”
Are you wearing a thong?
Stop it, Eli!
“I’m just saying,” she pouts, “I’m overdressed and under-contoured. I’ll stay in the truck and let you do your thing.”
“Yeah, no. I don’t know you well enough to trust you alone in my truck with all this tech.”
She smirks. “Perceptive, eh?”
“Max. Out of the truck.”
She jumps to my command. Quick, obedient, like her body responds before her mouth has a chance to catch up.
I sort of like how the flicker of pride stirs low in my pants at the way she listens to me.
I grab Drake’s wallet from the center console then slam the door shut behind me. I walk to the back and grab a coat for her. She has to be cold.
People who aren’t from here never pack correctly. Snow looks cute on postcards, but living in it is a whole different sport. Most of the Black folks I know have never seen it in real life, and even the ones who grew up around winter weren’t trained forthis. Canada doesn’t do mercy. And Max is out here dressed like optimism alone was going to keep her warm. She is unprepared as hell.
“Here, put this on.”
“Uhh. It doesn’t go with my outfit?”
I blink. “So you’re really willing to freeze to death because my green coat doesn’t match your little yellow sweater dress?”
She frowns like I’ve personally offended her aesthetic. “Did you not just hear yourself? It’s green.”
“Whatever,” I mutter, tossing the coat back into the truck.
“Okay,” she says, pausing. “Fine. I’ll take the coat.”
That’s what I thought.
I reach back in and grab the coat and watch as she wiggles herself into it. It fits her more like a throw blanket.
I follow her toward the entrance—and immediately notice the change.
Those cute suede boots? They’ve soaked up snow like sponges. Now they squeak faintly with every step, and her confident strut turns into a careful, tiptoe shuffle. She’s trying to play it cool, shoulders back, chin high, like nothing’s wrong… while walking like the ground might betray her at any second.
One heel slips. She catches herself. Keeps going.
I bite the inside of my cheek.
She’s still got that sway, still moving like she knows she’s being watched, but now there’s tension in it. Her knees are stiff, steps short, balance negotiated one cautious foot at a time.
And somehow, the combination of wet boots, stubborn pride, and sheer determination makes her even cuter than she was two minutes ago.
She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met—especially in a place like this.
I hadn’t even considered that she and Drake would likely be the worst pairing imaginable. Together, the two of them will annoy the shit out of me.
I shake my head at the thought, then grit my teeth and walk in, praying I survive this intolerable, insatiable woman.
