All mirth leaves his eyes as he glances at his watch. “It’s nearly eight-thirty.”
I shrug. “I forgot.”
“Sutton.”
My eyes lift to meet his at the sound of that firm tone.
“You need to eat.” He drops a couple twenties on the counter, then grabs our beers. “We have a whole spread upstairs…” His words trail off at the look on my face. “You don’t want that?”
“I’m at a ball game. I want hot dogs and greasy nachos, not caviar and oysters.”
He licks his lips as they pull into a slow smile, looking at me like I just told him I have no panties on beneath my jeans.
My cheeks heat, but I have no idea why he’s looking at me like that. “What?”
“You’re just full of surprises, that’s all.” He hands me my beer, then quickly says, “Don’t chug that one until I get some food in you.”
“Yes, Sir.”
His nostrils flare as he holds my gaze until I finally break the trance he has on me and start to head off in search of food.
“They don’t serve us caviar and oysters, by the way,” he says, catching up to me because each of his strides swallow mine up with ease. “Chicken wings, pasta salads… no caviar.”
“Not as fancy as you thought you were, huh?” I look over at him and wink, then quickly look away.
The banter between us shouldn’t be easy. I shouldn’t be so damn relieved that he’s here. That on this day of all days it’shispresence that makes the grief a little lighter.
Just seeing Max in the club level above was enough to ease the tension from my shoulders. And on a night where I’m trying to forget, surrounding myself with high energy and hundreds of strangers so my mind will be distracted about what today actually signifies, Max showing up felt like a gift from the universe.
“So, what are you doing here?” Max asks as we pass a bar, then an ice cream cart, pulling me out of my thoughts and reminding me that we’re closing in on some delicious, greasy food. “I’ve never seen you at a Bruins game.”
I open my denim jacket to reveal the red cropped t-shirt beneath and his eyes nearly bulge out of his head.
“You’re aHoosier?” He whispers the word like he’s speaking of Voldemort, then whistles lowly and shakes his head. “Ballsy move, my friend. Ballsy, ballsy move.”
I laugh. “Why do you think I haven’t taken off my jacket?”
“I’m guessing it’s because you don’t feel like getting into a fist fight,” he jokes.
My stomach growls again angrily, and I rub my hand over it. Chugging IPA on an empty stomach probably wasn’t the smartest move I’ve ever made, but if I get some food soon, I should be okay.
We find a hot dog vendor, and get in line, quiet as we wait our turn, though even without any words, Max’s presence isloud. His gaze rarely leaves me, his attention so intense I findit hard not to fidget. When we reach the cashier, I’m so pent up that I blurt out my order, then have to quickly apologize.
“Sorry, wow, um…” I close my eyes, then wave my hand in the air as nonchalantly as possible. “A little too much to drink,” I say, in hopes that’s enough explanation. In truth, I’m on edge and nervous under Max’s heavy attention. “I’d like a hot dog, please,” I try again, “with nachos and two sides of jalapeño cheese.”
Max places his order next, then pays for the food and joins me off to the side to wait for our meals.
“You’re jumpy.”
“No thanks to you,” I murmur under my breath.
“How so?”
“You’re making me nervous,” I admit, the alcohol making me bold.
“Hm.” Max watches me quietly for a moment. “How am I making you nervous?”
“You won’t stop staring.”
