Heat washed over my face. Hastily, I looked away. “Something light, I have a ton of work to get through,” I said, slipping past him when his fingers lightly brushed mine, shocking all hell out of me. As if I’d touched a live wire, a jolt shot through my body to settle low in my belly. My hands fisted.
“How about cheese toast and tomato soup?” I asked. How I managed those calm words, I had no idea. Max, I realized, refused to be ignored…or be put in the friend zone.
“You’re making the soup from scratch, not the packet thing?” Ray hurried after me. “And with basil and a whole lot of cream?”
“Cream, yes, but it has to be the packet ones.”
“Ugh,” Ray grumbled. “No matter. It will do.”
As we worked, Max stopped at the doorway, frowning at his cell.
“Did you speak to War yet?” Ray asked.
He looked up. “I went over this afternoon. He got into another fight.”
“Why?” I asked.
His chest heaved as if in a deep sigh. “He won’t say. He has to rein in that temper if he wants to continue playing hockey.”
“He needs to stop boozing like a fish first,” Ray countered.
“Fish don’t drink,” Max pointed out, and that started Ray on another exposition. Amused green eyes glanced my way. And there went my stupid heart again.
Max might be young, but he appeared older than most guys his age. Like he’d lived a lifetime. What had happened to him to cause the changes? He didn’t go home or talk about his family…
“Logan, bowls?” he asked, pulling me back from my thoughts. I nodded to the cupboard behind him. He got out the dishes as Ray started on the cheese toast. Soon, the piquant aroma of tomato soup drenched the kitchen.
“This is good,” he said, tasting the soup.
“Yep, Ila makes it great, even if it’s that dry packet stuff.”
As we ate, Ray continued speaking. I discreetly studied Max, my gaze drifting over his straight nose, sensual mouth, and intractable chin.
Since he’d started living with us, he’d lost some of the grim demeanor I’d first noted, but I noticed he often rubbed his temple or the scar on his eyebrow. As he did now.
“Do you want an Advil for the headache?”
His gaze shifted to mine. He stared blankly at me for a second then dropped his hand. “I’m good.”
“Maximus, any news yet about school,” Ray asked him.
He shook his head. “No. You? How’s prep for finals? Hey, you’ll be done with your first year soon.”
“Several more to go.” She grimaced.
Yes, Max was charming, caring, and had a serious side when he wasn’t flirting with me. But he had a reputation when it came to women, too, from what I’d heard.
Ray had mentioned in passing that she could never understand howThe Players“dipped their wick’s” into a different woman every night. I hadn’t paid it much notice back then. I hadn’t known it was Max and his friends. Now, a little pang squeezed my chest. It’s why I had to stay away from him. He was too dangerous to my shaky emotions. After living through the horror of a betrayal, it was best this way.
Max
“I’ll let you know, Maxwell.” The president of the Conservatory’s voice droned in my ear, joining the hum of passing cars. The late evening traffic choked the street. Rubbing the dull throb in my brow, I pushed from the wall edging the small garden and paced in front of Logan’s apartment.
It had been over a week, and Matteson and crew were stonewalling me. I’d finally called president Sedgwick directly.
“You’ve missed a lot of work,” Sedgwick continued. “It would take a miracle to get a piano reduction done for your finals in three weeks.”
Seems Matteson had already given his damn opinion. The music director barely tolerated me and was undoubtedly crowing at the easy excuse I’d provided when I lost my shit that day. But it wasn’t an outright “no”from Sedgwick.
