Page 66 of In Your Wake

“Shut the fuck up, Langley,” I snap, then give him my own smarmy wink.

Tucker looks horrified. “Maxy, you’re taking this way too personally.”

I shove my chair back. “You’re right, I am. I should have known better. Thanks for the food.” I give them a salute, then leave, feeling surprisingly steady. Tucker calls my name, but he doesn’t follow. And it’s so much better this way.

As I walk out into the evening, a sharp and unexpected realization hits. My problem wasn’t dating the bad boy. I don’t need to be with someone who looks good on paper. Especially not when they want to mold me into something that fits their life.

I need someone who looks at what I’ve done with pride. At how I’ve kept the inn from shutting down, and says that it all matters. That says I’m important and that what I want is too.

And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel completely irrational for wanting that.

14

Double Stuffed

Max

The pints of beer I had at Four Brothers sit heavily in my stomach as I walk home from the pub. But they haven’t smoothed the edge that my day has left behind.

I still can’t believe Tucker would blindside me like that. I can’t believe how quick he was to diminish everything I’ve been working so hard on. Then again, I’m also not that surprised. Who was I to think that a rich, Cornell asshole would want anything more than to turn me into a Stepford Wife?

Beyond the seething anger still driving me, I feel so fucking… alive. There’s this small buzzing in my blood since I left the Bradshaws’ and walked into the bar. I keep thinking it’s because I’ve freed myself from a toxic situation, but as I walk down Main Street, a tiny voice tells me it’s more than that. Like something is about to happen, a sudden change, but it’s just out of my line of sight.

I round the corner of my block and spot Tucker’s red car parked out front, which instantly bursts my happy, Zen-like bubble.

He steps out of his car. “Still mad?” he asks.

“Still an asshole?” I shoot back, fishing my keys out of my purse. I unlock the door to the building, ready to ditch him, but he gets closer. He holds the door, then runs his nose into my hair, taking a deep inhale. The smell of his wine-and whiskey-laced breath hits me.

“I am absolutely an asshole. The biggest. And I’m so sorry.” He circles his hands over my hips toward the front, pulling me back against him. He’s firm against my backside, and my eyes drift shut.

Tucker’s done this before—shows up late, comes upstairs. Usually, we wind up making out, but nothing else. He leaves, claiming we need to slow things down.

“I don’t accept your apology.” I turn around, grabbing his arms, but he doesn’t release me. “I think we need to take a break.”

“Maxine, please. You need to understand, when I’m around my dad, I turn into this complete prick.”

“Oh, I understand that perfectly.”

He frowns. “I know it’s no excuse.” He lowers his mouth, brushing his lips against mine. “Please let me make it up to you.”

The warmth of his mouth, his intoxicating cologne mixed with the scent of alcohol, manipulates my pressing needs. This, coupled with the fact that I’m definitely drunk, loosens my inhibitions, and apparently my common sense, too.

Don’t do it, that tiny voice says, but I ignore it and take his hand, leading him upstairs.

When I unlock my door and step into my apartment, Tucker surprises me, and in a flash, he has me pinned against the wall, thrusting his hips against mine. Once the shock fades, I drop my things to the floor and grab the collar of his salmon-colored polo shirt, shoving him against the opposite wall. It’s rough, aggressive, and he actually lets me. He glides his tongue across the seam of my lips, convincing me that tonight will go my way after all.

I yank his shirt from his pants, then slide my hands up his bare stomach. The ridges of his rowing captain’s body are smooth, not too defined, but they’re enough to keep me enticed. I lean in, pressing my thigh between his legs, feel his erection against my hip, then drop my hands, working his belt buckle. But when I sneak my hand into his boxers and touch the smooth tip of his cock, he grabs my wrist.

“Whoa, Max. Take it easy.”

“What do you—” I’m breathless and stunned that after all this lead-up, he’s stopping this. Yet again. Vexed, my jaw drops, and I lean back against the wall behind me. “You’re kidding.”

He frowns, tucking in his shirt. “I just thought…”

“You thought what? Why did you even come here?”

“I wanted to talk to you. And I wanted to have sex, but…” He shrugs, dropping his head.