Page 71 of In Your Wake

“Wow, you used his name right. I’m impressed.”

“Seems only fair. I mean, he’s not with you anymore, so I can finally show him some respect.” I laugh, but the seriousness in her gaze cuts my laughter short.

“I thought he was different from the other richies,” she admits.

“I have to admit, I found it odd that you were dating one of them. That doesn’t seem like you.”

She cocks her head. “Haven’t we established that I’m not like I used to be?”

The subtle bite in her words is like a whip cracking through the air. “No, I guess you’re not.”

“I’m not sure what I was expecting from him. I liked that he was the complete opposite of what I usually go for. I wanted someone serious, with a good plan for the future, you know?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “On paper, Tucker was good for me. In practice…”

“Too boring?”

“Not boring. We had some good times. I guess I wasn’t right for him.” She shrugs, then steals another Oreo from the pack, but only after offering me one. “I wanted to be that person, but turns out I’ll forever be the dorky redhead with a foul mouth.”

“Why is that a bad thing? You shouldn’t have to change, Max. Especially not for a douche-canoe like him.”

She presses her lips together, holding back a smile, slowly twisting the top off her cookie. My eyes zero in on her small pink tongue, licking the icing clean like she used to do as a kid. Then, she sandwiches the two cookies together, eating them as one.

Nostalgia draws me in. I’m captivated, but also inappropriately turned on by how well she works her tongue.

Whatever she’s thinking about makes her laugh.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“I sort of had your hip problem. Only my injured hip was Tucker.”

My brow sinks. “Come again?”

“We weren’t… clicking,” she says, snapping her fingers. “Physically.”

“Physically?”

She turns to me and wiggles her eyebrows.

“Oh, physically. Got it.”

She gulps more of the mint drink, without flinching this time, and I wonder exactly how much she drank before I got here.

“You mean you went camping, but Tucker couldn’t pitch his tent?”

Maxine chuckles way too hard at my lame joke, a clear sign that she’s tipsy.

She stares into space, her expression blank. “No, he could pitch a tent. It was camping with me that was the problem.” She draws her knees up, wrapping her arms around them and sinks into the couch cushions. “He didn’t want me,” she repeats more quietly.

“Was he sleeping with someone else?”

She drops her forehead into the crook of her bent knees. “I don’t think so. He wanted to wait. Thought we should take our time.”

I shake my head. “Idiot.”

Her head snaps up, her eyes wide. “Who is?”

“Fucker.”

“We’re back to Fucker, are we?” she asks.