Becoming His

Sharon does excuse herself with the excuse that she has an early surgery. Mindi, Kyle, Sava

“Well, Paul, you certainly know how to clear a room,” Kendall remarks as she cuts into a cheesecake.

“So, Ace …” Paul begins, ignoring Kendall as he leans into the bar, staring at me.

“So, Paul …” I reply, digging through the silverware drawer to extract forks. “If you tell me I look fat, I’ll give Kendall permission to stab you with a fork,” I warn and swear I can see the corners of my dad’s lips go up as he walks to his den with my mom.

“No, you don’t look fat, not at all. In fact, don’t get me wrong, I mean you’re really well proportioned…” he pauses and I look up to see him staring at my chest “…but if you gained some weight, they’d probably grow.” Paul throws back the rest of the liquor in his glass and looks at me with a grin.

I feel Max’s body tense beside me so I take a step forward, angling myself so my body serves as a barrier, trapping him behind the island. At least temporarily.

“Do you think before you speak?” Kendall fires. “Je

“I’m not. I’m just paying a compliment”

“Paul, can’t you be nice for five minutes?” Je

“Bye, Paul, drive safe,” Kendall says sarcastically.

“Well, he’s …” Jameson shakes his head, unable to describe him.

“A bastard,” Max finishes, clenching his jaw as he glares out the kitchen window, watching Paul drive away.

I’m slightly relieved Kyle and Caulder aren’t still here. If they had been things wouldn’t have ended nearly this calmly.

“Are you going to drive back to school tonight?” I ask, placing my hand on Max’s forearm.

He takes in a deep breath before turning his attention from the window to look at me. “Yeah, I need to go and grab a few things first and put them in the Jeep.” His hand rakes through his hair in an agitated fashion. “Do you mind saying goodbye to your parents for me?”

I nod and watch him disappear before going to say my goodbyes.

We meet outside fifteen minutes later, piling things in our cars.

“Babe, where are your shoes?” I look down at my bare feet and up to Max as he heads toward me, his motorcycle helmet tucked under an arm.

“At home,” I answer, taking a couple of steps toward him. “Where are you staying tonight?” I ask, stopping at the end of the driveway.

“Wherever you are,” he answers, crossing the remaining distance to me. “I’ll follow you.”

“Hey, get your asses moving,” Jameson yells. “By the way, I’m going to check out that new gym by the house. I need to get back in a routine.”

“Don’t count on me,” Max says, pulling me tighter to his chest.

“Drive safely,” I say, kissing the front of his shirt.

“You too, babe.” He places his hand gently under my chin and tilts my face up to meet his lips and softly kisses me.

I watch him as he walks back to his driveway where Jameson and Kendall are waiting in the Jeep.

Jameson drives like a maniac. I already know this, but he’s reaffirming it tonight as he swerves across the interstate, cutting off multiple lanes of traffic in one hazardous move. I grin, watching Kendall’s arms fly in the air, knowing it’s being followed by a rant.

For most of the journey I keep my eyes on Max as he stays directly behind me. Occasionally I catch the sight of his tattoos under the lights. You can’t see his face at all with his helmet, but a few women still honk or call out to him, and he acts completely oblivious to their attention.

When we arrive at my apartment Abby’s gone and nothing is written on our dry-erase board. I’ll need to reach out to her tomorrow and try to iron things out, or at least begin the process.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?” Max asks, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

I shrug, not having put much thought into it. “Why don’t we head to Balboa Park,” I suggest. Max smiles in agreement and we head to my room. Max begins rummaging through movies.

I grab a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt and go to the bathroom to wash my face and change. When I return, Max is stretched out on my bed, wearing a pair of black sweatpants and a white undershirt.

“Since when do you sleep in pajamas?”

“Since my girlfriend told me she wanted a week after the first time we slept together.” He looks down at his clothes. “Extra barriers,” he explains.

I laugh and sit beside him. I’m slightly shocked that the subject of sex and my inexperience doesn’t have me attempting to change the subject. In my head I hear my freshmen health teacher, Mr. Boyd, instructing the class that “if you aren’t ready to talk about sex, you aren’t ready to have sex.”

“How are you feeling? Are you sore?” Max asks, ru

I am, but I shake my head. “Now I just want more.”

Max grins. “Are you saying you just want me for my body?”

“Are you saying you’re objecting?” I tease, walking over to the door and flipping off the lights.

The TV casts a light glow in the room, illuminating Max as he stands and intercepts me at the side of the bed. All we do is kiss, but it’s filled with passion and promises and is hot as hell.

The next morning I open my eyes and see Max’s face inches from mine, his eyes still closed. I stare at him, memorizing every minute detail—every line, every curve, every eyelash. There’s nothing extraordinarily special about this moment, nothing significant and earth-shattering, yet I know instinctually that I’ll remember it and how Max makes me feel for the rest of my life.

I must have drifted off again. When I stretch my arm out to touch Max and feel nothing but cool linen, my eyes pop open and glance toward my attached bathroom to find the door wide open and the lights off. I incoherently mutter my disappointment into my pillow before I climb out of bed and check the rest of the apartment with no sign of him. I check my phone to ensure there aren’t any messages before going to take a shower, deciding that Max must have gone with Jameson to work out. My mom’s right; our generation has missed out since pen and paper is archaic.

I finish rinsing the shampoo from my hair as the shower curtain slowly opens, making me scream and flail in a maneuver that I’m sure is anything but sexy.

“Sorry, sorry!” Max says, trying to hide a smile. “I was just going to see if I could join you, not scare you.”

“Did you not watch Psycho?” I cry, feeling my heart race through my palm clinging to my chest.

“I’m surprised you have,” he teases.

I splash a handful of water at his face and chest. “Get in here, Norman Bates.” He laughs and pulls off his clothes with a couple of swift movements before getting in the shower.

My eyes travel over Max, etching every detail of him into my mind that I wasn’t able to see earlier this morning. He’s so beautiful it’s difficult for my eyes to focus on a single spot as they rove over his face and body, devouring him.

“Where did you go?” I ask, reaching for the conditioner as I shrink back so I take up as little room as possible. Shower scenes in movies have both characters looking flawlessly beautiful with water cascading over them, making them look sensual and sexy. Glancing over at Max, it confirms that he could easily do one of these scenes. However I can feel my wet hair sticking to my shoulders in thick clumps, and there’s a pretty good possibility that I have raccoon eyes from my mascara, plus the obvious fact I’m naked, surrounded by very bright fluorescent lighting. Thank God I already shaved.