Innuendos (It Had 2 B U Book 1) (11 page)

I take a deep breath. I know Max isn’t trying to hurt me, but it all seems so coincidental how he’s always the catalyst that blows up my relationships. I squeeze his fingers one more time and whisper, “I care about you, too,” I release his hand and get up from the floor. I know he wants me to open the door, but right now he’s just going to have to settle for a finger squeeze and a whisper. I make my way over to the bed and pick up my cell phone. I’m wishing for a message from Travis—a message I know won’t be there.

In a final act of desperation, I look for his phone number. Before I can stop myself, I’m sending the most idiotic text of my life. I know it won’t solve anything, but I need Travis to know how I feel.

Bree: Despite everything that just happened. I want you to know that I really do love you.

I don’t expect a text back from him, so it surprises me when my phone immediately makes the sound of a
Zelda
treasure chest being opened.

Travis: Give me some time. I love you too.

And that was that. Travis wanted time, and frankly who could blame him. He wasn’t even prepared for Max. Maybe if I told him earlier on in the relationship there could’ve been some prepping involved. Instead, he was blindsided by my little white lie, and because of it, I’ve lost him. I guess it’s not really Max’s fault after all. It’s mine.

Chapter Ten

Max

She’s mad at me.

She loves him.

I hate that she’s a crying mess on the other side of that door. Right now she’s keeping me out, and there isn’t a single thing I can do about those tears. That asshole doesn’t even know what he’s losing here. He seemed nice enough and quite funny like Breezy described him, but the man has absolutely no balls. I’m sorry, but if Breezy was my woman, and she was living with a man that looks like me, I would be doing everything in my power to solidify the fact that she’s mine. I would possess her to the point of smothering. I would make sure that every night that we were in bed together, she felt loved and wanted. No other woman comes close to Breezy in my eyes, and the fact that he can just walk away from her without even thinking twice, kills me.

I have to do something to make her feel better. I know Breezy well enough that sitting by this door, hoping she will squeeze my fingers again, is a waste of time. I’ve been Breezy’s best friend for ten years. She’s never been this devastated by a break up before. As much as it pains me to admit it, I think she really does love this one. I guess it’s time to cash in my man card and take one for the team.

An hour later I have everything set.
Operation: Make Breezy Feel Better
is in full swing. I’ve only had to do this once before, but I know it’s a slam dunk on putting her in a great mood when she’s sad. First thing was a grocery store run where I bought: two pints of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, six bags of king-sized M &M’s, a box of microwavable popcorn, that new chick flick comedy movie with that one girl who makes people laugh, a case of Dr. Pepper, and to top everything off, a can of whip cream.

When I get home, I make sure that everything is put on the coffee table. Then it’s time to unleash my secret weapon. I grab the remote for the sound system, put in our CD labeled the
Max and Breezy project 2014,
and crank up her favorite song full blast. Here’s a little fact about my best friend; she loves 90’s pop stars. If you put on NSYNC or the Backstreet Boys, maybe a little
Genie in the Bottle,
that girl can’t help dancing like a crazy person. This CD is full of their songs, but there is one song that she can’t resist—one song that I know will coax her out of that room, and that’s
Barbie Girl
by Aqua. The minute the song starts playing, I grin. It will only take a few minutes before her door swings open. I count it down in my head. Ten . . . nine . . . any second now . . . seven . . . six, on count five her door bangs open. Breezy is standing in the doorway, her eyes glistening with tears, a frown slowly edging into a smile on her face.

“This is so not fair,” she shouts over the music. “I’m supposed to be mad at you. Start it over damn it!”

I oblige and make the song start again. “Hi Breezy,” I say like the dude in the song.

“Hi, Max,” she says in her best Barbie voice.

“Wanna go for a ride?” I ask, still matching the song perfectly.

“Sure, Max,” she says grinning.

“Jump in,” I shout.

The minute
Barbie Girl
starts playing, she’s jumping around like a crazy person. She’s changed into a pair of sweat pants with the word star written on the butt, and a black tank top with no bra. It’s a marvelous sight. Her star butt is twerking across the living room. Her boobs are bouncing like crazy. I can’t divert my gaze to anywhere but her bouncing assets.
God damn it, why does she have to be so fucking beautiful all the time?
I have an insta-hard on, and talking him down is not going to be easy, especially when her twerking butt saddles up into my front. We’ve done this numerous times before: The make-shift dirty dancing in the middle of the living room to a campy pop song that by all rights should be burned and outlawed in my presence. I do what I have to, to make my best friend happy. If dancing like a fool to a stupid pop song is how my Saturday night is going to play out, then by god, I’m doing just that if it brings a smile to her face.

When the song ends, we’re both laughing. Obviously, she didn’t notice my erection, which is a good thing because I’ve got blue balls so bad they’re fucking purple.

“You don’t play fair,” she mumbles when I pause the CD. She looks over at the table, sees my display of goodies, and grins. “Cookie dough ice cream! Max, you must really love me.” She races over to the table and grabs the pint of ice cream and a spoon. “What are you waiting for? Are you going to pop the popcorn and mix in the M & M’s or not?”

I grin like an idiot and make my way over to the microwave. “One giant bowl of popcorn mixed with M & M’s coming up.”

When I’m all done, I settle onto the couch next to her. Eating her ice cream, she snuggles into my side. I barely register what’s going on in the movie, because having her near me like this is very distracting.

My fingers automatically begin combing through her hair. Her hand is resting on my stomach, and she’s gently tracing my abs with her fingers. If that Travis dude were to walk through that door right now, he’d definitely think something is going on between us. Although everything I’m doing is innocent, cuddling on the couch is the most intimate I get with Breezy.

It takes all my strength and willpower to resist pulling her on top of me. I want to feel her lips and use my own to map out every inch of her skin. If only she knew how important she is to me—that I love her more than a friend; that I wish she felt the same—maybe she wouldn’t have a broken heart right now.

“Max,” she whispers. I can see that she’s getting sleepy. Her eyes barely open as she tries to finish out the movie.

“Yea, Breezy?”

“Thank you for being my best friend.”

She yawns and I kiss the top of her head.

“No, Breezy, thank you for being mine.”

A few minutes later she’s asleep. I’m not sure if I should disturb her, so I get up from the couch, put away the ice cream, turn off the DVD player, and snuggle back into the corner of the couch. Carefully, I edge her body between my legs where she nestles into my chest. Her hand automatically goes straight for my abs again. She sighs contently against me, and as the big clock on wall starts ticking loudly because of the silence in the room, I fall asleep with the girl of my dreams in my arms.

A guy could get used to this.

When I wake up the next morning, I realize that Breezy is giggling against me. Blinking away the sleep in my eyes, I open them to find her smiling up at me with an almost maniacal look on her face.

“What?” I ask a little confused.

“Is that an anaconda in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?” She asks in a Groucho Marx type of voice.

I look down and sure as shit, my shorts have a very large bump sticking up right into her stomach. Mortified, I reach down and adjust myself. Stupid penis, he really needs to stop being such a perve.

Breezy is laughing like crazy. “Poor Max, did
Little Max
miss his barfly pussy last night?”

I shake my head and push her off me. “No, I think
Little Max
has a crush on your boobs. If you were any lower, he was going to use your boobs as buns and pretend to be a hotdog.”

“Nice try, Mr. Smooth, but if you’re looking to make a boobdog, you’re going to have to find another girl.”

“Shucks, and here I thought my wooing capabilities were working.”

“I’m immune to your woo. Don’t forget; I know what goes on behind that door over there.” She motions to my bedroom and smiles. “Despite your penis frisking my stomach, I have to say, last night was one of the best nights ever. Thanks for making me feel better, Max.”

“Are you still mad at me?”

“No, it’s not your fault. I was just angry and needed someone to take it out on.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, Travis is stupid. I’m sure in a couple weeks, he will wake up, realize exactly what he lost, and come running back to you. He’d be a fool not to.”

“You really think so?” She asks.

“I know so, Breezy. Now, what should we have for breakfast?”

She looks up at me with a goofy grin. “Chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, of course!”

“Of course,” I grin, “I’ll get the spoons.”

By the time noon rolls around, were both still in the clothes we fell asleep in, and the entire living room looks like a preteen slumber party. We’re back on the couch and Breezy’s head is in my lap, her hand playing with mine that’s hanging over the back of the couch.

“Max, why can’t all guys be as sweet as you?”

“I’m one in a million. They don’t make them like me anymore. I broke the mold.”

“That’s so cliché,” she groans.

I smile down at her. “Do you disagree?”

“No, of course not. You’d be the perfect man if you weren’t such a man-whore.”

Shit. Seriously? She just had to bring up the man-whore thing, didn’t she? Here I am, making sure she’s feeling good, and she has to bring up my bordello of barflies again. When I’m quiet for a little too long, she looks up at me.

“Are you okay?” she asks. “It was a joke, Max.”

“I know,” I reply quickly. This is the closest that I’ve ever been to revealing why I’m such a man-whore. I want to tell her. I wish I could just blurt out that I’m in love with her, but the thought of losing her is too much to bear.

“Max? Why do you look like you’re in pain right now?” She gently cups my face and uses the tips of her fingers to play with my facial scruff. I didn’t get a chance to shave this morning, so it’s quite pokey at the moment. Without thinking, my head careens into her hand and I nuzzle her palm.

“I was thinking about some things. Don’t worry about it,” I tell her, removing her hand from my face. “What do you say about us going out tonight? Just you, me, and a lot of alcohol.”

“You know I don’t like to drink that much.” She scrunches her nose at me.

“I know, but sometimes having a little fun after a break-up is the only way to get over the pain.”

She is quiet for a few seconds and then smiles. “Will you take me swing dancing instead?”

“You know I don’t dance.”

“I know, but I really want to dance. Last night was fun, and I want to keep that good feeling going. Will you take me dancing?”

“Fine, but I’m calling for back up. I’m not going to be the only uncoordinated white man on that dance floor.”

“Ugh, does it have to be Tony?”

“He is my wing man, but I guess if he comes tonight, he’ll be more like my
swing
man, huh?” I grin until I realize what I said could be taken entirely out of context. Breezy also notices it, because she’s giggling.

“Why, Max, I didn’t know you
swung
that way.”

“Shut up, you. You know I’m not gay.”

“Actually, I’ve never experienced it firsthand. For all I know, you could be playing patty-cake in there.”

“The only patting I do in the bedroom is across a woman’s ass. If you need a demonstration, bend over. I’ll be sure this baker’s man bakes your cake as fast as he can.” I raise a suggestive eyebrow, and she punches my shoulder.

“Stop it, Max. You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Flirting with me. You get that crazy twinkle in your eye; then you say something provocative to rile me up.”

“I like it when you get riled, Breezy. Your cheeks flush pink and your freckles pop out more.” I touch her nose.