11. Chapter 11
eleven
Before I could respond, a human appeared from behind the donkey suit. He seemed normal enough. Compared to the furry he held in the see-through garment bag, anyway. Did fur suit bags have special names?
Note to self: do not google the answer to that later. That was one rabbit hole I wasn’t sure the targeted ads on my browser would ever recover from.
The man, a blond with dark circles under his eyes and a faint aroma of baked beans, stared at us with as much emotion as a whisk. When he spoke, his voice croaked like he hadn’t used it in ages. “This is what you’re here for, right? The suit?”
“Yes?” I squeaked out, more question than answer.
“Okay, good,” the guy replied, not at all deterred by my lack of enthusiasm. “Because I’ve got, like, three other people already asking for it.”
“Good gravy,” I murmured.
“It’s my ex’s.” He sniffled so loud it echoed through the complex. “Apparently her lover isn’t the only secret she’s been keeping from me. Ha!”
Max and I exchanged a look, his discomfort mirroring mine.
Mr. Baked Beans’ manic expression crumpled, and his croak turned into a whimper. “Why wouldn’t she tell me?”
In the blink of an eye, he dissolved into a blubbering puddle on the floor. The donkey came with him, folding at an awkward angle until the left ear smashed into his nose. When he pulled back, it came away with a ghastly smear of snot on the plastic.
I barely had time to turn away before I started gagging. Loudly.
“Sorry, let me clean this,” Mr. Baked Beans mumbled, and crawled into the depths of his apartment with the suit.
Hattie better bring me five lasagnas for this. Five lasagnas and a shoulder massage. Staying up past my bedtime was one thing but doing it to bring home a snot-covered fur suit whose lifeless eyes would haunt my nightmares for weeks was another.
Mr. Baked Beans had only been gone for a second or two before Max leaned toward me, his voice low and laced with amusement. “I guess you could say his ex was a real jacka—”
“Maxwell Fuentes, don’t you dare finish that sentence,” I chided, even as I struggled to contain my smile.
He chuckled, not at all penitent. “That’s not my name.”
“Max… imus?” I guessed, thinking of the horse from my favorite Disney movie.
“Still no.”
I tilted my head to the side. “Then what is it?”
His smile softened. Whether from pride or fondness, I couldn’t tell, but it made my heart stutter all the same. “ Maximiliano . After my grandfather.”
“Oh.” Sweet figs and cherry pie , if he said anything else in Spanish like he just said his name, I think I’d blackout. “That’s really pretty, actually. In a manly way.”
Before he could reply, Mr. Baked Beans reappeared and thrust the freshly wiped donkey at us. I took it after a moment of hesitation, careful to avoid looking it in the eye or touching the left ear. It was heavier than expected.
“Phew! Sorry about that.” Mr. Baked Beans flashed a wobbly smile. “I’m over her, though. I’ve moved on. Ready to wade back into the dating pool again.” He looked me over with much more interest than my haphazard appearance warranted. “Are you single?”
“Uh.” I froze, eyes wide and brain spinning out before it inevitably died in a fiery crash.
“Sorry, man” —Max moved to my side and wrapped an arm around me, warm and strong and oh so wrong— “she’s taken. But you’ll find someone.” He hesitated for a second before forging on. “It’ll hurt for a while, I won’t lie. But it’ll get better, too. Thanks for the… costume .”
He waved to Mr. Baked Beans and smoothly turned me around so we could make our getaway.
This was easier said than done, considering I had to drag Eeyore’s evil twin along for the ride.
Ultimately, I hefted the donkey over one shoulder.
This unfortunately brought me level with its chest, where the slight bulge didn’t seem quite so subtle anymore.
“This donkey has a bosom , Max,” I hissed once we’d made it down a few stairs and out of Mr. Baked Beans’ earshot. “This isn’t what I signed up for.”
He cackled softly. “This is even better than I could’ve hoped for. And it’s… chestal area isn’t so bad. I’d say it just has a feminine figure.”
I carefully lowered myself to the next step, regretting wearing flip-flops for the umpteenth time. “Pretty sure having boobs is part of the definition of feminine figure .”
“Are you willing to bet on that? I could really go for some more of those cupcakes you made again.”
“Har, har.” Normally, I’d be down for a wager, especially since the prize wouldn’t put me out much at all if I lost. But he seemed extremely confident. What if he randomly had the entire Merriam Webster dictionary memorized?
A few beats of silence passed, broken only by my heavy breathing and grandma shuffling down the stairs.
“Can I please carry that for you?” he asked. “You’re making me nervous.”
A quiet grunt escaped before I could stop it. “I’ve got it.”
Sort of. Truthfully, this thing was awkward and heavier than my exhausted body was prepared to carry for two blocks.
Seeing the steps in the complex’s dim lighting was hard enough without an equine head swinging back and forth across my butt.
Not a comfortable experience. But I could carry it myself.
I’d gotten myself into this, and I’d get myself out.
And I did. Up until the last few steps.
My flip-flop caught in the metal grating of the stair as I started dropping to the next one. Between that and the donkey throwing off my center of balance, I overshot, missed the step, and went tumbling. My ankle landed wrong, twisting with a sharp snap of pain before I plummeted to the ground.
Instead of landing on rough concrete, I landed on rough concrete separated by a layer of donkey and plastic. So, hey. Silver lining.
“Dekker?” Max’s worried voice carried over the crinkle of plastic in my ears and the thumping of feet on metal stairs.
I groaned in reply, slowly rolling over and testing each limb to make sure my pride was the only thing damaged. My left ankle was especially tender, but everything seemed to work okay.
“Are you hurt?” Max asked, crouching beside me.
“I’m humbled, that’s for sure.” I eased into a sitting position, pretending I didn’t see his hand extended to help.
One of my flip-flops had slipped off my foot, which I fixed as fast as possible.
What were the odds he hadn’t noticed that?
“The donkey took the brunt of it. Thank goodness for donkey cleavage, huh? All that extra padding paid off.”
He laughed and adjusted his position until it was impossible to miss his offered hand.
When I stared dumbly at it for a few seconds while warring between offending him by not taking it or racking up more debt on the karmic scales, he sighed.
“I hope one of these days you won’t find me so repulsive anymore.
But if you don’t want any help up, I’m fine with that, too. ”
“It’s not that,” I rushed out. “You’re not repulsive at all.”
As far from it as physically possible, actually. If anything, the problem was how not repulsive he was, and how I craved his touch as much as I panicked being around him.
To prove how not repulsed I was, I thrust my hand into his. And, sweet sarsaparill a, what a mistake that was.
Sparks like confetti exploded where we touched, dancing up my skin until they threatened to fry what little common sense I had left. I inhaled sharply but resisted the urge to pull away. We locked eyes before he looked away.
I might need to pop antacids for a week after this, but it’d be worth it. Being burned by Max was a delicious torture I couldn’t refuse.
“See?” I cleared my throat to shake away the breathiness that had taken my voice captive. “Not repulsive at all.”
He cleared his throat, too. “Good.”
He helped pull me to a standing position much more gracefully than I could’ve done on my own. I might have dwelled on how humiliating this whole ordeal was, had I not put weight on my ankle.
Pain lanced up my leg. I hissed in a breath and immediately went back to balancing on my right foot.
Max zeroed in on the action. “What is it?”
“My ankle is just a little sore, that’s all.” I laughed awkwardly—a twittery, dilapidated thing that would’ve made me cringe, had I not hurt so much. “I’ll be fine.”
How , I had no idea.
I gingerly tested my weight on my left foot again. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Pain overwhelmed my senses like I’d sent my ankle through a meat grinder.
Well, this complicated things. Maybe I could’ve hopped home on one foot if I didn’t have the donkey in tow. Now? I wasn’t just up the creek without a paddle—I was up the street without an ankle.
“You’re not fine,” he protested, crossing his arms over his chest. “Watching you freeze because you refuse to wear my jacket is one thing. Seeing you in pain is another. Let me help you, Dekker. Please.”
As if on cue, a breeze gusted through the courtyard, increasing my discomfort by a thousand.
I swallowed hard. The backs of my eyes prickled with the threat of tears, as much from the pain as exhaustion and stress.
No. I would not cry. I could handle this. I just might need a little help. A tiny bit. Miniscule, really.
“Okay.” I inhaled and held it for five seconds before letting it out. “You’re right. Can you help me walk?”
That wasn’t too bothersome, right? Not worse than breaking his engagement, anyway. No place to go from here than up, right?
I hoped.
“I’d be happy to.”
He scooped up Eeyore with one hand and wrapped the other around me.
With our height difference, he had to stoop a bit, but angled so I could wrap my arm over his shoulders and loosely around his neck.
My entire side burned where we touched. His hand on my waist was a bonfire in the night, unignorable and magnetic.
Sweet honeyed ham , I hoped my deodorant hadn’t worn off yet. It wouldn’t be fair for him to smell like a god while I smelled like the raccoon someone just kicked out of their trash can.
“Is this okay?”
I sucked in a shaky breath, determined to not think about how close our noses were when we looked at each other. Inches. Mere inches separated them. “Yeah. Thanks.”
He seemed just as intent to keep his head facing forward as I was. “In that case, let’s get you home before you turn into a pumpkin.”
I huffed softly, wincing as I hobbled with my injured ankle. “I’m not even Cinderella in this fairytale, I’m the carriage? What gives?”
“Good point. You both lost shoes while going down steps, so you’re basically already there.”
“Hey!” I cuffed him gently in the side with my free hand. Hitting rock-hard muscles only reminded me of the sneak peek I’d gotten of them at the intersection and threatened to make my tongue suction to the roof of my mouth again. “I was hoping you didn’t see that.”
He hummed in acknowledgement. “You’re kind of hard to ignore.”
I frowned. What was that supposed to mean? That didn’t have anything to do with his potential vendetta against me, right? If so, I’d never wished to be more forgettable in my life. “Thanks? I think.”
He chuckled, sending goosebumps across my skin that had nothing to do with the wind. “I mean, Great Lakes cobra run-ins and donkey fur suits in the same week? You know how to have a good time.”
I snorted, this one resembling a phlegmy squirrel. Yikes. I slapped my free hand over my mouth as if that could turn back time and make him un-hear my attempt to commune with tree critters. This lasted all of two hobbling steps before it became too uncomfortable to maintain.
He, of course, smirked the whole time.
“Sorry, I just think that’s the first time anyone has ever said that about me. Like, ever ,” I said between panting breaths. Limping with a bum ankle took more energy than I expected. “With good reason, to be fair. I think I’m the least adventurous person ever.”
“And yet here you are, collecting fursonas from emotionally unstable people off the internet.”
I laughed. “All thanks to my friend Hattie. Now that’s an adventurous spirit right there.”
He adjusted his hold on me and the donkey suit trailing on the ground. “She’s the one from the Christmas party, right? The one McBride likes?”
“ Right ?” I burst out, wincing at my volume and the sharp pebble my flip-flop landed on. I lowered my voice, so it barely carried over my gasps for air. “Sorry. But, for real , right? Everyone can see it except them, and it’s driving me nuts.”
He shifted again. “I guess it’s easier when you’re the outsider looking in? Things look different when you’re too close to it all.”
The weight his words carried made my skin crawl. Not from the truth of them—of which there was plenty—but because I got the distinct impression he wasn’t just talking about Hattie and McBride. If anything, he was referencing something from his own past. Something I’d played a part in.
I didn’t say anything. Partly because guilt was gnawing its way up my throat, but mostly because sweat was starting to gather in every available crevice on my body.
My one good leg shook from exertion, my bum ankle throbbed with every rapid beat of my heart, and my lungs felt like forge billows someone had stuck an elephant on top of.
“Are we there yet?” I managed to ask between breaths.
We slowed to a stop. Max shifted his hold on me and the donkey again, undoubtedly uncomfortable.
“We’ve made it half a block.”
I groaned, not caring how loud it was or that it sent a crow flapping away from the telephone pole overhead. “Just leave me here to die. Don’t let me drag you down anymore, Max. Save yourself while you still can.”
He chuckled and straightened, letting my arm slide down his back while he looked around. “I think I might have a solution where we both make it out of here alive.”
I swiped sweaty curls out of my face. “What is it?”
A mischievous gleam lit his eyes as he grinned, his features cast in sharp shadows from the streetlamp’s glow. “You’re not going to like it.”