23. Chapter 23
twenty-three
Max gasped, shaking his head at the TV. “They didn’t get the cakes out of the pan before putting them in the blast chiller. Rookie mistake.”
I snorted, not even bothering to hide my smile. Since our laundry room meet-up, Max had slowly but surely been sucked into the addictive rabbit hole that was Netflix’s Nailed It! Three days ago, he didn’t even know what a blast chiller was, and now he was apparently a Nailed It! professional.
We stood in my kitchen, putting away leftovers after sharing dinner together again.
Teriyaki chicken and rice this time, with sauteed vegetables Max brought.
And, really, good on him for bringing balance to my life in multiple ways now.
I couldn’t remember the last time I ate a vegetable unprovoked.
I’d divided the leftovers into my red-topped Tupperware I’d had for ages as well as blue-topped ones I’d bought specifically for this purpose.
They were the ones I’d dubbed the “Max Tuppers.” Every dessert or leftovers exchanged between us from here on out would go in the Max Tuppers.
He’d have easy leftovers to bring to work for lunch, and I got to show my affection for him in the best way I knew how: food.
We’d only had dinner together once before this since I’d gotten the Max Tuppers, but I had no doubt my investment would pay off.
And I’d found out that Max was a decent cook, since we’d eaten at his apartment Monday night.
As if I wasn’t already a goner for him, he had to go and exploit my biggest weakness—Italian food.
Homemade barbecue chicken pizza, to be exact. So, pseudo-Italian, but full-delicious.
Max looked away from the baking disaster unfolding on-screen to the two different Tupperwares, his hands suds-deep in washing the dishes we’d dirtied.
His brow wrinkled. “Oh, Dekker, I’m sorry.
I forgot to tell you. I won’t be able to use the leftovers this time.
” He turned his focus to the dishes, and there it remained.
“I’ll be out of town. Kind of a quick, last-minute trip. ”
“Oh.”
I tried to brush off the sinking disappointment. Obviously he had other things going on in his life, and I should be happy for him. Besides, if it was a last-minute thing, maybe his family needed him or something. As much as I wanted to keep him all to myself, I wouldn’t.
And couldn’t , really.
I infused brightness into my voice. “That’ll be fun, I bet.”
“I hope so,” Max mused, so quietly I barely heard him.
My insides twisted. I really hoped it wasn’t a family emergency. And, come to think of it, he’d been a bit more reserved today than usual. Still cheerful and considerate as always, just… quieter.
I set the leftovers in the fridge and, after a few moments of nervous fidgeting, asked, “Is everything okay?”
He flashed a smile as he transitioned to drying the dishes, appearing every bit like the Max I knew. “Oh, yeah, everything’s fine. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”
Okay, so at least it wasn’t a family emergency. Or at least not one he felt at liberty to discuss, which was fair.
An alternative option occurred to me. I grabbed a towel and set to helping him dry. “Is it work-related by any chance?”
He cocked his head, bewilderment written in the furrow of his brow. “Actually, yeah. It is. How did you know?”
“Just an educated guess.” I sent him what I hoped was a mischievous smile, though I did not try to wink again, thank you very much. “And now I think I know exactly what you need.”
“Oh yeah?”
I tried semi-successfully to hide my shiver at his attention. But, really, what else was a smitten girl to do when her crush looked at her? Act normal ? Like she hadn’t already picked out their future kids’ names and wedding colors?
Psh, don’t be ridiculous.
I put away the dish I’d finished and dug two pints of ice cream out of my freezer. “Triple Ripple or Motor City Mayhem?”
“I don’t think I’ve tried either of those, honestly.” He dried off his hands and laid the last few dishes over his towel to air-dry. “How can I choose?”
“Well” —heat flushed through me, though I had no good reason for it— “if you don’t mind sharing a few more germs, we could each take one and share?”
“ Now we’re talking.” His jaw flickered as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing way more sexily than something with a name like that had any right to. “What’s a few germs between neighbors, anyway?”
“Exactly.”
I spun to get spoons, praying my thoughts wouldn’t spontaneously project out of my head and snitch on all the ways I’d concocted for us to share germs. None of which I’d actually do , of course, because I was a dignified lady.
Alright. Technically the “dignified” part was debatable. But I was a lady. So there.
We each took one side of my raggedy couch, which groaned like a goat in active labor as it supported our weight.
Half a cushion’s worth of space sat empty between us.
This was especially impressive considering there were only two cushions on the little loveseat.
Let the record show, though, we’d transferred my army of throw pillows to the floor and coffee table rather than him using them to make a wall between us, so I must not be a complete troll.
When we were comfortably situated, him with only Ned the nugget behind his back and me hugging Debby the drumstick between my legs, Max raised his pint of Motor City Mayhem in my direction. “Cheers?”
I chuckled but tapped my own pint against his. “What exactly are we toasting to?”
“Life?” He offered a boyish smile before digging into his ice cream. “Do we need a specific reason to celebrate?”
A month ago, I would’ve said yes. Now, though, sharing another evening with Max and knowing he’d only be a wall away at the end of the day, I had more than enough blessings to toast to.
“No,” I said quietly, unable to look away from him. “No, we don’t.”
He held my gaze captive with his—a willing prisoner if ever there was one—and dragged the spoon out of his mouth painfully slowly.
Deliberately. Overturned so the concavity slid along his tongue out of my view, leaving me to fill in the blanks with my imagination—which was all too eager to supply alternatives for his tongue to taste.
Heat smoldered in my belly until the steam flushed my cheeks. I bit my lip and tore my eyes away from the unreasonably seductive movement to root through my own ice cream instead.
It was probably a perfectly normal speed, a perfectly normal way to eat ice cream. But when you’re falling hard for someone, it takes precious little to seduce you. A look. A spoonful of ice cream. An Adam’s apple.
That last one was especially embarrassing. But the neck gods had smiled upon Max, okay? I stood by my weird turn-ons… unless one of my friends learned about them. Then I’d deny everything, build a raft out of donut boxes, and sail into the sunset.
“What’s in the Triple Ripple one?” Max asked, pursing his lips to indicate my pint.
“Oh, uh” —I rotated the container to read the label, since my brain was still fantasizing about spoons— “chocolate ice cream with swirls of peanut butter, peppermint, and marshmallow.”
“Wow. I don’t think I would’ve thought of combining those flavors.”
I laughed. “They seem like they wouldn’t fit together, right? But it works surprisingly well. Especially since you can usually only fit one or two of the swirls in one spoonful.”
A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Challenge accepted.”
“What challenge?”
“I’m gonna fit all three swirls in one bite.” He held his pint out. “Switch?”
I put my spoon in my mouth to free up my hands, and we swapped. Our fingers brushed as we did. Our eyes locked and my lungs forgot how to breathe. And then I remembered the spoon sticking out of my mouth like a lone walrus tusk.
It figured. He got to look like a model while eating, and I got to look like blubbery wildlife.
We retreated to our respective corners of the couch. Both of us pointedly watched the TV and our ice cream, never straying toward the other person in threat of death.
The Motor City Mayhem ice cream was my favorite, while Lex favored the Triple Ripple.
They were both delicious, of course, but the creamy cherry ice cream with brownie pieces and fudge ribbons were a downright lethal combination, even before the Pop Rocks hit your tongue.
It lived up to its chaotic name, and I could appreciate that.
It wasn’t until the episode was about to end that I finally braved looking in Max’s direction, only to find him already watching me.
He clutched his spoon in his mouth again, but instead of torturing me with its movement, he tapped the handle like he’d forgotten it was even there.
His eyes looked darker than normal as they fixated on my mouth.
The unfamiliar expression on his face cranked up the heat inside me until I was positive my ice cream would melt in my hand.
Brooding, almost. And Max was not a brooder .
“You” —his voice came out gravelly until he cleared his throat— “you really like that flavor, don’t you?”
I shrugged and curled my knees up closer to my chest. The couch creaked in protest. “Well, yeah. I like all ice cream flavors. This one just happens to be my favorite.”
He nodded and cleared his throat again. Even so, his voice was a touch constricted. “I can tell.”
My pulse picked up its pace. I wanted to read into his behavior, assign meaning to it. Meaning he’d never once confirmed and that would be unreasonable and presumptuous. And yet, that didn’t stop the stupid little organ in my chest from beating harder or thinking he might be attracted to me.
See? Presumptuous. Especially knowing about his dating hiatus.