7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Max
I wake up with major morning wood and Peyton sprawled all over me. Her leg flung across just below my boys is not helping. She’s snuggled up against my side, and her head’s smooshed against my arm with her mouth slightly agape. Still, she looks sweet. I lift a chunk of hair plastered to her cheek and tuck it behind her ear.
She wakes and smacks her lips. Our gazes meet as her body presses against my side when she lengthens in a jerky stretch.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Good morning.”
She stays nestled beside me and I’m getting a morning sexy-time vibe from her.
She sits up. Her hair is all over the place. “What time is it?”
“A little after eight.”
“Shit. I’m supposed to meet Ashima at eight. We take an eight thirty class together.” She looks around the room. “Where’s my phone?”
Then she flops back against the mattress. “Damn it. I left it in the living room. I hope Ashima didn’t find it.” She looks at me. “Can you get it? I think my purse is beside the television.”
My hard-on is holding strong. “Why don’t you grab it?”
“I don’t want Ashima to know I slept here last night.” She kicks at the sheets tangled around our feet.
“Why not?”
“Do you really have to ask?”
And that’s enough to soften me up. How the hell did I land myself in the same shitty situation where I’m hanging with someone who doesn’t want to be with me? But it doesn’t matter—it’s not like I’m wanting to date Peyton, anyway. Sex would be nice, but it wouldn’t be worth Ashima always being around meddling in my love life.
Huh, maybe this is Peyton’s point, and she wasn’t making a dig at me. But realizing this doesn’t remove the sting.
“I’ll go grab it,” I huff out.
I’m in the same clothes as last night, so I stride straight to the living room, where I find a small navy bag propped against the TV. This must be it. Back in my bedroom, I toss it to Peyton. She snatches it out of the air and immediately dives inside for her phone.
“Crap. She texted me last night. She wanted to know why I left without saying goodbye.” Peyton drops her phone back into her purse. “I feel bad that I didn’t respond. And that I came back here to smoke up rather than staying at her party. What was I thinking?” She’s pacing, so she’s completely missing how ticked off I look.
“I thought last night was fun.”
She shoves her phone back in her purse. “Everything’s a mess. I don’t like it when I don’t meet my social obligations. I was supposed to help push you to Emi, and removing you from the party completely sabotaged that effort.”
“You and Ashima realize I have my own free will, right?”
“Yes, sorry. Of course you do.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “And now I’ve made things worse by saying something stupid to you.”
“It’s fine. Go to the gym.”
“I don’t have time to go home, change, and make it to the class.”
“Wear something of mine. It’ll be baggy, but whatever. I have some booty shorts you can borrow.”
“Booty shorts?”
“Not really. They’re small by my standards, but they might work for you.” I dig through my dresser for my red cotton shorts. After I bought them, I realized the brand ran small, but I never got around to returning them, so they’re the pair I only use if I absolutely don’t have any other semiclean laundry.
Peyton pulls them on under her dress. They’re big on her, but they aren’t totally ridiculous looking.
“Can I borrow a T-shirt?”
I dig to the bottom of my drawer for my Georgia Tech shirt from freshman year. I was pretty skinny back then. The navy blue shirt is faded, but the lettering is all there.
“I can’t wear a Tech shirt. Ashima would definitely notice.”
“Okay. Sheesh.” I shove the shirt back in and search for any other old small shirts.
“What about an undershirt? Do you have any tight fit ones?”
My white undershirts are yellowed and pit-stained, but I have a couple of black ones. Lucky for Peyton, one is clean.
She yanks at her dress, not seeming to care that she’s undressing in front of me. Given the bathroom incident, I guess I don’t have to look away, but given she just dissed me, I don’t want to enjoy the view. My indecision makes me too slow, and her dress rides up over her breasts in one swoop. She’s not wearing a bra, so I see more than I bargained for. My shorts are riding low on her hips, showing off her flat stomach. I turn away.
“I guess this works.”
When I face her, the shirt’s covering everything up. The baggy clothes give her a bit of a wannabe rapper vibe.
She looks at herself in the mirror. “Sorry, I have to hurry out of here.”
She hugs me with a stealthy squeeze, not giving me time to hug her back. At the door, she pauses with her hand on the knob. “Even if I shouldn’t have smoked up with you last night, it was fun. Thanks.”
Then she’s gone. Now it was fun? What the hell? Okay, that settles it. I’m staying away from Peyton. Last thing I need right now is to be playing any stupid games.
Peyton
I arrive at the gym a few minutes late for step aerobics, but thankfully Ashima saved a bench next to her. The music is already pumping as the instructor leads the class in some stretches.
I put my leg on my bench and Ashima moves over to stretch beside me. She hisses as she grabs her toes, “Where were you last night?”
“I was tired.”
She shoots me a skeptical glare, but then her brow crinkles as she looks me up and down. “What’re you wearing?”
“Workout clothes.” I run my hand over the top, pressing it to me as if this will make it look my size. My shoes aren’t helping. I keep emergency clothes in the back of my trunk, which includes a pair of worn-out, black Mary Jane flats. They have rubber soles and secure tightly to my foot, so they work fine for aerobic activities, but I don’t think I’m fooling her that this outfit is something I’d select from my closet.
She jerks upright and covers her hands with her mouth. “No!”
“No, no, no. It’s not what you think.” I hurry to her side. “I smoked up with Max and fell asleep,” I whisper while looking around the class. Everyone is bent over in a stretch and they don’t seem to notice us, but discussing this in the middle of the class makes me feel conspicuous.
She slumps forward, hanging her head. “Peyton, you said you’d help me. Emi left with the guy I invited for you.”
Though I’m in hot water, that’s a relief to hear. Adding a possible STIMP to my summer would be too distracting. With the addition of my endeavors into AI, it’s even more important that I focus on work. Plus, Ashima and Max are sufficiently filling my need for a social outlet.
“I’m sorry, but I’ll say in my defense that nothing lasting would’ve come of Max and Emi. And as for me, I definitely do not need to date at the moment.”
“You could’ve given me a heads-up instead of disappearing.”
“I had good intentions, and I talked with him about his ex, which likely had some therapeutic value.” I move over and stretch next to her. “But then I was high, and I forgot about the party. I’m sorry I didn’t drag Max back out.”
She pouts, but then puts her other leg on her bench and stretches it. “I guess it doesn’t matter since Holly couldn’t make it.”
This assuages some of my guilt, though not all, so I gladly resume stretching.
“And nothing else happened between you and Max? I wasn’t lying when I said I’m not trying to set the two of you up.” She narrows her eyes at me while lifting a leg into a quad stretch. “Max is like that really hyper kid in your class that you have to keep reminding yourself has a good heart. At the end of the day, you need a break. You don’t want to chill at happy hour with that kid.”
“And I wasn’t lying when I said I’m not interested in a summer STIMP.”
“Okay, well, I guess everything worked out pretty okay last night. But you owe me. And since you’re closer to him now, he’ll trust your input on style and fashion.”
“Fashion? What?” I do a double take, but all I get from Ashima is a coy smile. With the warm-up stretch over, the instructor shows us the beginning of the step routine, so she’s saved from explaining what she has up her sleeve. Or maybe I’m the one saved.
The instructor starts with a couple of corner-to-corner steps, which are nice and easy, but soon we’re crossing, lunging, grapevining and I don’t know what else, because I’m completely lost. Ashima has been taking this class for a while, so she throws in some spins while I stumble through the basics.
Also, Ashima’s odd comment is distracting me. Why would Ashima need me for something requiring style and fashion? After a single meeting, Max established that I’m no fashionista. And after our brief groping session, it feels dishonest to be trying to trick him into dating someone else. But then he knows Ashima is trying to hook him up, so I guess this is merely the strange foundation we must accept while establishing our friendship.
I embarrass myself through the routine until the instructor calls out for us to take a water break. Everyone grabs their colorful refillable water bottles while stepping in place by their benches. In my hurry, I forgot to bring water, so I rush to the fountain outside the room.
Ashima follows me. “Our next step is to introduce Max to Mikal. This is going to be perfect.”
I avoid responding by drinking. The water is tepid, so it’s not as refreshing as I’d like. I take a long drink, but this doesn’t stop Ashima from continuing.
“Sometimes Mikal and his coworkers have a drink after the salon closes. Someone will bring in wine and they’ll unwind.”
I stand and wipe my mouth. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Don’t you see? This is the perfect way to convince Max to get a haircut.”
“Oh, no. That’s a horrible idea. There’s no way Max would agree.” I walk back toward the aerobics room. “And why would Mikal cut Max’s hair, anyway?”
“Because I told Mikal I’d pay him extra. Plus, I’m bringing booze, so I doubt any of the hairdressers will complain that we’re crashing their party.” Ashima pulls the door open for me. “But I understand if you’re not up to the task. You seemed a little out of your element yesterday.”
“Did I not get Max to come to the party? And I pulled him away from Emi. And I got him talking. I’d say I did pretty good.”
“But can you get him to cut his hair?”
The instructor starts up the next routine, but Ashima squares off in front of me. “You owe me.”
“Why does this have to be how I pay you back?”
“Don’t worry. You’ve already proven that you’re good at wrangling Max. You bring him to the party and I’ll handle the rest. Tell him it’s Mikal’s birthday. Max won’t question it as long as there are food and drinks.”
“I don’t know. I think he’s going to see right through it,” I say, but she ignores me and picks up on the routine.
Neither of us paid any attention to the instructor while he showed the routine, but Ashima gets right into the groove. As for me, it’s too late. I’m already a lost cause.