Before becoming better friends with Sharon, my mom deducted it was because Max and his brothers didn’t have a father, and therefore they were competing to hold the alpha male title. She was probably right to some degree, but we try not to encourage our mom—the non-therapist—to psychoanalyze things.
Now Max’s arms and chest both look broader and more defined, covered with a fitted black T-shirt. Jeans hang loose on his hips. The sight of his strong jaw and cheekbones has my fingers constricting with the desire to trace the contours. And though I’m a good fifty feet from him, I can see—or maybe have just memorized—the piercing clarity of his deep blue eyes which are such a beautiful and rare color, I’m sure Crayola would be inspired to replicate the hue.
It’s been three years since I’ve seen Max, and the sight of him is as distracting as it’s always been.
Emily wanders over to us, and I sweep her up and head inside to stop myself from staring at Max for any longer.
“Did I hear a motorcycle out there with y’all?” Mom asks, taking Emily and hugging her.
Emily nods, her whole body bouncing with the movement.
“Yeah, Max is home,” I tell her when her gaze meets mine for confirmation.
“Oh good! Sharon was worried he wouldn’t be back in time. I’ll have to make sure your daddy took enough meat out to grill. I bet those boys can eat a ton. I guess he had to go into San Diego to file something for school. Did you see Jameson and Landon out there, too?”
My mind reels, trying to take in everything she just said, focusing on the part of them eating a ton.
Is she saying that they’re coming over?
I shake my head slowly in response. “Who’s Landon? And what are you talking about?”
Her lips curl into a knowing smile, but before I can ask anything more, Mindi makes her way inside, loudly complaining about how hot she is.
My dad follows behind her. “Ace, I’m grilling. You want to give me a hand?”
I nod and follow him through the house to our backyard. “Are Jenny and Lilly coming tonight?” I haven’t seen my sister Jenny or her daughter in nearly a month.
“No, it sounds like Jenny and Paul are going through quite the rough patch again,” Dad answers with a sigh. Opening the lid of the already hot grill, he begins to scrape it clean.
“Dave!” My mom yells. She’s smiling her too happy of a grin, a sure sign that she has something up her sleeve.
My tension rises as the reality of her smile emerges from the house. Sharon’s following my mom, and right behind her is Max. My fingers constrict on the cushion of my seat as I work to avoid him and focus on Zeus, who’s close on his heels.
Instantly feeling a rush of self-consciousness, I peer down at the emerald green shorts I’d thrown on this morning after my shower. Thankfully it was hot today, requiring shorts opposed to my trademark Sunday sweatpants.
“Sharon, I’m so glad you guys can join us! Ace and I are just getting the grill ready!” Their long friendship that’s progressed from professional to personal is apparent in her warm smile.
To this day it’s not an uncommon occurrence for a woman to approach my father and shamelessly flirt with him, much to my sisters’ and my mortification. I know my father’s attractive. He’s half Puerto Rican and half French, and it’s obvious that he stays fit when looking at his caramel skin. Flecks of gray sprinkle his thick, nearly black hair, which only adds character to him, and he has the warmest dark brown eyes I’ve ever seen. People often say I have his eyes, but I know without resentment that I don’t. In addition to his good looks, my father is the smartest person I know. But there’s just something inexplicably weird about having someone hit on your parent, even when they adamantly decline any advances. We all tend to be a little sensitive to this subject, but Sharon has always made it overtly clear that her friendship is completely benign.
“I can’t believe you guys are out here cooking! You must be exhausted,” Sharon says, turning to Max. “David, Kendall, and Ace just got back from France.”
“It may be an early night for me,” Dad admits with a grin.
Mom places a hand on Dad’s shoulder and takes a step forward. “Eric called,” she tells me, handing me my renegade cell phone. “He said he’s running late … again.” Her lips press into a thin line, and her artfully sculpted eyebrows rise, showing her displeasure.
“How is Eric?” Sharon asks. Before I can respond, she turns toward Max again and explains, “Eric is Ace’s boyfriend.”
Max rakes his large hand over his short cropped hair which is nearly black, then pushes it forward again before dropping his hand loosely to his side. His blue eyes are focused on me as though awaiting a response, and it takes me a couple of awkward moments to recall one had been asked.
“You know Eric, he’s always busy,” my dad offers, apparently sensing my inability to speak.
“Busy for sure!” Eric appears on the patio dressed in a pair of plaid shorts and polo, wearing a familiar smile. “I’m Eric, Eric Boyd,” he says, extending his hand to Max before any of us have the opportunity to introduce the two.
“Max,” he offers, accepting Eric’s hand in what could quite possibly be the most uncomfortable handshake ever as Eric vigorously shakes their joined hands with forced enthusiasm.
“Your mom mentioned you fish,” Eric says.
Max keeps his eyes trained on Eric and nods. “Yeah. Do you?”
“No. I don’t really have time for much these days.” Eric turns to me and his grin grows into a full smile before he wraps an arm around my shoulders and squeezes me to his chest. “I’m going to have to confiscate all these old T-shirts when you move into your apartment this fall. I can’t believe you still have them.”
“I can’t believe she still wears them,” Kendall chides. Kendall’s always up on every fashion sense, from hair to clothes to the latest nail trends.
I look down at my old track shirt, worn and washed to the point it’s now soft and comfortable and shrug with indifference.
“Hey, Ace, can I borrow you a sec?” Kyle calls from the open patio door.
With the easy excuse to leave, I head inside.
“Want to try your skills at another window? The neighbor locked himself out.” Kyle’s eyes narrow with thought.
“Last time you crawled through a window, you nearly got your face bitten off by a Doberman.” Savannah eyes me warily, standing in front of the door as a barricade.
Max follows our same path, stopping beside Kyle. “Which neighbor?” He tucks his cell phone into his back pocket.
I should be paying attention to Kyle’s answer, but I’m too distracted wondering who Max might have been texting, wondering if it was a girl, and if the same parade will return now that he’s back.
“You should be safe then. He doesn’t have any dogs.” Max winks at Savannah, causing an irrational pang of jealousy in my chest. “Come on, we’ll see if I can fit.”
Savannah slowly moves, allowing us permission to exit, looking slightly dazed by Max’s charm.
“You won’t be able to fit, dude. It’s a bathroom window,” Kyle explains.
Max doesn’t seem to find it necessary to respond as we cross the street to the Janes’s and loop around to the backyard.
“All right, Jack, I think I found our ticket in,” Kyle announces.
“Hey, Mr. Janes.” I smile in greeting.
“You went and got the prettiest one. What, are you trying to make me feel even worse?” Jack replies gruffly.
I doubt he can actually tell us apart; he has a tough time recalling how many of us there are.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Janes, I was often used to test theories, and small spaces,” I tease.
“How come I haven’t seen many of you around lately?”
“They flock to the malls, like moths to the light,” Kyle jokes as his gaze traces the side of the house, landing on our point of entry—a small open window that sits at least eight feet from the ground.
“Mr. Jan
es, where’s your lovely wife?” Max’s eyes are fixed on the same spot.
“Oh, she’s inside, asleep in front of the TV with her hearing aid turned off,” he grunts, shaking his head.
“Kyle! I think something’s wrong with Emily!” Mindi’s yelling has us all turning to Kyle.
“She’s pregnant, and it hasn’t been a good day. I’m sure everything’s fine, but I should probably go check. Do you guys think you can handle this?” Kyle looks from me to Max apologetically before Mindi starts screaming his name again.
“We’ve got it covered,” Max assures him.
Kyle gives a weak smile and dashes out of sight.
“That isn’t from the pregnancy; she’s always been like that,” Jack mutters, making me swallow a laugh.
Max however doesn’t react. Instead, he gets closer to the side of the house, then jumps and grabs the windowsill. The muscles in his biceps and forearms become more prominent as he pulls himself toward the window, making the move look easy, almost graceful. I take the opportunity to study his left arm and the many tattoos that create a sleeve down to his elbow—a new addition to his appearance since leaving for Alaska. Max twists and tries to maneuver himself forward, but it’s quickly apparent that there’s no chance his shoulders are going to fit through the gap.
He lowers himself back to the ground with a soft thud and looks over to me. “Sorry, it looks like he was right. You sure you want to try this? I can go see if I can maneuver the locks or check other windows.”
“Kyle tried all that before going to get you kids.” Jack scratches his thinning gray hair. “I can just wait on the porch. Eventually, Ethel will wake up.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Janes. It’s no problem,” I assure him and turn my attention to Max. “I’m going to need your help though. I don’t think I’ll be able to pull off that Spiderman move.”
Max smirks and my breath catches, seeing his eyes grow bright with humor. I consciously force myself to exhale, and then inhale again as I divert my attention back to the window which appears higher as we get closer.
“All right, prepare to feel like Spiderman,” Max says, creating a stirrup with his hands.
I place my foot on his woven fingers and reach up as he lifts me into the air, high enough to grab the windowsill. Gripping the siding with both hands, I shimmy my way through the narrow opening.
I’m directly over the bathtub, which is exactly what I’d feared, because getting down will prove to be more of a challenge to enter without face-planting in the bathtub. The cool tile tickles my fingertips as I stretch, reaching toward the inlet where their shampoo and soap sits. My fingers, still clutching the window, relax, attempting to give me the extra height, but my grip slips entirely, causing my muscles to tense and a scream to race through my lips. My stomach scrapes painfully against the windowsill as my hands rake across the small space I’d been trying to reach in an attempt to brace myself, sending everything to the floor of the tub with an alarming crash. My scream echoes back at me as I feel Max’s hands grip my ankles, stopping my descent.
I sigh in relief as the soap bottles roll, clanging around the empty tub with the same loud volume that my heart beats.
A breeze rolls across my bare legs, and my skin feels more sensitive to the cool air with the blood pulsating through my limbs from the adrenaline, making me acutely aware of my short shorts, and uncomfortable positioning that has my butt and hips propped in the air.
Worst idea ever.
“Are you okay? I’m pulling you out. This was a bad idea!” Max calls.
“I’m okay.” Just a bruised ego. My voice sounds strained and too loud from the pressure of the windowsill and the tile wall cutting into my stomach. “I just need help backing out a little.”
Max slowly pulls me backward until I assure him I’m good. Then I carefully work to readjust myself, making sure to grip the house and windowsill so tightly my fingers ache while moving both feet so they dangle toward the tub so I will hopefully be able to jump the few feet inside and not slip.
My nerves from the near face-plant has my breath coming up short and praying this doesn’t look as ridiculous outside as I fear. My heart stops again as the bathroom door flies open and a flurry of purple and teal rushes into the bathroom. Thankfully, my fingers are locked around the windowsill and frame from the first mishap, otherwise I would likely be on my backside in the tub right now. My focus clears to see all five foot nothing of Ethel Janes standing a few feet from me, staring me down from the end of a shotgun barrel aimed directly at my chest.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you’d better get out of my house before I shoot you!”
My gaze sweeps over hair that’s tightly pulled up in curlers and her purple and teal housecoat, zeroing in on knotted, arthritis-bent fingers looking unsteady as they shakily rest on the trigger.
“Ace!” Max yells, grabbing at my backside from the ground.
“Ethel, put that goddamned gun down before you shoot yourself!” Jack yells.
I’m immobile from fear as I watch the wheels turn in her head.
“Ethel, it’s just Ace. She’s tryin’ to help. I locked myself out again!” Jack continues.
Ethel’s eyebrows knit in confusion, like she isn’t positive it’s really her husband yelling at her. I fight to create a coherent explanation over the fear screaming in my head.
“H-hi … hi, Mrs. Janes. I haven’t seen you in a while, but it’s me … Ace. I live a few doors down. David and Muriel Bosse’s daughter.” I work to keep my voice soft as I search her face for any sign of recognition.
“Dammit, Ethel, let the poor girl in and come unlock the door!”
“I’ll uh … I can go back out this way.” I motion to the window.
Sneering, she maintains her aim. “You do that.”
Scrambling to get myself back outside goes much faster than it had getting in as I continue watching her, noticing that my moving seems to increase her level of unease. My upper body and one leg are out and my mind’s so focused on trying to keep my grip tight so I can pull my next leg free, I barely notice Max’s hand clasping around my freed leg. Leaning back so I can pull my second leg free, a deafening blast erupts from behind me and I lose balance. I half lunge, half fall from the window.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I prepare to feel the slam of the earth.
Continue Chapter 2 of Becoming His
Acknowledgments
First off, I have to thank my family. I disappeared for hours and sometimes days while I wrote Raegan and Lincoln’s story, and then re-wrote them, and then re-wrote them again. A special thanks to my husband for taking on the painful job of teaching me about football and football lingo and football schedules, and everything else I didn’t know and sometimes didn’t want to know.
A very special thanks to Arielle Brubaker for finding the time and patience to fit these books into her schedule and help me through so many concerns and doubts I harbored. Also, you are a genius mind reader, and I’m never letting you go!
A huge thanks to Terri Peterson, who is always my fearless Guinea pig, who received chapters of Bending the Rules over a year ago and has patiently been waiting all this time.
Thank you to Lisa Greenwood for being such a wonderful friend and forgetful sounding board. I’m glad you were still shocked by Raegan’s accident, though we discussed it at great lengths! Ha!
And a GIANT thank you to all the readers and bloggers who have picked up these books and read them. I know the world is a bit crazy right now, and I sure hope these stories gave you a small reprieve. I appreciate you reading these books and wish I could give you all a giant squeeze!
About the Author
Mariah Dietz is a USA Today Bestselling Author and self proclaimed nerd. She lives with her husband and sons in North Carolina.
Mariah grew up in a tiny town outside of Portland, Oregon where she spent most of her time immersed in the pages of books that she both read and created.
She has a love
for all things that include her family, good coffee, books, traveling, and dark chocolate. She's also been known to laugh at her own jokes.
www.mariahdietz.com
[email protected]
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Breaking the Rules: The Dating Playbook, Book: 2 Page 34