That wasn’t the case anymore. Maxim had friends now, some he’d known almost as long as he’d known me. He’d never admit to wanting a party for himself, though I had a feeling it’d make him smile. He might clam up at first if he had to be the center of attention, but if I planned a good party, that wouldn’t happen. Given my years of experience doing little else, I was confident in my ability to do just that.
The problem would be getting everyone together and finding a space. I kinda lacked the resources to make that happen solo. I’d reached out to Bryan a few days ago, and he thought the party was a wonderful idea, but he wasn’t much of a party planner. As a result, Eli had his hands full with their wedding plans. I felt for the guy.
Bryan had given me an alternative I’d been dreading: Mac. Sure, we’d come to sort of a gentleman’s agreement to not be shitty with each other, but we were hardly best buds. I saw him around on the days I accompanied Maxim to the gym, and the few times he’d convinced Maxim to go out for drinks. He still annoyed the ever-loving shit out of me, even if he was an okay guy.
I sat on the closed lid of the toilet with my knee bouncing and my phone in hand, thumb hovering over Mac’s designation: Douche. Bryan gave me his number, and I’d tried to think of another way. There wasn’t one.
Sighing in defeat, I tapped his name and started typing.
R: Hi, its Remy
The “Read” message appeared immediately, then… nothing. My knee came to a halt and my nerves shifted to rage. That motherfucker was going to leave me on Read?! I muttered curses low enough to not alert Maxim out in the living room and was about to call Mac and tell him to eat my entire fucking ass, when a new message appeared.
D: Jeez. Took you long enough to message me, dude.
R: what?
D: Don’t be dumb, fuckboy.
D: Bry told me he gave you my number. Days ago, dude.
Of course he did. Now I felt like a fuckin’ idiot.
R: w/e. Did he tell u why I needed ur number?
D: My guy, the shorthand needs to STOP.
I groaned louder than I’d intended to and my knee resumed bouncing. “Asshole.”
R: Greetings! Has our mutual comrade informed you of the purpose of my message on this here fine fucking day?
D: Bravo, good sir.
D: That’s much more fitting of a guy named Remington.
D: And yes, Bry told me what was up. I’m down to party plan, dude.
R: gr8
I deliberately went back to shorthand in hopes it would piss him off, even just a little.
D: You’re gonna be *that* bitch?
I was one hundred percent that bitch. I left him on “Read” and counted the seconds in my head before he replied. I made it to thirty-seven.
D: Fine. Be like that.
D: Texting you is exhausting.
D: Get away from Daddy tomorrow and come over. We’ll plan this motherfucker, then you can lose my number.
R: works for me
Mac sent his address, then I locked my phone and slid it back into my pocket. I flushed the toilet and ran the tap for my cover before I went back out to the living room to spin another white lie.
“What did I miss?” I asked as I sat down between Maxim’s outstretched legs and leaned back against his chest.
“Bonnie is back from the dead.”
“Already? By who?” We’d long since caught up on Supernatural and were now watching The Vampire Diaries. Who knew Maxim would enjoy teen drama so much?
“Don’t know yet. I could have paused it when you got up,” he grumbled.
He was too fucking adorable when he was grumbly. “I know, but it’s so much more fun to ask questions.” He snorted a laugh, then pulled me closer and kissed the top of my head. “Hey, do you need me for anything tomorrow morning? I thought I’d go see Roz again, if that’s all right.” Not the smoothest segue. Fucking sue me.
“I appreciate that you still want to take care of me, but I can make my own breakfast on occasion, love. Go see your sister—you don’t have to ask permission.”
Had I? Shit, I guess I did. “Right. Thanks.”
He hesitated, though I knew he wanted to say more from the change in his breathing. “How much money do you need?”
Shit. I’d forgotten that using Roz as an excuse meant accepting more money from Maxim. I’d been going to visit her more during breaks on her shift and around mealtimes to cut down on taking money from Max. One of those quick visits wouldn’t cover me for as long as I’d probably need with Mac. The lie had gone unnoticed for Valentine’s Day, but Maxim wasn’t distracted now.
“Oh, yeah. Twenty would be great, thanks.”
“Can I send it to you? I don’t have much cash on hand.” He sounded apologetic, and I hated it.
“Sure, babe. I should probably get a job soon, huh? There’s gotta be something out there even I’m qualified to do.”
Maxim swept the backs of his curled fingers up and down my chest and sighed. “Please don’t belittle yourself like that. You’ll figure it out in time.”
I tilted my head back and waited for him to kiss me, effectively ending the conversation.
He didn’t make me wait long.
I pulled up the address Mac had sent over once more before I knocked on the door at the end of a quiet hallway. At least it had been quiet when I stepped off of the elevator. The closer I got to the door, the more pronounced the thud of booming bass became. It was muffled through the door, though I recognized the song to be one from Marky Mark. Yeah, I was at the right fucking place.
My knock went unanswered so I hammer-fisted the door like the FBI with a warrant. The music paused, then footsteps grew louder. Mac pulled the door open and greeted me with a wide smile I hadn’t expected. The fucker was also only wearing boxer briefs. It was a damn shame a body like that had to be on a guy like him.
“Ah, you didn’t get lost,” he said teasingly.
“GPS.”
“Come on in, lost boy.” He stepped aside and opened the door wider, then closed and locked it behind me.
“I didn’t get lost.”
“Yeah, that’s totally not what I meant, but I shouldn’t be surprised it went over your head.”
A door swung open down the hall, then Dubhlainn stomped into the kitchen and crossed his arms over his chest. His short red hair was a wavy mess, not unlike Mac’s blond hair.
“Mornin’, Remy. How ya?”
I side-eyed Mac, then smiled at his much more tolerable—and reasonably dressed—boyfriend. “Good, man. Sorry to drop in so early.”
“It’s no bother. And you,” he said, directing his attention to Mac. “I told ya to quit actin’ like a fuckin’ eejit. Behave.”
“Yes, Dove,” Mac grumbled.
Dubhlainn turned back to me and excused himself to go study in his room. Once the door closed behind him, I cracked a smile and looked over at Mac.
“I get it now. Little red there owns you.”
“Shut up.”
I held up my hands in front of my chest. “Sure thing. Bro.”
He shivered and wrinkled his nose. “Ew, you don’t get to bro me.”
“Whatever. Couldn’t you have put some fucking clothes on? You knew I was coming.”
His expression went blank and he let his head fall to one side. “In my own place? Really?”
I sighed, not wanting to admit he had a point, but man enough to concede. “Fair. Maybe we can get on with the planning portion of the morning? I can’t be gone all day.”
Mac snorted and rubbed his scruff. “Does Daddy keep you on a short leash? That doesn’t sound like Maxy.”
“Fuck you.”
“You wish. Sorry not sorry, but you’re not my type.”
We stood there in the wide-open space behind the couch, glaring at each other like cartoon nemeses. Then my stomach grumbled louder than it had ever fucking done before. In keeping with the lie that I was going out for breakfast, I’d left without eating. I clenched my fist and w
aited for a joke, but none came.
“Want something to eat?”
“Um. Yeah, sure.”
“Come,” he said on a sigh, turning around and heading toward the large kitchen. “And try not to check out my ass too much.”
Fucker.
He motioned for me to sit at one of the tall stools at the kitchen island, then walked around the counter and went for the fridge. “Bacon and eggs, leftover pizza, or Froot Loops?”
I narrowed my eyes at him, not sure what caused the sudden uptick in hospitality and not fully trusting it. He closed the fridge, crossed his arms, and leaned a hip against the counter.
“Look, I’m sorry about just now. I was being a dick, and it was rude. We made our truce, and I need to remember that. Also, Dove will skin me if I keep being rude to a guest.” He waved his hand around absently. “Irish hospitality is apparently a serious thing.”
He sounded genuine, and I relaxed a bit. “I wasn’t exactly my best either.”
“Good. Now that we’re past that, what can I get you for breakfast?”
“I’m never gonna turn down bacon.”
“Comin’ up.” He spun around to the fridge and took out a pack of unopened, thick-sliced bacon. Fan-fucking-tastic. Once a non-stick frying pan was lined with meat and the rest was back in the fridge, he stood with his back to me and washed his hands. And I one hundred percent did not check out his ass. Fucking bastard.
“So,” he drew out as he dried his hands on a dish towel hanging from the stove, then faced me. “How do you want to do this?”
“I’m not too sure,” I replied, scratching at the raven on my neck. “I don’t know what you guys usually do, but I thought it’d be kinda cool to throw him a party. Ah, but one where he isn’t going to feel like the center of attention—he wouldn’t like that.”
“Any chance of you telling me why he hates attention? I know he goes to great lengths to avoid it, and I’m pretty sure he knows I know, though he hasn’t told me why.”
“Not a chance. Maxim isn’t the type of man to volunteer that kind of personal information, and I don’t think he’d appreciate me gossiping about him.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have pried.”
I snorted a laugh, despite his defeated tone. “Prying is kinda what you do. You haven’t changed much from what I can tell.”
“Woooow—thanks for the compliment, dick.”
“I wasn’t finished, douche,” I quipped, biting back a smirk. “You’re still the same Macalister that Maxim loves and trusts. He thinks of you like a brother. Still, he’s not gonna just tell you his deepest fears and worries over shots at the bar. If you sit him down alone and ask him directly, he’ll probably tell you.”
Mac got a guilty look on his face and scratched the back of his neck. Before he turned around to poke at the bacon.
“Mac, have you ever tried seriously asking him about it?”
A loud pop and flying grease had Mac hopping back from the stove. “Not really,” he said regrettably while he strode over to a hook on the wall by the hallway and grabbed a gray apron. He hooked it around his neck and faced me while he tied it around his back. “I tried a few times when we were younger, and he always shut me down or straight-up lied and said he was fine. Instead of continuing to pry, I accepted he didn’t want to talk about it and moved on. I tried my best over the years to be mindful of what I thought his limits were.” A heavy sigh fell from his lips. “I guess I’ve been kind of a shitty friend.”
“Nah, not even.” I waved that sentiment off with a flick of my wrist. “He adores you, even when you’re annoying the shit out of him.” That made Mac smile. “You gave him exactly what he thought he needed: some degree of space and his privacy. Most importantly, you fuckin’ stayed, and that means more to him than anything.”
I swallowed hard and laid my hands flat on the counter. I hadn’t meant to say that last part. I couldn’t change that I’d left, and I frankly wasn’t sure I would’ve even if I could’ve. Staying could have ruined us, and I couldn’t handle Maxim ever hating me. Fuck. I needed to calm down.
Mac noticed my distress yet had the decency not to comment on it. “He gets all depressed about his birthday—how about we not let that happen this year, yeah?”
“Why is he depressed around his birthday?” I asked like the fucking dumbass I was.
“Why do you think, Remington Steele?”
I hung my head. I didn’t have to answer. I’d left the day after Maxim’s twenty-second birthday. Before I could take a stroll down memory lane and get the shit kicked out of me, Mac snapped his fingers in front of me.
“Stay with me, dude. What’s done is done. Let’s make this year epic,” he said with a grin.
The blond fucker was right. I couldn’t get sucked into all of that negative bullshit again. I switched gears and launched into an idea I had for the party. Mac nodded along and shared my sentiments, and I felt like we were getting somewhere.
“Max’s apartment isn’t big enough to comfortably fit many people, so I’m not sure how well that’ll work.”
Mac waved that off. “Don’t worry about that. We can have it here. The music will be better too.”
I scoffed. “That’s debatable. I heard that shit you were listening to when I got here.”
“For the love of God, why doesn’t anyone want to acknowledge the greatness that is Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch?! ‘You Gotta Believe’ is an underrated classic.”
He launched into an animated run that had me struggling to keep my laughter at bay. I lost the battle when he brought fucking Vanilla Ice into the mix. While my shoulders were still shaking, my phone buzzed from inside my pocket. I fished it out, noted I had a new email, then opened up my mail app. My smile faded when I read Stanley Robson’s name at the top of my inbox.
I took a deep breath, then deleted the email. Fuck that guy. I was done with him, and I couldn’t have given two shits about whatever he had to say.
“You good, dude?” Mac asked with a furrowed brow. “Get some bad news or something?”
I pocketed my phone and shook my head. “Nah, it’s just annoying spam. You were talking about your shit taste in music, please do carry on.”
And he did without missing a beat—much to my amusement. Or regret. It was really a toss-up.
Fifteen
Maxim
Remy was up to something. He thought he was being sneaky, but he really was an awful liar. He’d been spending more time on his phone, smiling and groaning at something. When I’d inquire, he’d lock his screen, pocket his phone, and say some variation of “nothing, just a stupid meme.”
I had a fairly good idea that it was regarding my upcoming birthday on the eleventh, and that eased any would-be tension around the deception. I’d never fault Remy for wanting to surprise me, though I was very curious to see what he was plotting, and with whom.
To let him have his surprise, I didn’t try to figure out what he was up to, and I played oblivious. Remy’s meetings with his “sister” increased and lasted longer, and I found myself at a loss for what to do at home. For the first time in my adult life since Remy had left, I felt alone. So much so that I couldn’t fathom how I’d spent so much time by myself for years without being lonely.
Perhaps I had been lonely the entire time and only now realized it. Whatever the case, sitting in my apartment alone had lost its appeal today. It was an off day from the gym that I didn’t want to ignore. Rest was just as important as rebuilding strength until I was back to top form, so going to the gym was out of the question. Going for a walk seemed aimless, unless…
I pulled out my phone and checked the housing listings within a few blocks, and was delighted to see there were nearly a dozen open houses. There would be more tomorrow as well. Not everything was within my budget, but looking couldn’t hurt.
The first house I looked at was a mess. Not in the quaint, fixer-upper sense—it was a disaster. The duplex had been overhauled on the exterior fairly recently
, yet the inside was nothing but trouble. A poor layout combined with the overwhelming probability of mold and loud neighbors screaming at each other eliminated this place from contemplation. It was a new listing with a price below market value, and after five minutes inside, it was clear why.
The second home was detached, which I preferred. Aside from having worn-down carpeting and needing fresh paint, there wasn’t anything wrong with the two-bedroom home. It had a few modern updates in the kitchen and bathroom, but it didn’t feel like the right fit.
Remy liked space, he always had. My apartment was small, but it was wide open aside from the bedroom. This house was much larger, but the rooms were all walled off and it felt… confining—even for me. Remy would hate being in a place like this, and I sure hoped he’d want to continue living with me.
Consulting him had crossed my mind. Buying a house was a huge commitment, and it was one I hoped he’d want to share with me. Remy lacked the means to contribute financially right now, but I still wanted to share it with him. I already knew he wouldn’t be receptive to that without being able to help pay, so I kept it to myself.
Instead, I wanted to find a place we’d both love, then when he felt he was ready, we could add his name to the mortgage. Or something like that. The details weren’t important to me; I just wanted my Rem. I felt like I almost had him too. A part of him sometimes seemed to doubt that we could make our relationship work again, and I imagine it had everything to do with why he’d left. Maybe in a few more weeks he’d be comfortable enough to tell me. I believed he’d told me most of his secrets, but that one was holding him back.
I’d waited ten years to have him back—I could wait a bit longer for this if it meant he’d be staying for good.
Somebody to Love (Crazy Little Thing Book 3) Page 14