The Worst Best Man

by Mia Sosa

  Everyone nods.

  “Oh, one more thing,” James says. “Your hands must remain in the ball at all times. If you use your hands in any way other than to hold on to the straps on the inside of the ball, you’re disqualified.”

  I turn to Max. “Do you see what you’ve gotten me into?”

  Max gives me a self-satisfied grin. “I know. Isn’t it great?”

  “All right, folks,” Wanda says. “Let’s suit up.”

  This seems like a lot to put us through for the privilege of not sleeping on a barn floor. Especially when I consider that some of these couples aren’t smiling and may have missed James’s “have fun” part of the speech.

  “Okay, what’s our strategy?” Max asks.

  He’s taken off his button-down, so he’s returned to Hartley the Hottie status, and I want to bump the shit out of him just for that. If I’m subjected to one more that-was-close moment like the one we just had in the room, a cold shower won’t be enough to cool me down.

  I see ice baths in my future. Lots and lots of ice baths.

  Wanda, who’s a sweetie with a wicked streak, was nice enough to give me early access to the T-shirt each participant is supposed to receive at the end of the program. I’ve paired it with boxers I borrowed from Max. “Let’s just run over everyone.”

  Max purses his lips appreciatively. “That works.”

  I slip into the shoulder straps, pushing through the momentary bout of claustrophobia that assaults me.

  “You okay in there?” Max asks.

  I grasp the handles and lean over, so I can see him from the top of the ball. “I’m good. You?”

  “Excited. I tried to convince my best friend, Dean, to do this at a local rec center we go to, but he refused.”

  “Dean sounds like a smart man.”

  “Yeah, you two would get along well. He’s practical, just like you. A little more animated, though, I’d say.”

  I flutter my eyelashes. “Dean must be the perfect person. Ever consider dating him?”

  Before he can respond, James blows a whistle and motions for us to gather around him on the field of play. Because we joined the group late, we don’t know the other couples, and they don’t know us. I suspect that as the newcomers who didn’t show up on time—or so they think—Max and I will be targeted first. On the outside, I’m all polite smiles and chummy camaraderie. On the inside, I’m thinking, Bring it, suckers.

  I bump Max a bit to get his attention. “Hey. Walk with me over here.”

  Max follows. “What’s up?”

  “So now I’m thinking about strategy. Let’s split up. Together, we’re a bigger target, but if we’re separated, we’ll attract less attention. We can let the others duke it out until we’re the last ones standing.”

  Max indicates his disagreement by shaking his body, and thus the ball, back and forth. “We should stick together. Show a united front. They’re going after us first, but if we present a strong defense, they’ll quickly scatter and attack someone else.”

  I pause. “Wait a minute.” I call out to our host. “James, is there a prize for the winning couple?”

  “Bragging rights,” James yells back.

  Max and I look at each other.

  “Okay, so the stakes are low,” he says. “Why don’t we try it your way and see how it goes. If that strategy doesn’t work, we’ll try it my way. Deal?”

  I shake my whole body up and down to indicate my agreement. “Deal.”

  James blows the whistle, and everyone scatters on the field. I run to a far corner, careful not to stand too close to the perimeter of the game box. Before I can even get my bearings, a muscular guy with very hairy arms clips one of my legs with his own, a move that sends me tottering toward the edge of the field, until I lose my balance and fall over. My legs are dangling because they have no support, and I have no clue how to get up. I’m stuck. Dammit, Max was right: We should have presented a united front.

  My teammate finds me writhing on the ground and can’t resist teasing me. “If I could reach my phone and take a photo of this, I would. I never imagined I’d see you like this. Never.”

  That’s rich. He’s chuckling at my predicament, unaware that he looks almost as ridiculous as I do. “Need I remind you, Max, that you’re standing in a big plastic ball?”

  He leans over and looks at me from the top of the contraption. “The operative word here is standing. Which isn’t what you’re doing right now. Just so you know, you look like a T. rex that’s been tipped over. I’d help but—”

  Through the ball, I see Max run away, another player on his heels. He yells over his shoulder, “I’ll . . . be . . . back.”

  I can’t help laughing as he tries to wobble across the field. How is this my life right now?

  In the meantime, I twist back and forth, hoping to get enough momentum to propel me to an upright position. It doesn’t work. I’m doing a spot-on impression of what Humpty Dumpty would have looked like if he hadn’t cracked after the fall, and I cackle when I imagine what I must look like to everyone else.

  With considerable effort, I manage to flip around so I can see the field, my gaze finding Max in the chaos of plastic balls bouncing on the grass. In a jaw-dropping move, he launches himself at Hairy Arms Guy, which forces my nemesis past the orange cones. “Yes!” I yell.

  Max dodges and weaves his way back to me, panting like a furry dog who’s been out in the sun too long. “I . . . have . . . an . . . idea.”

  “Well, I’m a captive audience, and I’m all ears.”

  “Okay, if I sit behind you and we both bend our knees, we can try to use each other as leverage to stand. It won’t be pretty, but I think it’ll work.”

  I squint up at him and shift around to avoid the sun’s blinding rays. “At this point, I’ll try anything.”

  We do as he suggests, and after several tries—one try having been sabotaged by a woman unsuccessfully seeking retribution on behalf of Hairy Arms Guy—we manage to stand. My sense of triumph is disproportionate to my achievement, but after squirming on the ground for five minutes, I’m glad to be back in the game.

  “See?” Max says. “We’re better as a team.”

  Thinking back to our brainstorming session in the car, I’m starting to agree. And though sparring with Max is satisfying in small doses, horsing around with him like we are today is way more fun.

  This time, Max bumps me to get my attention. “Okay, let’s walk nonchalantly over to that couple and then charge them. We’ll knock each and every one of them on their ass. And let’s scream when we go after ’em.”

  I give him a blank look. “Why would we do that?”

  “To intimidate them. You know, put them on the defensive. It’ll throw them off their game.” He leans over so I can see his face. “Plus, it’ll feel good.”

  His emphasis on the word feel takes me somewhere he probably didn’t intend. I can think of dozens of ways to feel good, and all of them involve Max. Focus, Lina. Focus. “I’m not so sure yelling’s going to win anyone over.”

  “Who cares about winning them over?” he says, his brows furrowed. “We’re trying to beat them. Besides, you’ll never see any of these people again. You have nothing to lose.”

  Well, he’s right that I’m unlikely to see any of these people again, so why the hell not? Nothing about this day is panning out the way I expected it to anyway.

  I look up and notice four players beyond the cones. That means there are only four couples we need to eliminate. I switch to beast mode. “Okay, Max. Let’s do this.”

  Max and I stumble over to our targets, whistling as if we’re simply meandering across the field. When we’re within striking distance, he shouts, “One, two, three!” and then we’re slamming into everyone.

  “You can’t defeat us,” Max yells.

  I shout at our opponents, too. “This is our house, bitches. Ahhhhhhhh!”

  Max freezes in place. “Too far, Lina. Too far.”

  I grimace apologetica
lly. “Sorry.”

  Two minutes later, my voice is scratchy from all the yelling. Max was right—it does feel good to scream with abandon knowing no one’s going to look at you askance for doing it. Well, except when you call them bitches.

  Now it’s down to us and a hippie couple wearing matching Birkenstocks. With socks.

  “We got this,” Max says. “They’re probably high on weed anyway.”

  I’m mortified that he’s made that comment out loud, but I’m laughing so hard my belly’s aching.

  One of the women says, “Ha. You’re right about that, cupcake.”

  Before we can get out of the way, both women drop to the ground and lean all the way forward, instantly transforming themselves into human bowling balls bouncing and rolling in our direction. When Max and I realize we’re the bowling pins, we look at each other in horror through the plastic separating us, but it’s too late to do anything about it.

  We’re out.

  Bad news: We won’t get the bragging rights we were aiming for.

  Good news: I’m having the time of my life.

  More bad news: I’m 100 percent positive it’s because I’m spending the day with Max.

  * * *

  “Kudos to Lina and Max on a well-played game,” James says. “Now that we’ve gotten any bad energy out of our systems, we’re moving on to our next exercise. It’s called I Wish You Would, I Wish You Wouldn’t, and it’s very simple. One person in each couple is going to share three things they wish their partner would do or would do more of. The other person will share three things they wish their partner wouldn’t do or would do less of. Partners, there’s no need to get defensive. Everyone gets a turn. But the important point is this: The person sharing needs to explain why those are your three things so that your partner can try to understand where you’re coming from. Additional rule: Your partner’s allowed to ask questions to gain that understanding. Make sense?”

  We’re sitting in a circle of chairs in the inn’s living area, a room with heavy brocade drapes, cherrywood furniture pieces, and yellow walls that counteract the darkness of the space. Despite a bathroom and snack break, the group’s looking run-down and wary. I can’t tell if we’re noticeably less enthusiastic about this exercise than we were about bumper ball because we’re just tired or because we’re not looking forward to the subject matter. It’s about to get personal, and I don’t envy the couple that goes first.

  Wanda claps once. “Okay, friends, who wants to start us off?”

  Max shoots his hand up in the air. “I’ll go.”

  My stomach knots as a few people look at me to gauge my reaction. Per usual, I’m wearing a poker face, but in my head, I want to poke him in the face. What is he doing? We’re not dating, so what could he possibly have to say? And why the hell would he want to make us the guinea pigs for this relationship experiment?

  I lean over to whisper in Max’s ear. “Why would you want to go first?”

  He throws an arm around the back of my chair and whispers his reply: “I’m trying to deal with your concern about hearing other people’s personal information. If we go first, we can make our excuses and leave. Plus, we didn’t eat lunch, so I’d like to go forage for food.”

  Oh, okay. I appreciate that he’s being mindful of my concerns. Pão de queijo points unlocked. Besides, he’ll say a bunch of bullshit that won’t matter, I’ll do the same, and then we can go off and find some food. Excellent.

  “Max,” Wanda says. “You’re up.”

  “Should I sit or stand?” he asks.

  Wanda shrugs. “Whatever’s comfortable for you.”

  “Okay, I’ll stand,” he says, rising from his seat. “That way, I can give Lina some breathing room.”

  “Or protect your jewels,” Hairy Arms Guy says on a laugh.

  His partner smacks him upside the head so I don’t have to.

  Max blows out a breath and wipes a hand down his face to produce his serious expression. “A little background here. Lina and I haven’t been together very long, so a lot of this could just be the newness of the relationship. That’s what I tell myself, at least.”

  Oh, that’s good, Max. Way to give the proper context for the made-up stuff you’re about to share.

  “Anyway,” he says, rubbing his hands and pinning me with a clear-eyed gaze that’s more serious than the moment warrants. “I wish you would open up to me. I get the sense that you keep yourself closed off from everyone, and I’m not sure why. I want to know what you’re thinking, but I almost never do. I mean, do you ever get angry? Like, really angry? What makes you sad? What’s your worst fear?”

  I’m squirming in my seat as I listen to him, but I keep my face impassive. Either Max is speaking from the heart, or he’s a skilled actor who knows exactly how to unsettle me. I’m hoping it’s a performance; after all, he easily slid into the role of a stranger when we were reunited at the Cartwright a couple of weeks ago. But he looks so earnest. And if this isn’t just for show, then he’s asking questions that never occurred to any other man in my life, not even Andrew. And dammit, I don’t want to get emotional. Not in front of these strangers.

  “Lina, would you like to respond to that?” James asks.

  It’s too soon to tell what’s going on here, so I inspect my nails to emphasize my (fake) boredom. “Nope. I’m good for now.”

  Max nods, then curls and uncurls his fingers as he presses ahead. “Okay, number two. It’s related to the first. I wish I knew how you feel about me. As a person. Are you still angry with me? Can we get beyond what happened? Because I want to. I’m not the person I was back then, and I don’t think you’re the same person you were back then, either.”

  Shit. I could clobber him. Or hug him. He’s using this charade to talk to me. Truly talk to me. And I don’t know how much I can say without revealing feelings I should probably keep to myself. Max doesn’t need to know that I’m attracted to him. Or that he’s slowly chipping away at my defenses by trying to get to know the real me. Or that I like the person I am when he’s around. But maybe if I answer his precise questions, I can keep those facts from surfacing.

  James looks over at me. “Anything to say, Lina?”

  I push past the knot in my stomach and take a fortifying breath. “I like you, Max. As a person. A lot. I didn’t expect that I would, but I’ve been doing quite a few things out of character for me these past two weeks, and I’m okay with that. I’m not angry with you. Not anymore. I’d like us to focus on the people we are today and remember the goal we’re both working toward.”

  He purses his lips and sighs. “The pitch. Of course. How could I forget.”

  He’s disappointed in my answer. Is it because he wants me to dig deeper? Reveal more? “No, it’s not only about the pitch, Max. Not for me at least.” I lean forward. “But why does it matter so much to you? Whether we can move beyond our past?”

  “This is good, really good,” James says. “You’re open to what he’s saying. Asking your own questions. Everyone else, take notes.”

  Max hesitates, his mouth snapping shut then opening again.

  “Tell me,” I say.

  “It’s related to the third thing I wish you’d do,” he replies.

  Wanda waves her hand at Max. “Tell us that one more thing, and then we’ll hear from Lina.”

  Oh, no the hell we won’t. I need to get out of here. Soon. If I don’t, I’ll surpass my daily emotional quota, then overheat and pass out.

  “Okay,” Max says, his gaze never wavering from mine, “this is the last thing, but it’s an important one. I wish you would see the potential in us. I know it’s hard to see me with new eyes, especially given our history, but there’s something here. I don’t know what it is exactly, but it’s strong enough that I don’t want to shut the door on it. It’s a big ask, I know. And it’s complicated. There are probably a dozen reasons why we shouldn’t even try. And maybe you can’t see yourself being with me. But I want you to know that if there’s any chance for us, I
’ll take it.”

  One of the Birkenstocks ladies gasps. The other slides down in her seat. I’m afraid to move or blink or respond, but I’m inclined to follow suit. This exercise is tailor-made to push all my buttons, and it’s all Max’s doing. I should be upset that he’s putting me in this position, but if I’m being honest—totally honest with myself—it’s a liberating exercise. I don’t need to curb my feelings here, and I can choose to share as much or as little as I want. Plus, I can’t ignore the little flutter I felt in my belly when Max said he wants a chance to be with me. I shouldn’t encourage him, not when I can’t give him what he’s looking for, but Max has put himself out there, and it’s only fair that I do the same.

  Wanda, probably sensing that I’m feeling vulnerable, speaks to me softly: “Lina, would you like to share your three things? You don’t have to if you’re not comfortable. We want you to have a turn, but we also want you to do what’s best for you.”

  Looking up at Max, I let out a slow breath and stand. “Sure. I’m up for it.”

  Okay, Lina. Here goes everything.

  Chapter Twenty

  Max

  So this is what it’s like to have an out-of-body experience, huh? I’m not a fan.

  I can’t believe I bared my soul in a room full of mostly strangers. If Lina’s pissed, I wouldn’t blame her. Because the blame in this instance is all mine. She gave me a tiny opening—said her feelings about me weren’t only about the pitch—and I took that info and ran right into a fucking wall with it.

  After clearing my throat, I slip her a meaningful glance and give her an out. “Um, Lina, didn’t you have an important call to return?” I look at my watch. “Right about now? Maybe we should step out and find a quiet place for you to do that.”

  Lina studies me, her expression giving nothing away. After a few uncomfortably silent seconds, she says, “I forgot to tell you. The call was rescheduled. I don’t have anywhere I need to be. I’m completely free.”