Cade looked at me. I knew what he was going to say, and had no way to stop him, short of tackling him (which was either a very good or a very bad idea).
“Sure, Mrs. Miller. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Excellent.” She leaned down and placed a kiss on his cheek. “What happened to calling me Mom?”
5
Cade
There was a moment of silence after Max’s parents left that reminded me of those few shocked seconds right before a car crash. Your brain screams at you to step on the breaks, but it takes too long for your body to follow through. It was in those quiet seconds that Max smiled a slow, sinful smile.
Then slapped me.
It didn’t hurt. Not really.
But it felt surreal, like the car had crashed, and I was flying through the windshield. I’d never been slapped by a girl before. I think I was definitely the only guy in the world to ever get slapped for impressing a girl’s parents.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
Max’s cheeks turned pink, and she raised her hand to do it again.
“Easy, babe.” I caught her hand as it started to swing, and pushed it down onto the table. That meant I had one hand pressed to my leg and the other to the table. The violent little thing was tied up in knots. She tilted her chin and met my gaze like she was going into battle. Fire sparked in her eyes, and she looked dangerously sexy.
“Why are you trying to hurt me?” I asked.
“Because it will make me feel better!”
Having her hand on my thigh was not helping me take her anger seriously. And her skin had flushed from her cheeks, down her neck, and I wished she wasn’t wearing my scarf. “It’s not like I wanted to say yes. Your mother isn’t exactly easy to say no to.”
She huffed and squirmed in her seat, trying to pull her hands free. It only brought her closer to me. The red in her cheeks matched the vibrancy of her hair, which smelled divine.
“You could have at least not made up such a ridiculous backstory. I mean, volunteering at an after-school program? I told you to take it easy!” She growled the words through gritted teeth.
“Max, I didn’t make that up. I just told the truth. And stop struggling, people are starting to stare.”
She stopped and a lock of scarlet hair hung down in front of her face. She blew it back and said, “You told the truth?”
After a few moments, I released her hands, and held my right out between us. “My name is Cade Winston—MFA student, volunteer, mom-hugger, and your boyfriend for the next twenty-four hours. It’s nice to meet you.”
She hesitated, and her lips puckered. I knew she was only thinking, but the pucker sent my mind running in an entirely different direction.
“You really do volunteer to help kids after school?” She made it sound like I was aiming for the Nobel Peace Prize or something. They were just kids who needed a place to hang out.
I said, “I really do.”
After a few moments of hesitation, she slipped her hand into mine and shook. She frowned and said, “Max Miller—musician and raging bitch. I’m sorry for slapping you.”
“And pinching me,” I added, even though I wasn’t sorry. It had given me an excuse to touch her.
“And pinching you. And thank you, I guess, for today. And for tomorrow. And sorry number two that you have to spend your Thanksgiving with my crazy parents.”
I smiled. She had this scrunched look on her face, and I could just tell that an apology from this girl was a rare occurrence. I shrugged. “Hey, don’t feel bad. I was planning to spend tomorrow home alone with some Chinese food. I’m sure your mother’s turkey is much better.”
She smiled begrudgingly. “It is. She’s a crazy good cook. Emphasis on the crazy.”
“But the slapping . . . that you can feel bad for.”
She rolled her eyes, and moved away. “I said I was sorry!”
“What? No offer to kiss it better?” She raised an eyebrow, but I swear her eyes dropped to my lips for just a second. I thought of kissing her, just doing it, without thinking about the fact that we didn’t know each other or about her real boyfriend. But she stood, and the moment passed.
She said, “Well, Cade Winston, I really have to get going. I’m already late for my band practice, but can you come over early tomorrow before my parents arrive? We can map out the rest of our story then, so there’s no more need to improvise with hugs.” She grabbed a pen from her purse and wrote her address and her number on a napkin.
I pocketed it, threw my empty cup in the trash, and followed her to the door. I knew she said she had to go, but I wanted just a little bit longer with her. “You never got to drink your coffee,” I said, thinking back to when she’d dropped it earlier during the phone call from her parents. “Let me get you another cup.”
She shook her head. “I should be the one buying you coffee.”
“You’re having a stressful morning. You deserve a break.” She looked at me like I’d just made some grand gesture. Her boyfriend must have been a real dick if she was impressed by a cup of coffee. I added, “Besides, I don’t actually drink coffee, so it’s a moot point.”
She laughed. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever actually heard someone say ‘moot point.’ And if you don’t like coffee, what are you doing in a coffee shop?”
“I was supposed to pretend to be a girl’s long-lost brother, but she canceled at the last minute. It’s cool, pretend boyfriend gigs are so much more fun.”