Becoming His

by Mariah Dietz

  I begin scrubbing the kitchen table and chairs, spending extra attention on the ladder backs only to realize my efforts seem fairly futile tainting the gratification I’m seeking.

  The doorbell echoes and I drop my lemon-scented rag and pray it’s someone to distract me, and not Max.

  Disappointment floods me when I open the door to find Landon. “Hey, Ace. Sorry to bother you. Is Max over here?”

  “No, I haven’t seen him.”

  “Weird. I talked to him last night and he said he was going running with you this morning so he’d be up early for me to come by and get the keys to the house in San Diego.”

  I shake my head. “He didn’t go with me this morning.”

  “Huh?” Landon scratches his head as he turns to look back at the Millers’. “I’ve been trying to call him and ringing the damn doorbell for like ten minutes.” My heart rate begins to noticeably increase. Could he be hurt?

  I follow Landon next door, leading him into the backyard, recalling Max mentioning a window back here with a broken latch that he could fit through. Luck’s on my side when I shift a window and it slides open.

  “Start calling you MacGyver,” Landon teases, climbing in after me.

  “Ah, keys!” He grabs one of three single keys sitting on the entry way table. “He’s probably just passed out. He said he was really tired yesterday. Give him hell for me,” Landon says, pocketing the key. “I’ve got to run, the furniture guys are going to be there before me.” He crashes his chest into my face in a chaste hug and then retreats out the front door as I debate checking on Max.

  I deliberate for a good five minutes before deciding to go upstairs. Once I’m outside of Max’s closed bedroom door it takes me another few minutes to regain my resolve.

  I softly knock on his door. Silence greets me and I feel the panic begin to rise in my chest, a result of the few horror movies I’ve endured, I’m sure.

  I slowly push down on the lever, praying I don’t see anything that will make me want to bleach my retinas. I push the door open just wide enough to peek in, and a wave of Max’s scent greets me before I see him in a tangled heap on his bed. Thankfully alone.

  Slowly, I take a few steps closer and notice that he’s covered in a sheen of sweat. Reaching the side of his bed, I gently place my hand to his forehead and feel the heat of his fever.

  I spend most of the day reading as Max sleeps and occasionally incoherently mumbles. I wake him up twice to take something for his fever.

  “What time is it?” I look up to see Max looking pale and pained as he squints, trying to focus on me as I stand from the beanbag chair.

  “Nearly eight. How are you feeling?” Although I’ve been here all day, I suddenly feel like I’m intruding as I rest my e-reader on the chair.

  Max turns to look out the window, and I realize he’s not clear if it’s morning or evening. “Shit, Ace, I’m sorry,” Max groans, lifting a hand to run it over his face. “You should go. I threw up like four times last night. Didn’t you get my text?”

  I’d looked at my phone more times than I care to admit this morning checking for any missed calls or texts. It’s pretty obvious why I never received them.

  My mind wants nothing more than to retreat at the mention of puke; there are few things I hate more, but my traitorous body only steps closer to him.“It’s time for you to take these again,” I say, opening the pill bottle I’d left on his night stand and shake a couple of pills into my palm. I hold them out with the glass of ginger ale. Max looks at me a brief moment before accepting them.

  “Again? How long have you been here? How’d you get in?”

  “A while,” I admit vaguely. “Landon came by looking for you, and I remembered you telling me about the sunroom. I figured you wouldn’t be on the other side with a shotgun.” I grin and Max gifts me with a low, throaty laugh.

  “Really though, you should go. I don’t want you getting sick.”

  “Max, your mom’s out of town all week. Landon’s staying in San Diego, and Jameson is being an ass up in Washington. I’m not leaving. I’m going to go get you something to eat. Here’s the remote and your phone. I’ll be right back.”

  He slowly moves to sit up. “You know, you’re kind of bossy when you want to be.”

  “I’m one of five girls, what did you honestly expect?”

  I return to find Max looking half asleep, watching a baseball game. “I’m sure nothing sounds very good right now, but you should eat a little.”

  His eyes widen as he looks from the tray I set in front of him. “You made me soup?”

  “Actually I heated soup up for you.” I wink at him and take a seat at the foot of the bed. “Even a few crackers would be better than nothing.”

  “I really am worried you’re going to catch this. You wash your hands and disinfect everything so much your immune system will be under siege.”

  “You should try it. Maybe you wouldn’t be so sick.” Max gives me half of a grin and reaches for the toast, dunking it in the soup and chewing it slowly. He only makes it through half of the piece before he stops, and I remove the tray as he slumps down half asleep.

  I get myself situated back in the beanbag chair and immerse myself into the story.

  “I want you to stalk me, Ace,” Max whispers.

  My eyes flash to his which remain closed. I stare at him, waiting for him to elaborate, desperate for him to continue. Is he asking me to love him? My head drowns in possibilities and thoughts, and before I can think of how to prompt him, he’s softly snoring.

  It takes Max three days of sleeping, throwing up, and feeling miserable to start feeling better, but when I wake up on Tuesday morning he’s already awake, quietly lying beside me. He’d asked me to lie with him to watch the movie I’d put in last night saying my body heat felt good since he was still experiencing mild chills. He’d fallen asleep nearly instantly, and went full-fledged Kendall on me—wrapping a leg over one of mine and hooking his foot around my calf. I’d tried to move, but it kept stirring him so I thought I would just sit there and read a bit and move once he rolled away. Apparently I fell asleep too.

  “Hey,” I whisper. “You look more like you this morning. How are you feeling?” I feign casual, like waking up in his bed is nothing to freak out about.

  Max’s lips are a little dry, and his skin looks a little sallow from being sick, but he’s still unbelievably attractive. I watch as his mouth turns up in a small grin and feel my breathing stop again. “I feel a lot better this morning.” Max’s stomach growls, making me smile in relief as I sit up. “I’m going to get something to eat. What can I get you?”

  “Why don’t you sit up and I’ll get you something to eat. Then we’ll see how you’re feeling.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Humor me.” I turn toward the door and he grabs my wrist, tugging me back to the bed. My eyes quickly dance across his face trying to recognize his expression.

  “Ace …”

  I don’t allow him to finish his sentence, I don’t need any accolades, and I don’t want him to feel obliged to me. I just want things to go back to normal between us. “I need to make sure you get better quick, otherwise I may have to begin running with Marshall, and he sort of has that creepy, abduct-girls-in-a-van vibe going on.”

  Max smiles, his eyes falling to where his hand grips my arm. He slowly releases his hold on me, and I cross the room without looking back.

  I hear the shower turn on as I enter the kitchen and decide to wait a few moments before lowering the bread into the toaster so it’s warm. My phone shows a message from my dad that I focus on. We briefly discuss Max’s health as I omit mentioning I stayed another night.

  “Hey.” I jump and turn to see Max in a clean pair of jeans and T-shirt, looking slightly more lifelike. “Sorry,” he says with a playful grin that tugs at my heart. I haven’t seen this face in too long.

  “I swear you need to walk with around with a bell around your neck.” I place my phone on the counter an
d push the bread down. Max smiles again, leaning his hip against the counter.

  “Alright, if you can pass the toast test again this morning, I think you’ll be clear to eat something a bit more exciting for lunch. But I’ll let you venture out … you can have either jam or peanut butter on it this morning,”

  Max reaches in the silverware drawer and produces a knife. He pulls the plate toward himself and starts slathering one slice in peanut butter as I pull out the other two slices for myself.

  “So how are things going?” Max asks tentatively.

  I glance at him as he finishes putting jam on the other piece. Without saying anything he takes my plate from me and passes me the two he just prepared the way I fix my toast. My eyebrows are still knitted as I look from the toast to him, and he shrugs dismissively, straightening to his full height.

  “I saw Jenny a couple of nights ago.” His eyes are focused on the strawberry jam he’s spreading. “She asked me if you and I ever got the chance to talk and wanted to know what had happened between us.”

  “I was confused at first, not sure what she was referring to, and she mentioned your lunch with Eric that you never went on, and I remember you—”

  The doorbell chimes throughout the house breaking the intense stare that Max and I share. My pulse pounds and my eyes widen with disbelief as I wonder if Jenny told Max what my intentions had been. I want to tell Max. I want to tell him that I’m going to dump Eric because although I haven’t seen him in the last couple of weeks, I still haven’t officially ended things either. The words are slowly working to fit together to explain why, and to ensure him that my delay isn’t because I want things to work out with Eric.

  The chiming echoes once more, followed by several knocks, and Max’s eyes dart to the door and back, his hip still leaning against the counter. The doorbell goes off again in three quick, impatient bursts.

  “Hold that thought.” He lifts his index finger and looks at me for a long moment before he turns to the front door.

  I watch from the kitchen island as Max opens the door and Felicia rushes in wrapping her arms around Max’s neck.

  “I’ve been so worried about you!” she cries, falling back on her heels and scrutinizing his face. “What happened to you?”

  “I got sick.”

  The same realization hits me again. This is why I haven’t ended things with Eric. Because I need to continue to remind myself to avoid Max. Because I’m not Max’s type, and Felicia is my proof—standing in front of me, wearing a dress that looks like something you’d wear on Halloween rather than a warm July morning. I drop the piece of toast I’m holding, no longer hungry.

  The familiar need to flee makes my muscles tighten, and I quickly grab my phone and keys that are thankfully on the counter, along with my e-reader and head toward the door where they’re still standing.

  “Ace, hang on,” Max says, pulling Felicia’s hands free from his neck as I walk past.

  I stop on the porch and look over my shoulder, refusing to turn around. “You guys have fun.” I force a smile across my face before heading back over to my house.

  My parents arrive home sporting bronze tans. My mom looks well rested and ready to take on the world, whereas my dad looks restless and desperate to take on the world. He and I spend the next couple of weeks golfing, taking Lilly on different trips to the beach, the zoo, and her personal favorite: the pond where we feed the ducks. I think we’re both feeling the end of summer approaching too quickly as we try to silently fight it by not discussing it and immersing ourselves in things we enjoy doing together. Mom works tirelessly on a fundraising project for a board she’s chair of. I’m fairly certain she often works harder for free than a lot of people that get paid.

  Dante’s end of summer party arrives, and Kendall and I spend a ridiculous amount of the day primping in preparation. Abby finally arrived back on the West Coast this morning and is meeting us here before we head to the party.

  “Yellow again, huh?” Kendall smirks as she enters the bathroom where I’m applying blush. I hadn’t even considered that the first party we’d seen Max and Jameson at I’d been wearing the same bright lemon shade. I glance down at my tight-fitted dress with a sweetheart neckline that accentuates my chest.

  I glance at Kendall and see the royal blue dress accentuating every curve of her body. She grins mischievously and turns exposing a slit that cuts straight up the back going so high it’s nearly obscene.

  “If you drop something tonight, you probably want to just leave it be.” I slap her backside, causing her to giggle.

  Seconds later the doorbell rings and the sounds of Mom greeting Abby fill the house. The thrill of finally seeing her after she’s been gone so long makes me practically fall down the stairs in my haste to reach her. We emit matching squeals as we rush to one another locking our arms around each other. She begins talking at a rapid rate; her Jersey accent that she’d managed to nearly rid the last year hangs thickly on every word.

  When we arrive at the party, we’re over an hour late and the place is packed. Each year this party seems to grow. It’s no longer just people we went to school with, and I’m instantly reminded of this as we pass a large group of people I don’t recognize. Kendall leads us through a couple of large groups congregating in the living room that has been turned into a makeshift dance floor, and I can’t help but scan the faces searching for dark hair and cobalt blue eyes.

  “Why don’t we start with a drink?” Kendall asks, nodding her head toward the kitchen. I look to see if this is code for ‘I see Max,’ or ‘you’re being too obvious in your pursuit of stalking.’ She gives me a weak smile, which confirms it’s the latter.

  We traipse through the crowd, making our way to the kitchen where a large bar is set up.

  “Alright, it looks like we’re going to dedicate this night to Jose!” Kendall grabs the neck of a clear bottle and pours the tequila into two shot glasses as I fill my own with water from the tap. Each of us lifts a glass in cheers.

  “To the two greatest women I know!” Abby cries out.

  “To friendship!” Kendall cheers.

  “Here, here!”

  We toss our empty plastic shot glasses into a nearby garbage that’s already full as I lead us to the living room. Avoiding running into anyone becomes a challenge as my eyes rake through the faces and bodies.

  My attention is captured by an arm waving above the crowd, and I see Jameson and Landon making their way over to us. I know Jameson has been attempting to smooth things over with Kendall after his trip to Washington and that she desperately wants to reconcile their relationship, though she’s understandably a little timid. He’d assured her that nothing had happened with his ex, promising that there wasn’t even a kiss shared.

  “Hey!” Landon greets us, sensing the tension between the two. He pulls me into a tight hug and makes his way to Abby, then to Kendall, who’s standing at the end of our short train. “You guys look amazing!” he yells over the loud volume of voices and music as Jameson follows suit in hugging each of us before standing beside Kendall.

  “Do you guys want to dance?” Abby asks, motioning to the dance floor.

  Landon nods in response, inclining his head, motioning for us to follow him.

  We begin dancing, slowly getting a feel for the crowd and each other. Whether it’s the pulsing music or the shot of Jose they took, things seem to quickly loosen up and it’s not long before we’re laughing and having a good time. Thankfully I become too distracted to search for Max—at least for a while. When the urge returns, I motion that I’m going to the kitchen for more water, declining when they offer to come with me.

  “Hey, I saw you dancing out there. You’re really amazing,” a deep voice whispers in my ear as I fill a red plastic cup with water. I close my eyes and take a long drink, hoping ignoring this guy will give him a hint.

  It doesn’t.

  His hand reaches forward, lightly touching my elbow.

  “Thanks, it’s the shoes!” I
reply sarcastically, pulling out of his reach as I fill my cup again. I learned pretty quickly not to smile or laugh when a guy hits on you when you aren’t interested; it only encourages them.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s the dress.” His voice no longer a quiet raspy whisper, but a familiar deep voice that has me spinning around in shock.

  “It’s the dress, it’s the dress!” I squeal, laughing, as I throw my arms around Pedro Rodriguez, a good friend of mine from high school. He lifts me up, releasing a growl as he squeezes me tight.

  “How are you?” I ask as he sets me down. His dark brown eyes gleam with excitement, and his infectious smile shines bright, making my own smile grow.

  “Good, good! I’m heading back to Arizona State in a couple of weeks, so I had to come enjoy some end of summer fun!” I nod, smiling. “What about you, beautiful? Whose heart are you breaking tonight?”

  “All of them!” I answer with a wink. “I’m going to head back to the dance floor. Do you want to come? Kendall’s with me, and my best friend Abby. You’ll love her! Oh and a couple of guys that are my neighbors’ buddies are here with us. They’re cool though.”

  “Alright, let’s go make them all jealous!” He takes my hand in his and I feel the warmth of his skin as his arm brushes against me.

  He leads us back toward the living room when my eyes find Max making his way through the crowd, wearing a lightweight gray shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows and a pair of dark wash jeans. His eyes are on us as he continues streaming through the last few people. He takes a step and cuts in front of Pedro and stops.

  Max’s eyes focus on me, starting at my face, then slowly drift all the way down and back up just as slowly. He’s never deliberately checked me out before, and the action sends a chill through my spine and has my pulse racing. I want to close the last few steps between us and slowly run my tongue along the strong edge of his jaw. It feels like I’m physically suffocating myself to not move forward and touch him.