Make It Last

by Megan Erickson

  “Yeah, I think we have some peanut butter and jelly.”

  As she walked into the kitchen, he called to her back, “Hey, I made some cookies for my brothers earlier today, bring us in a couple, yeah?”

  Kat gave a thumbs-up over her shoulder. Max worked at his dad’s auto mechanics shop almost every weekend along with his older brothers. And they always demanded Max’s treats.

  In the kitchen, she searched through the thin plywood cabinets until she found the peanut butter, then pulled the jelly and the bread out of the puke green-colored refrigerator.

  The front door opened and closed and low voices carried in from the living room. She shifted to the edge of the counter to grab a towel and ran smack into someone.

  “Ouch!” She whirled around to face her opponent and met Alec’s eyes. She frowned at him, rubbing her shoulder. “Seriously? Twice in one day?”

  He rolled his eyes and held his hands up. “Yep, I’m following you around so I can get poked in the ribs by your bony elbows.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Bony?! You think my elbows are bony?” She bent her arm and eyed the joint. “I think my elbows are quite attractive, thank you very much.”

  He looked at her as if she were one of those bugs you tolerate only because it eats worse bugs. Then his lips twitched into a grin and he leaned down, his lips near her elbow like it was a microphone. “I’m sorry, Kat’s Elbow. You’re the sexiest elbow on campus,” he said in a deep, sexy voice. Wait, what? When did she start attributing Alec with anything sexy?

  With him stooped for his elbow apology, their eyes met. His green irises studied her, making her feel naked. Not clothes naked but brain naked. Like he pried off the top off her head to look inside.

  She didn’t want anyone to peek inside the top of her head. Her brain was probably all weird colored and deformed. It looked better covered by her skull, scalp and in-need-of-a-dye-job hair.

  She steeled herself against the rush of heat flooding her face, because it was really wrong to be a creeper about her boyfriend’s best friend.

  Didn’t mean she couldn’t look at his nice eyes. And big hands. And good profile with one of those Roman or Greek noses or whatever they were called. And thick dark hair she wanted to run her hands through, grip and pull. Just to see if it turned him on.

  Oh sugar-snacks, now she was having dirty thoughts about her boyfriend’s nerdy roommate.

  Clearly, her brain was deformed.

  She huffed in annoyance and backed away from him to resume her task, spreading four slices of bread on the counter and digging in the tub of peanut butter.

  A hand crept into view and grabbed a banana off the counter while she slathered peanut butter on two slices of bread and reached for the jelly.

  A throat cleared behind her. “If you put peanut butter on both sides of the bread, then the jelly doesn’t make it soggy.”

  He apparently didn’t even think she was capable of making a flipping peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich.

  She stuck a peanut-butter-covered finger in her mouth turned to face him. When his eyes tracked her finger and lingered on her lips, she felt as if she won this small battle of the sexes. Kat 2, Alec 0.

  She smirked. “I’m so glad you’re around to show me the error of my sandwich-making ways. What would I do without you, Alec?”

  He took a bite of banana, chewed and swallowed. “I guess you’d have a soggy sandwich.”

  She rolled her eyes and turned back to her task.

  He finished his banana and threw the peel in the trash.

  “Do you want me to make you one, too?” she asked.

  He paused with his hand on the door. “Sure. Thanks.”

  When he walked out of the kitchen, she pulled two more slices of bread and spread peanut butter on all the slices before squeezing on the jelly.

  She carried the finished sandwiches and cookies out to the guys, then sat down beside Max. The hockey game was still on and even though she didn’t give two flips about it, she pretended to care since Max did. That was pretty much Good Girlfriend 101.

  She took a bite of her sandwich and squinted at the TV. “So, what quarter is this? What teams are playing?”

  “Babe, this is hockey. There are no quarters. There are periods and—What the fuck, ref! That was tripping!—anyway, I think you ask me that question every game. Either remember or stop asking.” His focus returned to the game. “That should have been a damn penalty,” he muttered.

  Well then. Apparently she had to retake Good Girlfriend 101.

  She thought about telling him she didn’t remember because she really only half listened to his answer. She cared about hockey about as much as she cared about what an absolute risk was in statistics. But it wasn’t worth it, and she was hungry. Kat focused on her sandwich because the double-peanut-butter trick was pretty dang good . . .

  Alec cleared this throat and she looked up. “Kat, there are three twenty-minute periods in hockey. This is the first period. The Ducks are playing the Redhawks. Ducks are green jerseys; Redhawks are black. Ducks are winning.” His tone was light and almost cautious. Like he thought she was going to take off his head. It was one of the few times he had spoken to her and his attention—those intelligent eyes fixed on her—caused a rush of heat to flare in her face.

  “Thanks, Alec,” she mumbled, eyes down on her sandwich to hide the color in her cheeks.

  But she raised her head when her spine prickled, and they locked gazes for a moment. Kat was very aware of the air growing hot and heavy around her. Alec’s lips twitched slightly, and her eyes were drawn to their fullness.

  Max murmured at the TV, drawing her attention before a bow chicka-bow-wow soundtrack could play in her head.

  She was so screwed.

  Alec rose stiffly. He grabbed his book bag off the couch and said, “I have some studying to do. I’ll be in my room.”

  “Later.” Max waved him off, his attention unwavering from the game. Alec walked up the stairs, and Kat willed herself not to watch him. But her willpower was only so strong. At the top of the stairs, he turned around and immediately met her eyes.

  Shoot! She quickly whirled her head around and stared blindly at the TV.

  “Game’s getting good, huh, babe?” Max grabbed the rest of her abandoned sandwich.

  “Yep,” she muttered. “Great game.”

  Make It Right

  Max Payton would like nothing more than to forget his junior year of college . . . and yet, being a senior isn’t looking much better. After graduation he’ll still be under his overbearing father’s thumb, helping run the family business as he’s always been expected to do.

  When Max volunteers to help teach a self-defense class after a rash of assaults and thefts on campus, one of the other instructors is the pixie-faced girl he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about since last year. His dad taught him that size and strength always win a fight. But while Max is lying on the mat at Lea Travers’ feet after a skilled blow to his carotid artery, he begins to revise that thought.

  Lea Travers avoids guys like Max—cocky jocks who assume she’s a fragile doll because of her short stature and disability from a childhood car accident. She likes to be in control, and Max challenges her at every turn. But during the moments he lets his guard down, she sees a soul as broken inside as she is outside. Trusting him is a whole other problem . . .

  When the assaults hit close to home, both Max and Lea have to change their assumptions about strength and weakness before they can get the future they want—together.

  MAX DRAINED HIS cup of beer and closed his eyes to let the sounds of the party sink into his skin and down into his bones.

  This usually worked—the alcohol in his veins, the music, the friends. The girls.

  He fed off others’ energy, always had. His favorite thing to do to unwind was to head out to a bar or party and just let loose.

  So when his roommate Cam found him cursing and pacing his room like an animal after a particularly delight
ful phone call with his father—Max curled his lip in a sneer just thinking about it—he’d encouraged Max to go out. That’s what his friends did. They knew him better than he knew himself sometimes.

  But for once, Max hadn’t wanted to. He’d wanted to go to the gym and sweat out all the anger, but Cam was persistent. So Max relented.

  He knew now he shouldn’t have.

  Because the beer tasted skunked and the music hurt his head and even the girls weren’t interesting.

  The redhead beside him right now was still talking. He’d asked her one question about her major, and she was still rambling on about it five minutes later.

  He’d said maybe two sentences to this girl, both questions about herself, but she was clearly still into him, pressing her chest against his folded arms. The lace of her bra peaked out the top of her neckline, and he could feel the textured fabric through her thin shirt when it brushed against his knuckles.

  He hadn’t even been in the mood to lay on the charm. He knew how to stand, how to smile with his eyes. Smize, one of his brother’s ex-girlfriends had called it with a giggle.

  Whatever it was. He knew how to do it. And knew how to get the girl. Too bad he didn’t want her.

  Fuck this shit.

  He set his empty beer cup on a window ledge. “Um, Kelly,” he said, cutting in when she finally took a breath. He remembered her name, because he always remembered names. Kelly blinked and peered up at him through her lashes, lips parted. She was hot. Big rack. A year ago, she would have been his type. Hell, most girls were his type. But lately, they’d reminded him of how much he’d almost fucked up his life.

  Except that one girl . . .

  He shook his head, and leaned down to speak into her ear. He heard a stuttered inhale and resisting rolling his eyes. “I gotta head out. I forgot I need to get home. Early morning.” He leaned back and shot her a smile. Or smize. Whatever.

  Confusion crossed her face, but he was over this scene. “Sorry,” he said with a shrug and turned away before she could respond.

  Max searched the sea of bodies for Cam. The guy was over in the corner with a girl, flashing his dimples while she looked up at him with pure infatuation. Max rolled his eyes and hollered, “Ruiz!”

  Cam turned his head and Max gave him the sign he was heading out. Cam waved in acknowledgment and turned back to his girl of the night.

  Max made his way through the crowd, feeling a couple of touches on his arms or shoulders, some “Hey Max” ’s, but he kept walking because he wasn’t in the mood and enough people already thought he was an asshole.

  He wished Alec, his best friend, was around, but he’d decided to stay home with his girlfriend, Kat, tonight. Kat, who used to be Max’s girlfriend. Before he fucked it up.

  Life was complicated.

  Once he stepped outside, he pulled up the collar of his jacket against the early October air and walked briskly back to the townhouse he shared with Alec and Cam. The phone call with his dad still rankled, the words poking him with their sharp edges.

  He’d mentioned changing his major, had barely even spoken the words when his dad proclaimed Paytons stick together! and Max was expected to complete his business degree and then work at his dad’s mechanic shop, helping with the books and business side of things.

  Max didn’t want to, but the obligation to work with his dad and two brothers weighed heavily on his shoulders. Plus, his dad said he wouldn’t hesitate to withdraw his tuition help, and Max couldn’t afford to cover it, despite his two jobs.

  The bastard.

  The lights of the convenience store near his house caught his eye and he changed direction, suddenly hungry for those super-greasy pizzas they made in the back and kept in a warmer on the counter.

  He was still a little drunk but hopefully the cheese, dough and sauce would mop up the rest of the awful beer sitting like acid in his stomach.

  He crossed the parking lot and then stopped beside the front doors, fumbling inside his pockets. His phone fell out and he cursed as it clattered on the sidewalk. He shoved it back in his coat pocket and then dug his wallet out of his back jeans pocket. He blinked at it blearily and tried to count his bills.

  He kept losing count of his ones and had to start over. Fucking beer.

  The bell on the convenience store door tinkled and he heard a voice—that damn musical voice that hit him in the gut every time he heard it. And he couldn’t figure out why.

  He looked up from his wallet and there she was, Lea Travers, talking to some tall blond guy, his arm around her slender shoulders.

  Max must have made a sound or movement because Lea turned her head, her long, dark straight hair swirling around her shoulders. In the glow of the streetlights, her eyes were even bigger, rounder and darker than normal, staring at him from under her thick fringe of bangs.

  She wore low-heeled knee-high boots and tight jeans and a thigh-length pink jacket that cinched at the waist. Her full lips were parted and her cheeks flushed, probably from the warmth of the convenience store she just left.

  For a moment, he enjoyed the way she looked at him, a little bit of curious hope.

  He’d met her last year, because she was friends with Kat. There was something about Lea, this power or strength that lurked below the surface of her small, fragile frame. He wanted to grab that strength, roll around in it like a cat in catnip.

  Max looked to the guy who stood next to her, a proprietary arm around her shoulders—which Max glared at—and a pizza box in the other hand. The guy was tall and blond and had big blue eyes and looked like he just came from Wimbledon, where he had front-row seats because he was the heir to his dad’s pharmaceutical business. He was the kind of kid whose dad drove some fancy BMW or Mercedes into the shop and then looked down on Max and his brothers, with their grease-stained clothes and fingernails.

  He looked vaguely familiar but Max couldn’t place him, and the guy’s perfect hair and collared polo made him want to hurl.

  So she had a boyfriend. And Max was done, absolutely positively fucking done with girls who were attached. He’d almost lost his best friend over the last time he’d let himself get involved with one.

  So, like always, he fell back on what he knew. He curled his upper lip into a smirk, opened his mouth, and let out the asshole. “Hey there, doll.”

  Lea’s eyes narrowed and her lips pressed into a thin line. Well, it’d been nice while it lasted. His fault. Her lips parted one time to sigh. “Hi, Max.”

  He didn’t want it to be this way between them. He wanted to saunter up next to her, wrap an arm around her neck and look down into those dark eyes while they filled with lust . . .

  Shit. Fucking drunken daydreams. None of that was happening because somehow, around Lea, he turned into a six-year-old boy, teasing the girl he wanted the most.

  And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t curb the asshole. He jerked a thumb at the convenience door. “Might want to find a new boyfriend, there, Travers. Clearly Polo Boy can afford to take you to a nicer place.” The words were coming, coming up like vomit, and with them came a heavy helping of self-loathing. He couldn’t stop them. “Although, if a convenience-store pizza is all it takes to get a date with you, even I can afford that.”

  Polo Boy opened his mouth but Lea tapped his chest with the back of her hand, so he clamped his jaws shut.

  Max’s mouth just had a mind of his own now. “Oh, he replies to hand signals, too? Got ’em trained.”

  “Max, why are you always such an asshole?” The worst part about it was that Lea wasn’t angry, her voice wasn’t biting, it was dripping with disappointment and that was worse. He wanted her to be angry and stomp in a huff. He wanted a reaction.

  He didn’t want pity.

  He spread his arms wide. “That’s who I am, doll.” It was a lie, but he’d perfected being an asshole to an art. Just like the charmer role. It was easier than trying to figure out who he really was or wanted to be.

  Her eyes narrowed more, and then Po
lo Boy spoke up. “Look—”

  Lea cut him off. “It’s fine, Nick. Let’s go.”

  They walked away, Polo Boy’s arm around her shoulders, Lea’s limp from a childhood car accident more pronounced in the cold weather.

  Max gritted his teeth. For once keeping his mouth shut from calling after them to ask what would buy him second base.

  He looked at his wallet again in his hands and shoved it back into his pocket. He wasn’t hungry for pizza anymore.

  LEA STARED AT her boots as she walked and curled her hands into fists in the pockets of her jacket. Nick was silent beside her, lost in his own thoughts.

  She hadn’t known Max long, and what she knew of him wasn’t so great. He’d dated Kat and hadn’t been a very good boyfriend. And everything about Max, from his swagger to his snug T-shirts to his cocky smirk, screamed confident asshole.

  Which meant he wasn’t for her.

  But tonight, for a brief moment, those big, expressive brown eyes had showed a glimmer of hope before he blinked. Then the alcohol haze clouded over them, and that little sliver of another Max disappeared with one curl of his lips.

  She wondered if he realized how much those eyes gave him away when he wasn’t careful. She wondered if anyone ever tried to look deeper.

  She wondered if he wanted anyone to.

  Nick squeezed her shoulder. “You all right?”

  She chewed her cheek. “Yeah, just thinking.”

  “You know I went to high school with him, right?”

  Lea looked up at her cousin and saw his blond stubble catching the rays of the streetlights. “What? Who?”

  Nick gestured behind them. “Max Payton. He went to Tory High School.”

  She frowned. “But—“

  “I’m three years younger. I mean, I doubt he has any idea who I am. I only know him because, well, everyone knew Max when he was a senior. Popular guy.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything just now?”

  Nick shrugged. “What’s the point? So he can say, ‘I don’t remember you?’ I was just a freshman. Doubt he ever saw me.” He picked at his shirt. “And he was glaring holes in my polo shirt like it personally offended him.”