I pulled away from my drink as a song by X Ambassadors played around us. I wanted to say yes right then and there. I wanted to pounce right on top of him, have him carry me to his two-door Audi and drive me to that apartment that I heard so much about from various female customers at the bar. But I was a smart girl. It was known that I was far from easy.
“Your girlfriend?” I asked over my drink.
“No longer my girlfriend.”
“Hmm.”
“You’re hesitating. You must be chained up with someone already.”
“Nope. Single. No chains. It’s been that way for a while now.”
“Hmm,” he mimicked. I narrowed my eyes at him playfully, conjuring a silent laugh from his end.
“If I tell you I’ll think about it, will that be okay with you?
Max’s head tilted a little. He pressed his lips, standing from the stool smoothly and nodding. “Sure,” he said as he stepped behind me, planting his large, warm hands on my bare shoulders. His chest brushed across my back and he leaned forward, his lips touching the shell of my ear.
He smelled good, his scent reminding me of a warm, spring day. You know, that tingly, delightful feeling you get when you’ve waited for the snowy days to pass and for the sun to peek through, and when it finally happens you feel like you could take on the world?
There’s fresh grass and spring water and that sweet scent of honeysuckles.
Yeah, just like that.
Warm.
Comforting.
Alluring.
“Just don’t think about it for too long, Little Shakes.”
I fought a smile, sucking on my straw again as he walked towards the backroom. When he disappeared I sighed, trying my best to ignore the racing of my heart, wiping the sweat off my palms as if it would rid me of the words he’d just cast my way.
“Mmm-hmm,” Quincy said as he came to my end of the bar.
I whipped my head up as he grabbed my empty glass and rattled the ice. “What?” I asked, cheeks blazing.
“You have never finished a drink at this bar, Shannon. Someone must’ve heated you up.” Quincy smirked as his eyes trailed down to my lap, his blonde eyebrows wiggling.
“Oh, please. I just really needed one.”
“Yeah, yeah. We all know that’s a lie,” he joked. “Girl, you know you can’t deny that man. He already has you wrapped around his finger.”
“Does not!”
Quincy placed his elbows on the countertop, getting closer to me. “And I hear that once he has you, there is no way you can stop thinking about him. I hear that man is a god in the bedroom. By the end of it you’ll be worshipping him.” He fanned himself with exaggeration. “Too bad he isn’t into fine men like me.” Quincy lifted his hand and pretended to flip invisible hair over his shoulder as he turned for the drinks. I giggled as he twisted his eyebrow piercing and pursed his lips. “Take him up on it, Shannon. You know you want to!” His outburst caused a few of the waitresses to look our way.
My face heated up, probably as red as a cherry now. Seconds later, the door of the employee lounge opened and out walked Max. My smile dropped the instant he came out. He wasn’t alone.
His arm was wrapped around Brenda’s shoulders and he had her close, way too close for my liking. I wasn’t sure why seeing that hit me so hard, but it did. Was he doing this out of spite? Making me jealous so that I could go running and give it all up to him?
Shit. He had it all wrong. I wasn’t that type of girl. I didn’t go running to any man. I had dignity and sometimes a little too much pride. I wasn’t Brenda, the redhead that was a pro at giving a blowjob in the men’s bathroom stall.
I deserved patience and respect, and that damn sure wasn’t what Max was giving me. Not even ten minutes after a proposition and he had another chick on his arm?
Quincy shook his head with a hand on his hip, a look of pure disgust on his face. “You know what,” he mumbled as they passed by and Max completely ignored me, “I take what I said back. Don’t cash that check. Make his player-ass work for you.”
Quincy was right and I wanted to do that, but of course it didn’t turn out that way for me. My plans of ignoring him backfired.
It was a game of cat and mouse. Max was purposely getting under my skin and I allowed it. The thrill got to me. The chase became boring. I wanted more.
So I went running, chasing—hurdling toward him like my fucking life depended on it.
Chapter Five
Present
My head spins, my body going through the same routine every morning. Aching bones, fatigue, breathlessness.
Sometimes the treatments make me forget where I am until I allow myself time to remember. In a hospital on a hallway full of other sick patients.
It’s depressing as hell, waking up to a plain white ceiling or hearing someone cough so hard it seems a lung might pop.
It sucks that mentally and physically, it hurts.
I groan, annoyed at just how much of a pain in the ass it is to wake up and get comfortable.
My ass is numb.
My fingers are numb.
The IV in my arm digs deeper and I turn a bit, relaxing it.
Yesterday’s round of the OPX treatment isn’t going in my favor. It’s pointless anyway. The only reason I’ve continued it is because John wants me doing everything I can to stay alive.
If that means sitting for almost an hour while I allow the OPX to swim into my veins and suffering unbearable body aches and skull-splitting headaches the next day, just to give him a little hope, then so be it.
Sometimes it helps (or at least doesn’t make things worse) and I get no side effects at all. Sometimes it wreaks havoc on my body and I feel doomed to not only death but suffering to the end.
I already know it’s too late. The OPX isn’t working like it should and soon the doctors will stop wasting it and reserve it for someone that might actually be saved.
After all, this treatment is incredibly expensive, mainly because Onyx Pleura Disease is rare and not much of the OPX has been made. Think of OPX as chemotherapy.
It doesn’t matter how much money John pours into my treatment. Money can’t stop death.
I hate the treatments.
They can keep them for all I care.
It’s destroying me. It’s caused me to lose a lot of weight and for my hair to shed—so much that Sonny had to take me to get it cut short just to look acceptable—and I’ve lost my warm, caramel complexion.
My hair is growing back, but it is brittle and dry. I’m nearly as pale as a ghost, with dry lips, and tired eyes with deep, dark circles beneath them.
Could it be any more obvious that I’m dying?
Onyx Pleura Disease.
It is definitely not my best friend, yet it’s been with me every day since the age of twenty-three. Never had I touched a cigarette.
I might have had some weed here and there, but that surely wasn’t the cause of the diagnosis.
They say, for people with this disease, that it is formed in our lungs when we are born, but it is so rare that doctors don’t check unless there are symptoms of it.
It gets worse as you age, especially when you partake in a lot of strenuous activity—more than our bodies can handle.
I guess all of the stressing, working three jobs at once, and keeping up with Sonny had finally caught up to me.
To this day I wonder why it has to be me.
I loathe it. No, I hate it—hate it so much for ruining my life. Without a lung donation, there is an 8% survival rate. And it can’t just be any donated lung.
Besides matching blood types, there is a certain section of the lung that has to be taken in order for it to be replaced. We are on a long waiting list. It’s been years. I’ve given up hope.
A knock sounds on the door and Leah walks in, singing “Good morning” as she makes her way for the window. She draws them open dramatically, like the moms do in all the teenage movies, sighing as the rays of sunlight hit her face
.
“Why are you still trying to sleep in on this glorious day?” she questions, spinning around to look at me. “All that rain last night… you should be happy we have this. Are you hungry?”
I sit up groggily. “Hell no. I feel like I’m about to hurl.”
She rushes for the purple bucket beside the bed. “Here,” she places it on top of my lap. “Take it out on the fuck-it bucket.”
I shake my head, pushing it away. “I think I’m okay. Some water would be nice, though.”
Her head nods and she goes for the pitcher, walking to the door. “I’ll go get some.” She takes a look around the room as if something is missing. When it finally registers, she asks, “Where’s John?”
I look around as well, realizing he’s not on the couch. “I think I’ve convinced him to go back to work for a few hours.”
Her brown eyes expand, the sunlight highlighting her chocolate skin. It reminds me of my father’s.
Leah is perfect and so highly underestimated as a nurse. They all take her for granted but when it comes down to staying at the hospital, she is the woman I want taking care of me. Not Vickie, not Ronda, but Leah. Because she’s almost like a sister.
Only no cat fights or arguing included, like Sonny and I tend to do.
“Are you serious? He actually listened?” she asks, placing a hand on her hip.
“Well,” I shrug, “I told him he has to live before I stop living. He can’t keep putting his life on hold for someone that won’t last.”
Leah’s smile fades rapidly. It’s clear she doesn’t like that response.
She grips the door handle a little tighter, knuckles whitening, and her eyes glisten.
She blinks, ridding herself of the tears I know she wants to shed.
“I’ll… go get the water.” She’s out of the door in less than a second.
I sigh.
Leah and I are close. And she hates when I speak negatively but I hate it most when she tries to coddle me or show sympathy.
To me, sympathy equals pity.
This is my life—what I’ve been served—and I’ve finally accepted it. Although it hasn’t been long I’ve tried making the most I can out of it… almost.
My phone buzzes on the stand and I look over, Max’s name appearing again. He’s calling this time. I don’t answer.
Leah walks in again with the pitcher, pouring me a cup of water as she nears me. That moment of sadness we shared less than two minutes ago has passed because a full smile is on her lips again, her mood lively and rich.
This is the way I want it to be and the way it should remain.
Chapter Six
Past
Four years ago – Max and I
“Fine.” I stepped up to Maximilian Grant, one eyebrow cocked and one hand on my hip, the other slamming down on the countertop.
His body turned in my direction as he adjusted himself on the barstool, his warm, natural scent making me a little weak in the knees.
“What’s that now?” He put on a smug grin, eyes widening as he lowered his phone.
I narrowed mine, stepping forward. I was almost between his legs. I wanted to step closer, but I had to keep the boundaries in place. Showing any sign of weakness while around him was not an option.
“I will give you one night. But only one, Max,” I say, holding up a single finger. “And we have to go to a place that I really want to go to.”
“All right.” He sighed, running a hand over the top of his head. His hair was wavy, like the ocean at night. “You name the time and place.”
“Tomorrow night. Eight o’clock at Craves on West 5th.” I stepped back, tucking my hair behind my ear. “And please,” I said over my shoulder as I turned away, “don’t be late.”
I gave him a faint smile. To me, this was a game of cat and mouse and he’d finally caught me but he hadn’t tried to eat me just yet. I had to tamper with his ego. Get under his skin just a little bit.
Only… it didn’t work.
The legs of his stool screeched across the floor, creating an obnoxious noise. Max hopped up, catching me before I could make a break for it out the back door. I spun around, landing between his warm, bulky arms, breath catching, my lips parted as I met his warm brown eyes.
His olive skin, up close like this, looked like it was made of satin. I wanted to touch his face, trace my fingertips down his firm, chiseled jawline. But I held back.
“You think you’re fucking with my head, don’t you?” Max asked quietly, his voice a murmur beneath the music.
“Not at all,” I challenged.
“What made you give in?”
“Nothing. I just think I owe you this much…”
He frowned. “You don’t owe me shit.”
“I kinda do…”
“You don’t owe me anything, Little Shakes. You don’t have to do this. I’m not forcing you.”
“Whatever,” I said, deliberately maneuvering out of his arms and pulling my satchel on top of my shoulder, “it’s just one night. Can’t do too much harm, right?”
Max scoffed, which made me frown. “Shakes, when I’m done with you, you’ll be begging for more.” He stepped forward, holding onto my wrist and reeling me into him. I bumped softly against his rock-solid body, my head tipped up, our eyes bolting. “I don’t fuck around,” he said, leaning forward to place his lips near the shell of my ear. “I want you. Bad. And now that you’ve given me this chance, I’m going to make it the best night of your fucking life. I am going to make sure this one night turns into infinity.”
I could hardly breathe. I heard every word and believe me when I say my panties were beyond wet. I was drenched for him and he’d hardly touched me. His voice, so orgasmic and deep. His body, so hard and smooth and warm. So near. So motherfucking perfect. Max knew what he was doing. And I shouldn’t have tested his ego, considering I hadn’t been laid in five months.
I admit I was a little desperate for him. I mean, he was the finest man I’d been around in months, I saw him almost every night, and he was into me. Really, really into me.
The way he held me, his hand on the small of my back and purposely near my ass, exhibited more than enough proof of how much he desired me. He was silently teasing me and slowly but surely unraveling every sensual fiber in my body.
I wondered why, however. I was the dullest girl working at Capri. And I admit I wasn’t the cutest of them all. What was it about me that made him want the chase?
I straightened up, smiling softly as I pulled away from him and walked to the door. I felt him watching me walk away, and when I looked back a hint of a smile was tugging at the corners of those perfectly sculpted lips. As I pushed the door open I casually said, “We’ll see about that infinity thing.”
Then I walked away, glad the door shut behind me quickly. It made my exit that much more dramatic and me, serious Shannon, even more enticing to him. But what topped it all off was the text I received from him later that night.
Max: Can’t stop thinking about infinity
Which meant he couldn’t stop thinking about me—having his way with me, that is. A part of that thrilled me. To be running around in the wild mind of Maximilian Grant was a great way to end the night.
So before I fell asleep, I sent him this:
Me: Can’t stop thinking about the cupcakes and drinks at Crave. The carrot cake one… OMG. To fucking die for.
Max: Potty mouth
Yeah, I was still testing his ego.
I got a thrill out of it. For the first time in a while I felt somewhat alive. Flirting didn’t come naturally to me, but for some reason he liked that. And I liked that he liked that.
My corniness.
My goofiness.
My weirdness.
We liked where this one night thing was headed already.
* * *
I would like to go deeper, show everyone exactly how I ended up falling for Max.
Although he was cocky, arrogant, and so full of shit sometimes, there wa
s so much more behind him.
Our story ran deep, and I hate that I’m even telling it because for one, most of it is not my story to tell and two, John would hate that I’m thinking about another man while I’m slowly fading away.
But I have to.
Why?
Because it was probably one of the best years of my life.
I lived, and not in the corny sense where people constantly party and travel and act unbelievably idiotic. No. That’s not living.
Living is being around someone that can make you feel things you never thought possible. Living is cherishing every small moment, even the bad ones. Living is feeling your heart beat madly as you watch the approach of the person you love.
That someone lights your soul on fire. That person ignites you—makes you see the good in yourself as you look in the mirror. And as you do you just... shine.
You shine bright and bold like the rays of sunlight on the first few days of summer. You’re beautiful. You feel like you can take over the world. Your mind is free, vacant for that person to fill it with wonderful memories.
Perhaps I shouldn’t just call it living. Maybe I should call it happiness as well.
Max made me happy without a doubt, but sometimes things happen that are out of our control.
Sometimes things change and before we can work hard to get it all back, it’s too late. It’s done, and deep down we regret not fighting for what we utterly desired.
The night I agreed to go on that date with Max, I knew what I was in for. I knew I would most likely get hooked, start texting or calling every day, look forward to seeing him at work.
I’d think we had something serious going on but, instead, he’d change and act like it never happened, leaving me ripped wide open and a little ashamed of myself.
But that didn’t happen.
In fact, that entire night caught me by total surprise.
Chapter Seven
Infinity: Based on a True Story Page 3
