Sugar Rush

by Belle Aurora

  Me: Dude! The walls are paper thin. SERIOUSLY! Keep the moaning to a minimum. Pretty fucking please!!!

  After a second, I quickly type again.

  Me: You know what? Moan all you like. I’m out. Peace, bruh.

  I walk out the apartment, and just as I’m about to close the door behind me, I spot something out the corner of my eye. Faster than I thought possible, I spin on my heel and rush back inside, shutting the door behind me as quietly as possible.

  My chest heaving, I lift my wide eyes to the peephole and peek out. I see nothing, but I hear something. I pull out my headphones and listen intently.

  “Why, hello, dear.” That’s Mrs. Crandle.

  I hear no one respond.

  Mrs. Crandle mutters, “I’m well, thank you.” She sounds happy. “What’s your name, sweetie?” Silence, then she speaks again. “Very nice to meet you. Won’t you come in?” A moment’s quiet before I hear her speak softly. “That would be very nice. Thank you.” Her voice turns to a morose hush. “I don’t get much company.” And even though I’m not sure who she’s talking to, or if she’s talking to anyone at all, I feel shame course through me. Mrs. Crandle is my neighbor. I should be more neighborly. I had no idea she was lonely. “Okay, dear. Come around for tea sometime. I’ll introduce you to my cats.”

  A low, masculine chuckle sounds before his face is right in my vision. My heart skips a beat. I place a hand over my mouth to stop the squeak from escaping.

  Knock knock knock

  I hold my breath. If he thinks I’m not home, he’s bound to leave. Ten seconds pass. I’m about to pass out if I don’t breathe again soon.

  Knock knock knock

  My face is surely turning purple. My lungs burn. I see the light. Need. Air. To. Live.

  Knock knock knock

  He sighs. “Helena, I know you’re in there. I can see the shadow of your feet from under the door.”

  I huff in a much-needed breath. Panting, I glower at him through the door. There’s only one thing to do now. I turn the volume up on my MP3 player to an ear-splitting level. I open the door as if I hadn’t known he was there all along. I fake a look of surprise. “Max. I didn’t hear you there.” I point to the earphones and hope he can’t see the blood leaking down the sides of my face from the loud screeching currently being projected into my ears. I turn it down and remove the earphones. All I hear is ringing. It’s quite possible I have caused permanent damage.

  He grins down at me. His dimple is so awesome that I think there should be a shrine somewhere in the world dedicated to it. He shakes his head at me. “Liar.”

  I feel a flush creep up from my neck. I fight the urge to be a bitch. I really do. “What can I do for you?”

  Without waiting for an invitation, he slides past me and into my apartment. Stuck in the doorway, I try with all my might not to think about how his body felt sliding next to mine.

  Sweet Jesus on a platter! He’s toned.

  He moves across the room, over to the kitchen. He opens my fridge and sighs. “I’m hungry.” He looks up at me. “Are you hungry? We should get something to eat.”

  I dip my chin. Why must he be so…Max?

  “Max, we’ve been here before. Dude, focus. Why are you here?”

  He checks my fridge again, as if food will magically appear if he looks hard enough. “What are you living on? There’s nothin’ in here. You gotta eat.” He peeks up at me, his golden eyes watching me closely. “You eaten?”

  Rather than answering, I dodge the question like a pro. “I just woke up.”

  His face bunches. “It’s past noon.”

  I don’t have to explain myself to you.

  My mind pokes its tongue out at him. “I had a late night.”

  Until now, I hadn’t realized what he’s holding in his hand. He rubs absently at his belly. “I’m in bad shape over here. I need food and you have…” he winces, “milk.” His nose bunches adorably. “Milk is not food, Helena. I’m a growing boy. I can’t survive on milk. I need solids.”

  Still eyeing the item in his hand, I ask quietly, “Why do you have a mini whiteboard in your hand?”

  He looks down at it, then back up at me. “To talk to Mrs. Crandle.”

  I don’t get it. “Why did you need to speak to Crandle?”

  He shrugs. “I didn’t.”

  Everything screeches to a halt. Hold the phone. My brows knotted, deep in thought, I place the fingertips of one hand over my mouth. Having gotten my thoughts together, I ask quietly, “You went out…out of your way…to buy a mini whiteboard to communicate with a deaf old lady for no good reason at all?”

  His eyes narrow as he looks up in thought as if processing what I just asked. He nods quickly. “Yep.”

  The complete selflessness of this single act has my mind at war with my heart. My mind, still bitter and hurt over something Max likely doesn’t even remember, rolls its eyes. My heart has tears in its eyes, sniffling and muttering, ‘I love him. Can we keep him?’ Warmth spreads through me from my belly out. “You know what? I am hungry after all.”

  Max’s eyes widen in surprise before he beams. “Great! Let’s go.”

  Suddenly shy, I avoid his gaze and tuck a stray hair behind my ear. I stop short. “I should probably change.”

  Warmth on my lower back has me swallowing hard. Max gently coaxes me with his hand. “Don’t change, cupcake. You look good enough to eat.”

  My smart mouth opens and shoots out, “Well, I’m not on the menu.”

  Pew, pew, pew!

  I thank God he’s behind me, because he can’t see the look of absolute horror on my face.

  Who’s the real flirt here?

  He leads me out of my apartment, his voice no louder than a hush as he responds, “That’s a damn shame.”

  ***

  Helena

  I’m not at all surprised when we end up only a block away from the apartment at a diner. A diner where the staff know Max. They’re on a first name basis, of course. What I am surprised at is that he drove us here. When he parked the car, I let out a stunned laugh. “Why didn’t we just walk?”

  He looked up and uttered, “It’s grey out. I didn’t know if the weather would turn.” He smiled at me, warm and sweet. “Didn’t want you getting wet.”

  Too late.

  I mentally shook my head. Oh, brain. You dirty, dirty effer.

  Seriously. Does he have to be all cool and suave and thoughtful and stuff? I totally wish he were a dirt-bag. It would be so much easier to dislike him. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. He’s making it very hard on me, the inconsiderate boob.

  On the street, he ran around the car and opened the door for me, even though I had already pressed the latch. He held out a hand and I took it, only because he’d parked away from the gutter and I needed a hand to not step in a heap of street crud. Two ladies passed us, both with strollers, wearing sports gear. They smiled at him and all but fluttered their lashes.

  Max didn’t waste any time. He threw them a panty-dropping smile I wished was aimed at me. He tipped his head slightly. “Ladies. How you doin’ today?”

  They both answered on a sigh. “Fine.”

  My jaw tightened.

  Inside, he helped me into the booth and I snapped at him, “I can sit all on my own.” I threw him a deadpanned look. “I’m a big girl, Max.”

  Completely oblivious to my bitchiness, he smiled. “I know, cupcake. I guess it’s in my nature, ya know, to help out.”

  Harsh reality sinks in. I’m suddenly reminded he’s a dad, and a full-time caregiver to a child with a spinal cord injury. What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve never—not ever—had a man wind me up so much before in my life. I don’t like it. I’m acting out of sorts. I’m a decent person, dammit! I may not be nice all the time, but I always make an effort. I’m a people person. I always give people a chance, sometimes more than they deserve. I know Max is a good guy. I feel ashamed for treating him the way I have been. I don’t think he hurt me
on purpose. He’s just kind of…unmindful. Sort of like a male version of a ditz.

  Our waitress arrives as we’re looking over the menu. She’s a middle-aged woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. She also has junk in her trunk. My sistah. I like her immediately. I feel as though we’re bonded through booty.

  She spots Max and rolls her eyes. Max grins up at her. “Shelly, babe, it’s been a while.”

  She scribbles something onto her notepad. “Max, sweetie. Don’t lie to me. I know you’re cheating on me.”

  He holds a hand up to his heart. “They all have eggs and bacon, but I swear it, Shell. It’s only yours I love.” He winks and I fight a smile. He’s such a dork. Such a sexy dork.

  She harrumphs. “Yeah, yeah. You all stray, but you all find your way back to Shelly.” She looks over at me and smiles warmly. “Hi there. I’m Shelly.”

  I smile back. “Helena. Nice to meet you. I have a feeling you’ll be seeing me a bit. I just moved down the street.”

  Her smile intensifies. “That’s great, honey. I definitely hope to see you here. And often.”

  It’s almost as if he can’t help himself. Max must feel left out of the conversation, because he announces, “We’ll come back next weekend. Same time. I’ll bring Ceecee.”

  We what now?

  Shelly’s smile softens at the mention of Ceecee. “It’s a date. Now what can I get you?”

  I order granola and orange juice. Max orders a banana smoothie and ‘The Big Breakfast’. I have no idea what that is, but it sounds, well, big. Shelly takes our menus and we’re left on opposite sides of a booth that somehow feels way too small right now. Max eyes me intently.

  “What?”

  He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. He snaps his mouth shut. Relief flows through me. That was close. I’m happy to sit here in complete silence. Really.

  Shelly returns with our drinks. She sets them down on the table. “Food is just around the corner, guys.” She walks away and I sip at my orange juice.

  “Why don’t you like me?”

  My single sip turns into two. Into three. More juice. Juice is so yummy right now. I’m suddenly so thirsty that I sip and sip and sip ‘til I sip in air.

  Holy crap. I drank the whole thing.

  He pushes gently. “I’ve got all day, girl. We’re gonna get this out of the way.” I really need to pee now. His eyes train on me. He’s not going to let me go without an answer.

  I sigh and lean back into the bench. “It’s not that I don’t like you. I don’t know you, Max. You just do things I generally don’t like in a guy.” I fiddle with the straw in my now-empty glass. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  My head snaps up. “What?”

  His golden eyes trained on me, he responds in all seriousness. “A girl like you…she’s not a problem. She’s cool. I mean, I think you’re cool, which makes me think I did something to piss you off.”

  I’m cool? My heart flutters and leans against the closest wall while letting out a dreamy sigh. My cheek tics at how right his stab in the dark is. “You did nothing.” The lie sounds as weak as the person making it.

  He taps a finger on the table and avoids my eyes. When he speaks again, it’s quiet and meaningful. “I don’t know what I did. Chances are, I didn’t mean to. So maybe…I mean, I hope I can just say sorry now and we can be friends, because,” his expression earnest, he utters, “I could use another friend.” He looks up, nothing but sincerity in his eyes. “I could always use another friend.”

  It almost sounds like plea. One I refuse to ignore. “We can be friends, Max. I’m sorry for being a judgey shrew. Like I said, I don’t know you.”

  He smiles. “Give me a chance and I’ll make sure you never regret it.” Not a plea. A vow.

  I can’t stop myself. I roll my eyes and tease, “Would it kill you to stop the flirting?”

  He actually looks confused. “What flirting?”

  I smile harder, waiting for him to laugh, but his brow creases further. Oh Lord…he doesn’t know. How do I broach this delicate subject? “Well, in the half-hour we’ve been together today, you’ve flirted…a lot.”

  He looks at me like I’m clearly seeing things. “What? No I haven’t.”

  My smile falls away. “Yeah, you have.”

  “Nuh uh.”

  “Yah huh.”

  He sits straighter on the bench and holds his arms out in question. “When, huh?”

  I return, quick as lightning, “First, with me in my kitchen, second, with the ladies on the street, and now, with Shelly.” He snorts and I feel the need to add, “Hell, I don’t even know what you said to her, but I can pretty much guarantee you were flirting with old lady Crandle too!”

  He wears a look that says bless your heart little one and chuckles. “That’s not flirting. That’s being friendly.”

  Is he for real? I scoff. “No it isn’t, Max! That’s ridiculous.”

  He waves a hand in my direction dismissively. “That’s just me being friendly. I’m a friendly guy, Lena.”

  I like that he called me Lena. A little too much. Which, of course, adds fuel to my fire. Invisible steam pours from my ears. My cheeks heat in frustration. “You’re not friendly; you’re a horn dog!”

  Shelly comes by with our food and he gestures to her. “Perhaps we’ll ask someone else, shall we?”

  I nod. “By all means.”

  He asks Shelly, “Helena here thinks I’m a serial flirt. I’m trying to explain to her that I’m just being friendly, but she doesn’t get it. What do you think, Shell?”

  He lays on a million dollar smile and she looks at him a moment before her eyes narrow. She turns to me with a look that questions his sanity and whispers, “He doesn’t even know, does he?” I shake my head, fighting a smile.

  Max’s smile fades. “What? Don’t know what?”

  Shelly places a hand on his shoulder in consolation and hits him with it. “Honey, she’s right. You’re a flirt.” Shocked, he opens his mouth to protest, but she cuts him off. “That’s not a bad thing, Max. You’re good at making people feel comfortable with you, but I think if you’ll look back, you’ll find the majority of the people you befriend are, well, women.” Shelly leaves us alone to eat our late breakfast. She squeezes Max’s shoulder as she goes.

  I don’t feel very hungry. Victory leaves a sour taste in my mouth. “You okay?”

  He nods, picking at his food. “I’m good.” But it’s a lie.

  I don’t know where the urge to make him feel better comes from, but I suddenly announce, “You know, I’m a terrible flirt.” Max looks up at me, his face questioning. I nod. “Yeah. I’m not very good at it. At least, not when I try. When I don’t try to flirt, I’m pretty damn good at it.” I nibble at my granola. “Maybe that’s what’s happening with you. Your subconscious is probably just a really good flirt, with mad skills it feels it needs to use, like, all the time.”

  He doesn’t look placated, but his lip tilts up at the corner. “Mad skills, huh?”

  I confirm, “Mad skills.”

  Then he smiles, obviously impressed with my efforts to cheer him up. “Maybe.”

  I smile in return and eat my granola.

  “Helena.”

  Chewing, I look over at him.

  He nudges my foot under the table. “Thanks.”

  I have no idea why I’m being thanked, but I’ll take it. “You’re welcome.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Max

  When I was in high school, I met Madeline Connolly. I was sixteen, stupid, and horny. Most girls, back then, would try to get close to me to get to Nik. I could smell ‘em a mile away. Honey-sweet voices and sticky fingers. But they normally had big tits and red, glossy lips. My sixteen-year-old self didn’t give a shit if they wanted Nik, as long as they’d put out.

  See? Stupid.

  One girl—I can’t even remember her name—told me she was pregnant with my kid. She was my age. I reme
mber laughing my ass off…so hard I cried. With a stern face, she asked me why I was laughing, told me this was serious. She knew I had money. Everyone knew we had money. She told me to talk to my brother, and if I didn’t want to marry her and take care of our kid, the Nik better, ‘cause her baby needed a father.

  A dangerous smile crossed my face. I stepped towards whatever-her-name-was and warned her, “I don’t care what you do to me, but,” my fists balled in anger as I snarled, “don’t ever, ever, fuck with my brother.” A look of fear crossed her face. I shook my head in disgust and started to walk away. A fair distance away, I called back, “Besides, sweetheart, you can’t get pregnant from a blow job.”

  This was a lesson to me. A harsh one, but a good one. That was the point I realized what lengths women could and would go to in order to tie a man down.

  So one day, I’m at the library after school, working on fuck knows what. It was pretty much deserted, but I spotted this girl sitting at a desk with a shitload of books in front of her. She looked panicked, overwhelmed by her workload. Dressed in a white tee and blue jeans, she stood in a huff and started stacking her books, slamming them one on top of the other. She was beautiful in a very tame way. With long, reddish-brown hair down to her waist and no makeup in sight, her cheeks flamed red, her blue eyes blazing. As she picked up her stack of books and turned, the top two books slid off.

  I smirked. That was my cue. I rushed forward, picked up the books, and held onto them. The girl stood there, waiting for me to hand them to her, but I held them tight in my grip.

  She huffed, “You can put them on the top.”

  I shook my head. “Nah, think I better walk you to your locker. In fact, I think I should carry all those books. You’re a safety hazard, an accident waiting to happen.” I ended on a grin.

  Most girls would have laughed and let me carry their books, would’ve thanked me. They would’ve told me how funny I was and asked if I had a girlfriend. They would have flirted with me and given me an inch. Not this girl. Her cheeks turned even redder. She gritted her teeth. “Put the books on the top. Please.”