by Lacey Dailey
He’s simple—okay with blending in.
He doesn’t want the glitter this industry offers, which is why I chose the gig I did. It didn’t take much persuading to get him to sign the twelve week contract and move us into a suite too big for two people provided by Landon’s father’s company.
I wasn’t as shocked as Max was when Landon not-so-subtly suggested he get his ass in gear and make things happen for himself. Max is talented. He knows he’s talented. He knows he could make it big if he really tried, but he’s modest. And, I think, a little scared.
I don’t blame him.
The idea of writing new songs and trusting them with a label he barely knows is like handing his newborn baby to a stranger. It’s why I almost gave him a pass for sprinting out of the room and leaving me to deal with Landon all alone.
I revoked his pass the moment I got up to our suite and found it empty. Vegas is a scary place, and that’s not just my naivety showing. Everybody knows Vegas grows scarier and more dangerous at night.
I’m not his mother, and I’m not even sure I have a right to be mad at him for freaking out and running away, but the least he could’ve done was call or send me a courtesy text. A simple sentence to let me know he wasn’t out getting mugged or raped on a street corner would’ve gone a long way in reassuring me.
So, I’m pissed.
I’m pissed he didn’t care enough to call or consider the fact that I might be concerned about all his bones getting smashed under the fists of big scary Vegas guys.
I’m pissed, and I’m sleep deprived. I’ve had nine cups of coffee and zero hours of sleep. I’ve walked thirty million laps around this suite only to walk another thirty million more. I revel in my irritation and bask in my rage. The fury masks the twist in my gut and silences the voice in my head wondering if he’s been gone all night scratching itches with somebody who isn’t me.
It’s not my business. I know that. He can do whatever and whoever he pleases. We’re just friends. He reminds me of such every day.
You’re such a good friend, Gia.
What would I do without a friend like you, Gia?
This is Gia. My music manager and my best friend for life.
Beck and Knox are gonna be so jealous you’re my new best friend.
Holy. Shit.
If I hear the word friend one more time, I might stick a fork in my ear. Max and I are just friends. I get that. You’d think that I don’t—not with the way my breath punches out of me every time he kisses my forehead or holds my hand. Not with the way my brain goes fuzzy and my smile goes silly when he calls me baby. Certainly not when my stomach flutters and my knees weaken when he’s onstage and finds the perfect moment to send me a smile so breathtaking, I wonder if I’m the only one who can see it.
It’s been six weeks, and I’ve fallen deep for Maxwell Mitchell. I don’t know what all these feelings are but I’ve caught them. I’ve caught all the feelings, and I’m all sorts of screwed because he has caught none of them.
I knew this would happen. I knew spending six weeks laughing with him, feeding him cheesy puffs for breakfast, and spilling all my beans would lead to catching feelings. But I’m not taking all the blame. Some of it has to come from him too. Sure, his only friends were limited to a guitar and a married couple but he must know it is not proper friend etiquette to curl up with them when watching a movie. Or casually brush your teeth while the other is taking a shower. Or feed them bacon. Or rub their shoulders. Who does that with people who are “just friends?” Those people are either lying through their teeth or they are Maxwell Mitchell.
So, here I am, in the same clothes I was in last night, on my tenth cup of coffee, forcing myself to be a raging bitch so I can ignore all the unreciprocated feelings I’ve caught for Max.
The door clicks, signaling a room key was just swiped. I glower at it, snarling into my coffee cup as I calculate his movements. Max slides into the suite, holding the door handle so it’ll close without slamming. Johnny is still secured safely to his back, and he’s got his fist tight around a plastic shopping bag.
I watch with hard, unblinking eyes the way he tip-toes down the narrow entryway, maneuvering his body strangely so Johnny won’t slam against the walls. His chest lifts in measured breaths, his eyes cast downward so he can watch where he steps. When he reaches the end of the hall, he starts toeing off his boots, moving with the skill of a ninja. I’m almost impressed by his silence. Almost.
“Good morning, Maxwell.”
“Shit.” He yelps, tripping over his boots. He catches himself against the wall and casts me a dazed look over his shoulder. “Gia. You scared me. I didn’t think you’d be awake. I was trying to be quiet.”
“I didn’t go to sleep, Max! I’ve been up all night worried about you.”
“You were?” He steps over his boots, moving farther into the room. The shopping bag swings with his heavy steps. “Why?”
I thump him.
“Let’s see. You ran out of the dressing room last night like a chicken with its head cut off, didn’t return any of my phone calls, and never came back. This is Vegas, Max! You don’t know this town. I was freaked something happened to you.”
“I’m sorry.” His shoulders draw up, and he scratches at the back of his neck. "I didn’t realize you’d be freaked.”
“How would you feel if I disappeared into a strange city all night and you didn’t hear from me?”
“I would vomit.” He pales and takes a slow, pained breath. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight last night. Of course you were worried. I would be out of mind if that was you. You’re my best friend.”
Here we go again.
I pivot and take the four steps required to get to the sink. I flip my coffee cup and watch the dark stream swirl into the drain. “Just because you don’t owe me an explanation doesn’t mean it’s cool to not give me one. You didn’t have to give me any details about whatever itch you were scratching. A simple text would’ve been nice though.”
“Whoa, Gia.” Johnny and his shopping bag hit the round table that takes up almost the entirety of the small kitchen. He walks toward me with purpose, lips folded downward. “Is that what you think I was doing? Scratching itches with some chick?”
I avoid his gaze and flip on the faucet, rinsing out my cup. This isn’t my business. I was the one who said for him to keep it only to flirting. I was the one who wanted to keep my fence locked. I was the one who didn’t anticipate what Max would come to mean to me.
He’s not just a musician up to his eyeballs in secrets. He’s a grown ass man who acts like a kid because he never got a chance when he actually was a kid. He has a laugh that’s somehow deep and high pitched at the same time—a sound that disintegrates the bones beneath my skin. He has a grin so big his cheeks touch his eyebrows and the little mole under his lip raises an inch or so. A grin big enough and powerful enough to change my mood in an instant. Inside his chest is a heart of gold and in his head lies the memory of an elephant.
Max remembers. Every stupid, little fact I spewed about myself inside his car, thinking he was only half listening, was stored in a special place in his brain.
“Gia, hey.” Two fingers to my cheek, he turns my head and forces my gaze. I strain not to lean into his touch. “I wasn’t out scratching itches. You thought that’s what I was doing? For real?”
I flip off the faucet and set my cup aside. “It’s not my business, anyway.”
“I’m sorry, Gia.” His fingers capture a strand of my hair and carefully tuck it behind my ear. “I’m a total dick. I should’ve called or something. I’m just not used to people caring about me.”
I’m not sure if it was his words or the way he said them that affect me so much. “I care.”
His lips are warm when they move across my forehead. “I know. I really do. I just forgot.”
“Well, don’t do it again.”
He straightens, and his face morphs into a smirk so sexy I swear he practiced it in the mirr
or. “It’s kind of cute you were all jealous.”
I swat his chest. “I was not jealous!”
“Uh huh. Sure.” He smirks again and maneuvers around me, heading for the refrigerator stocked with string cheese and beer. “You got all growly. It was pretty cute.”
Here I am, thinking about how sexy he is while he is calling me cute. Puppies are cute. Hamsters. Bunnies. I don't know what I am or what I want to be, but I know for sure it isn’t cute.
“Don’t flatter yourself.” My words come out more harshly than I intended—so harshly he jerks like I just threw a knife in his back.
His eyes are frantic when he turns around. “Whoa, come on. Gia, I said sorry. Please, don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad. I’m just saying I wasn’t jealous.”
“Damn, okay.” He turns back to the refrigerator quickly, but I don’t miss the bitter smile or the frustrated way he shakes his head.
“What? You wanted me to be jealous?”
He turns around, a piece of cheese hanging from his mouth, and the refrigerator door thumps when it closes. “It would’ve been nice.”
What’s that spark I feel inside my chest? Hope?
“Why?”
He shrugs like he doesn’t know the answer. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he isn’t sure how to navigate his feelings. I struggle navigating mine.
When a few seconds go by and all he does is munch on his cheese, I swivel on my heels and head toward the bedroom.
“Gia, wait.”
“It’s fine, Max.” I move through the doorway and make a beeline towards my bed on the right side of the bedroom. Bending over, I dig through my suitcase for some clean clothes. I probably smell like coffee and bad body odor.
“Babe, stop.” He pulls a purple sundress from my hand and chucks it back into my suitcase. “I wasn’t scratching itches.”
“Yeah, you’ve said that. I believe you.”
“You do?” He slumps on my bed. “Good. And I’m sorry I accused you of being jealous.”
“I don’t know if I was jealous.” I reach for my dress again. “But I really didn’t like the thought of you with someone else.”
His lips tug. “That’s basically the definition of being jealous.”
“Oh, so you’re just a walking dictionary now?”
“Pretty much.” Reaching outward, he rests his hand on my waist. His thumb moves over my hipbone, and even through the fabric of my shirt, it warms me. “I’m sorry for not telling you where I was.”
“I forgive you.”
“If it’s any consolation, I don’t like the idea of you scratching itches with someone either.”
I don’t ask why because it’s likely he won’t tell me. Either that or he just doesn’t know. I’m left thinking that feelings actually kind of suck. I sometimes wish I could give them back to whatever entity forced me to feel them.
He smacks my dress out of my hand. “Don’t wear that.”
“What’s wrong with my dress?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it. You just can’t wear it. Know why?” His playful smirk has me giddy in an instant.
“Why?”
“Because I bought you a present you have to wear instead. Don’t move.” He leaps off the bed, his footsteps loud as he moves through the suite. He returns seconds later, the shopping bag in his hand and his grin up to his eyeballs. “I hope you’re ready to be amazed.”
Before I have a second to come up with any sort of comeback, he reaches inside the bag and yanks out my present. My jaw sweeps the floor. A laugh so loud bursts from my chest, I have to wonder if the people on the floor below us can hear it.
“Max! You did not!”
“I totally did.” He drops the bag. “I got one for myself too.”
“You want me to wear that around all day?”
“No. I want you to wear it here. With me. Max and Gia day. We can watch movies and eat junk food together.” His lips turn into a pout. “Please, Gia? I picked it out special for you.”
I think he would feel physical pain if I told him no. As if I would.
I take a step toward him, and lift my chin with a smile. “Am I the green dinosaur or the purple unicorn?”
“Unicorn, obviously. You’re magic.” He thrusts the purple fleece onesie at my chest. There’s a horn and a pair of eyes on the hood. When I look up from my inspection, I find him in nothing but his black boxer briefs, his clothes in pile at his feet. He wastes no time pulling his dinosaur onesie over his legs, chuckling at the way the oversized tail drags against the floor. He has no quarrels I’m seeing him in his underwear. It’s certainly not the first time. Max doesn’t know what boundaries are. Either that or he just doesn’t care.
I have to think if I was one of the girls he scratched itches with he’d be different about the way he undresses. Maybe he’d do it slower—put on a different kind of show than the one he puts on five nights a week downstairs. Maybe he’d pretend to be shy and act all coy. I have no idea, but it doesn’t matter. Because I’m not one of those girls. I’m Gia, and apparently, I have the word platonic stamped on my forehead.
“Babe, go put yours on.” He gives me a shove towards the bathroom. “Hurry up! We have movies to watch and junk food to eat.”
I step into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door while I zip myself up into a ball of fleece. He rewards me with an ear-splitting grin the moment I step out of the bathroom.
“You look adorable.”
“Where did you even find these?”
“I got them last night at some dorky store on the strip.” He flops backward onto his bed, maneuvering his body so he’s sitting on his butt and not the tail protruding from it. He leans against the headboard, outstretches both of his arms, and invites me into his little pajama party.
I go to him with no hesitation, diving at him and stabbing him with my unicorn horn in the process. “This is a dangerous contraption you’ve given me.”
“Good. You need a little danger in your life.”
“And you thought a unicorn onesie was the way to go?”
He lifts my chin and gives me a smirk. The kind of smirk kids give their parents right before they're about to tear their world apart. “Aren’t they awesome? Wearing this makes me forget how to adult.”
I snort, sliding downward and dropping my head to his lap. “Everything makes you forget how to adult.”
He gasps. “Untrue. You wound me.”
“Well, you certainly weren’t adulting last night when you left me to explain to Landon why you fled like a startled gazelle when he mentioned a record deal.”
“I’m sorry, Gia.” He sighs, pulling down my hood so his fingers have access to my hair. “That wasn’t cool. I was just… having a moment. I needed some space.”
“Space from me?” That was new though it wouldn’t surprise me. We’ve been up each other’s butts for almost two months. I thought we were mutually enthralled with each other. Maybe not.
“It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. I panicked, okay? I got a little freaked out and I…”
“Don’t want me to know the person you become when you’re freaked out.” I already know where this is going. Every time he appears to be getting anxious or scared, he walks away. Usually, he goes to the bathroom, or the corner of the room if there isn’t one around. He paces in a circle a few times until he can calm himself down and returns with his signature smile. Last night was the first time he wasn’t able to calm down. He just fled, and I know without asking he’d never tell me why.
“Exactly. I needed to get away, clear my head, and figure out if I really want to take such a big step.”
“Did you figure anything out?”
“Actually, yeah. I think I decided I want to take Landon up on his offer to have a few meetings. I want to stop being so overprotective with my music and trust that signing with a label will only give it more power rather than squabble it. Besides, I spent a lot of time looking into independent labels last night.
They seem like my kind of people.”
“That’s great.” I sit up, blowing hair from my face. There’s a gleam in his eye that wasn’t shining last night. He’s smirking at me, his skin is practically oozing confidence and his words are dripping with purpose.
I am so happy for him.
“Do you have some songs finished?”
He gnaws on his lip, dipping into a nervous persona I’ve only seen once before. “I may have finished one or two last night.”
“Can I hear them?”
He bops my nose with his finger. “Not yet. They aren't perfect yet.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I do. I want to make them perfect before I let you or Landon hear them. I don’t want that grumpy bastard to have any reason to change his mind.”
“Landon is not a grumpy bastard, you drama queen.”
“He sort of is. I want to impress him.” His vulnerable smile makes my heart dip.
“You already impressed him, babe. That’s why he offered you something he hasn’t offered any other musician. But if you want to wait, I'll respect that. I’ll call him today and let him know you’re working on some new stuff and you want to move forward with some meetings.”
“Call him later. Today is Max and Gia day.”
“I think every day since you picked me up for this trip has been Max and Gia day.”
“Untrue.” He frowns. “It’s always been about me and my career. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your diss to City Hall. Have you thought about what you want to do?”
“Sort of.” Another lie.
I haven’t thought about my future even once since the first week of this trip. The second I decided I wanted to be Max’s manager, I launched myself into it. If I was going to do it, I wasn’t going to give it anything but my all. I’ve thrown myself into researching the types of things I need to do in order to be the best manager I can be. It’s taken up a lot of my time and all of my interest. I actually enjoy being Max’s manager. It’s thrilling negotiating deals, arguing with Landon, and managing his social media. I don’t feel useless. I feel like I’m making a difference for someone. I’m doing more than just typing meeting agendas and running to Starbucks, and I’m not bored to tears while doing it.
