CHAPTER ONE
MAX
Stupid Starbucks.
How hard was it to make a cup of coffee?
I checked my watch again and tapped my foot against the cement floor. When it was finally my turn, my voice caught in my throat.
Well, well, well. New barista. Have I mentioned I have a weakness for a girl in an apron? No? Well. Now you know.
Smiling, I placed my hands onto the cool countertop and leaned forward, “Hey, girl.”
The barista’s eyebrows shot up and then a scowl I assume she reserved for rapists, terrorists, and people named Max appeared, rendering my balls a little shaky and my confidence a bit stunned. “What can I get for you?”
I allowed myself a few seconds as I slowly took in her form and then finally settled my gaze on her pretty brown eyes and cropped golden-blond hair. “Blonde roast.” I smirked. “With a bit of honey.”
“Honey’s on the side counter,” she said through clenched teeth, tapping her fingers against the register. “Is that all?”
My smile fell. “Stand still.”
“What?” Her hands froze in midair. “What’s wrong?”
“Stand still . . . so I can pick you up.” I winked and waited for her response. Yeah. I was a badass.
The girl’s arms fell against her sides. “Really?”
I interrupt your regular programming in order to tell you some vital information. I’m not that guy. The one who actually thinks cheesy pickup lines work on girls. They don’t, at least not in the way normal guys think they do. But more on that later. Continue.
Was I losing my edge? By this point the girl usually laughed or at least rolled her eyes in amusement. I tried again. “Baby, if you were words on a page, you’d be what they call fine print.”
And sealed.
All that was left was her swooning across the bar into my waiting arms.
“Next!” She looked behind me.
“Wait. I didn’t even pay!”
“It’s fine.” She nodded. No amusement flashing across her pretty face, just irritation and a possible right-eye twitch. “Really. Go.”
“Aw, our first date.” I leaned in and licked my lips as she quickly poured the coffee and handed it to me.
“Sure.” She nodded enthusiastically and pointed to the end of the bar. “Now go away.”
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” I blew her a kiss.
“Oh, let’s hope not,” she said through clenched teeth.
Ah, rejection. Oh, well, it’s not like I was really turning it up or anything. For crying out loud, she looked like a clinger anyway. The type of girl who would gorilla me to the bed and then pound her chest and roar when I lied and told her I had to go take care of my sick Chinese grandmother.
Clingers always saw through the lies.
That’s why I’d suddenly develop a sickness so horrible that she didn’t want to be near me for fear of dying in two weeks.
Swear to all that’s holy, last year I had swine flu for a month. It was touch and go—really touch and go.
With a sigh I grabbed my coffee from the counter and made my way toward one of the empty tables. I was meeting Jason, who just so happened to be my best friend Milo’s brother. Jason and I had slowly, and I do mean painfully, excruciatingly slowly, started to become friends after Milo married his best friend Colton.
Of course that happened after I spent an entire weekend convincing their entire family that Milo and I were engaged. At various points I was gay, attacked by their horny grandmother, and imprisoned, but that’s another story that I’m pretty sure will need to be censored if ever retold in public, feel me?
The point? I might have lost my best friend to marriage, but I’d gained Jason in the process, though his only goal during the last few months, since I’d graduated college, had been to get me off my sorry ass. But let’s be honest, I have a really nice ass, why not sit on it? Am I right?
Plus, work bored me.
If being a gentleman of leisure could be an actual occupation, I was all for it. That’s what being rich does to people—it makes them lazy. And I was example A.
I had money, so why work?
Apparently getting your hands dirty gave you purpose—but I still wasn’t sure how dirty I wanted to get. Don’t get me wrong . . . I was all for being dirty with the right girl, in the right situation—take mud wrestling, for example. What sane man says no to that type of dirt? But things like farming? Um, no thanks.
Stupid goats. I shuddered and took a sip of coffee, not that all farmers had goats but still, just thinking about them freaked the shit out of me. They had red eyes. Only animals possessed by Satan had red eyes.
Well, animals and Jayne—bitch be cray cray. The run-in I’d had with that particular ex-girlfriend during Jason’s wedding weekend was enough to give me nightmares for life. I don’t want to relive it. Ever. Not even by telling you.
All I’ll say is that I saved Jason from marrying her. I basically took one for the team, and I’m pretty sure what happened is frowned upon by the law in all fifty states, so maybe he wanted to meet me to hand me a trophy or a medal or something for saving his pathetic life. I mean, the whole purpose of coming down that weekend had been to save Milo’s love life, but I also helped keep Jayne away from Jason, whom she’d lied to and told she was pregnant. It was a whole . . . thing. Like something you’d see on TV and say, “That shit doesn’t happen in real life.” Um, yeah, it does. Jason is exhibit A. He’s the prime example of why you don’t have sex with crazies. Hell, if God punishes me by giving me nothing but sons when I’m married, I’ll use him as a prime example of why you don’t have sex ever.