Max picks me up for dinner in a shiny Range Rover that probably costs as much as my annual salary and he immediately apologizes for it.
“Before you say anything,” he says as he opens the passenger door for me, “the car belongs to Harris. He’s a good mate who drives a douche car.”
“He’s a good mate to lend you his douche car.” I ignore Max’s outstretched hand and climb into the passenger seat myself. No way in hell am I touching him and not only because he’ll know how clammy my hands really are. Being shorter than the average fourteen-year-old has its disadvantages – getting gracefully into four-by-fours being one of them – but I manage without flashing Max my crotch in the process, which I consider a win.
“He’s out on his date tonight with Caroline. She has a driver, you know.” Max grins as he shuts the door and I laugh. I don’t know which one of the blingy girls Caroline is, but the fact that any of them would have a driver isn’t shocking.
Max slips into the driver’s seat beside me, and though we’ve never been in a car together, it feels normal to see him across the leather console, his strong hands wrapped around the steering wheel. He shuts the door and his scent swirls in the air – that unique Max scent of soap, sun, and boy.
Except this Max is no boy.
His grey trousers pull over muscular thighs and his light blue dress shirt is rolled up at the cuffs, exposing ropy forearms dusted with fine hair dyed blond by the sun. He has the slightest hint of stubble on his cheeks that makes him more attractive instead of less. When I look up, his eyes are crinkled at the corners, although he’s not smiling outright.
“You see something you like there, T?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as he maneuvers the car into gear and starts down the pebbled drive leaving Castle Calder.
“Nope.” I let my lips purse to make a popping sound on the P. “You?”
“Fishing, are you?” Max raises his eyebrows and laughs. “You know you’re gorgeous, but I’m happy to tell you. It’s been a while.”
“It has been a while. Life is treating you well, I assume?” I gloss right over Max’s compliment. I’m not sure we should be going there ever, but definitely not so early in the evening.
“Life is good.” Max nods. “I mean, I’d be a knobhead to complain about getting everything I ever wanted, right?”
“Right, but you’re allowed to change your mind. Is that disappointment I hear?”
“No. Honestly, football’s great. I love it. Do I love everything about it? No, but that’s the same with every job, right? Do you love everything about your job?” Max turns to me. “Where are you working now?”
“I’m an architect. I work for Scarlett’s boyfriend, actually.”
“Cool. Is that how they met? Did you play matchmaker?” Max asks with an easy grin. Thank God he’s making this easy. It almost makes me feel like I can do this.
Almost.
“No, she used to work there, too, and they had a bit of a fling. When it turned serious, she left to work somewhere else. They’re great together.”
“Cool.” Max nods. “What about you? Are you with anyone these days?”
Now I understand. He’s acting like we’re old friends who’ve lost touch. There are far worse things, so why does it make my stomach feel like someone’s twisted a corkscrew through it? Still, maybe it’s better than the angsty alternative.
The last thing I want is to talk about Tom with Max, so I shake my head and say, “No. You?”
“Nah.”
I wait for Max to elaborate, but he doesn’t. I should leave it. I didn’t want to talk about this in the first place, but I can’t help prodding. “Oh, come on. Surely there’s no shortage of women vying to be WAGs?”
“Been there, done that. Believe it or not, it gets old.” Max rolls his eyes. “Not to purposely change the subject, but what kind of food do you fancy? I made a reservation at Kelsey’s on the Lake, but I don’t know if you have any strict food rules.”
“My only food rule is and always will be no oysters or Brussels sprouts. Anything else is fine.”
“Right. Oysters because you don’t want to puke and Brussels sprouts because they smell like feet.” Max taps the side of his head. “See? I remember.”
Not only does Max remember, he remembers word for word. It’s both surprising and disconcerting. Before I can ask him what else he remembers, I reach over and flick on the radio. I’m not ready to walk down Memory Lane with him. I might never be ready.
Max immediately turns it down. “You’re going to need hearing aids by the time you’re thirty if you listen at that volume.”
“Uh, I think that was you with your headphones.” I laugh. “Remember Mr. Cavallini? He was convinced you were doing irreparable damage to your ears daily.”
“You know I saw him? I went back to do a football clinic and ran into him while I was there. He was cool, actually. He knew all my stats, which I didn’t expect. He said he’s followed my career since I left.”
Unlike me. I’m not even sure what position Max plays.
The thought sobers me. There was a reason I cut Max out of my life and didn’t follow his football career, and part of it was this easy familiarity that makes me feel like it hasn’t been twelve years since we’ve seen each other but twelve minutes. It was bigger than that, of course, but in this moment, it feels like a big thing.
Not the biggest thing, of course. But I can’t think about that if I want to have a prayer of getting through this evening.
I’m so deep in my feelings I hardly hear Max when his low voice says, “I’ve missed you, you know. A lot.”
I nod and give the only answer I can. “Yeah. I know.”
Me, too, Max. Me, too.