Unrivaled, page 12
Six penalties and forty-three minutes later, the final buzzer sounded. The Firebirds won 3–2, on the strength of a three-assist night from Grady.
Naturally Max one-upped him by getting both of the Monsters’ goals and by goading Grady into taking a cross-checking penalty when Zipper was already in the box. The Monsters’ second goal had come on the resulting five-on-three advantage. Max blew him a kiss when he skated by the penalty box, and Grady could still hear the smug lilt in his voice as he said, “C’mon, Armstrong, we both know you want to hit me harder than that.”
Maybe Grady did, but he didn’t have to be proud of it, and Max didn’t have to bring it up during a game. That felt dirty and unfair.
He did his postgame routine on autopilot. Fortunately his brain reached for “no comment” by default when reporters asked what Max had said to get a reaction.
Grady hated that it happened often enough that it had become an automatic process, though. He’d thought he was making progress keeping Max from getting to him. Mostly he was annoyed with himself because he expected Max to use their sex life against him on the ice and it had worked anyway. He shouldn’t be upset.
But he was. If that made him weak or emotional or whatever, fine.
When he finally got out of his team duties, he had twenty-five minutes to meet Max before the Monsters’ bus left.
He could skip it. Max would probably get the message. But if Grady was going to go home pissed off, he wasn’t going to be the kind of pissed off that had held his tongue all night. He was going to be the kind of pissed off that had given Max a piece of his mind.
He pushed open the door to the least-used trainers’ room—the Firebirds’ arena was old, and this one had a faulty lock—and went inside.
“Finally.” Max sat on the padded table, swinging his feet. He was still wearing his cooldown gear; he’d hung his suit beside the door. Probably smart, but Grady didn’t feel like giving him credit. “I was starting to think you were gonna stand me up.”
“Thought about it,” Grady said shortly.
Max blinked and his eyes went wide. Then he raised his brows. “Do we have a problem?”
What “we”? “I have a problem. You have a decision to make. Are we gonna fuck around, or are you going to run your mouth about it when we’re working?”
Max flushed. Grady could see him fluffing himself up like a rooster trying to look bigger and tougher than he was. “Hey, if you can’t take it—”
“I can take it. But I won’t.” Grady never should’ve let things get this far. “What happens between us off the ice stays off the ice, or it doesn’t happen. Sex with you’s not good enough to fuck up hockey for.”
He expected Max to try to argue, to get angry or defensive or simply leave. Instead he looked at Grady for a long moment and visibly backed down. His expression seemed almost quizzical, like he didn’t understand why Grady was upset or he didn’t believe it. But eventually his forehead creased in a frown and he nodded. “All right. I crossed a line. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Given their history, Grady shouldn’t believe him. He did, though. Which made it awkward to be standing there in the training room with Max, who he wasn’t friends with and wasn’t angry with anymore. Being annoyed with Max had never stopped Grady from wanting to fuck him, but actual anger did.
God, how did not having sex make this more awkward?
Grady cleared his throat. “Good. Well. Now that’s settled….”
Max shook his head. “No, wait, I need clarification. Is it just sex that’s off-limits? Or, like, anything personal that I know about you because we’re having sex? Do I get to chirp you for losing American Ninja Warrior?”
“I was the one who finished first by the rules we established. Besides, you cheated,” Grady said before he could stop himself.
“I came prepared,” Max countered. “The question stands. I need to know where the line is so I don’t cross it.”
Part of Grady wanted to tell him that if Max couldn’t put the effort into figuring it out himself, Grady wasn’t going to do it for him. But that seemed like a bad faith stance. Max was trying.
Grady didn’t care if Max chirped him about losing American Ninja Warrior. Sure, someone might realize they’d gone to a gym together if they looked into that, but the risk was small compared to the actual fucking around they were doing. He wouldn’t care if Max talked smack about Grady’s shitty dates either. Even Grady thought he deserved any mockery he got. So what else was off-limits? “No sex stuff,” he reiterated. “No personal stuff either, like about my family.”
“I wouldn’t,” Max said. “Jesus. What the fuck?”
“I don’t just mean my parents. There’s my sister too. If we keep sleeping together, you might learn things.” Jess called him all the time, and either sex made Grady say things he wouldn’t or postorgasmic Max was too easy to talk to. Either way, Grady would spill something private sooner or later.
Max nodded. “Okay. That’s fair.” He offered a wry half-smile. “Sorry for killing the mood.”
Grady snorted in spite of himself. Time to offer… not a whole olive branch, but maybe a dirty martini. “I mean, trainers’ rooms don’t exactly set the mood either.”
“Poor ambience didn’t stop us in the basement in Toronto.”
Unfortunately, that was true. Before Grady could admit it, Max changed the subject. “But look… let me make it up to you. Late dinner on me?”
“Your bus is going to leave in, like, ten minutes.”
Max shrugged. “So I’ll take an Uber home.”
All the way back to Newark?
But Grady was hungry, now that Max mentioned it. “All right,” Grady said. “You need a restaurant recommendation?”
“Nah.” Max grinned at him. “Let me get dressed. You good to drive?”
MAX HAD always known his mouth would get him in trouble one day. It was kind of what it did.
But if someone had told him he’d be biting his tongue because he went too far chirping Grady Armstrong and Grady threatened to stop having sex with him, he’d have laughed in their face. And that wasn’t even the whole truth. He was mad at himself because Grady had been angry with him, not annoyed.
Max made his living getting other players to react emotionally instead of with their brains. But even though it was his job, he didn’t actually want to make Grady angry. At least, he didn’t want Grady to be angry with him.
It made him wonder where that anger came from. Max didn’t think he said anything egregious. But Grady’s anger was sincere, and whatever he felt was strong enough that he was ready to sacrifice filthy hot sex.
Max mulled it over while Grady followed the GPS to the restaurant Max had suggested, which was twenty minutes outside Philly. The thought he kept coming back to unsettled him.
Grady felt used. Not only for sex, but so Max could get an edge in the game.
Which… when they started fucking had kind of been Max’s plan, or at least something he considered. He expected Grady to do the same. Only now those expectations were upside-down, because Grady got mad at him and Max felt shitty, and what did that mean?
Well, for starters, it meant he hadn’t gotten laid tonight.
“This the place?”
Suddenly Max realized the car had stopped, and he looked out the window. “Yeah. Best late-night diner in two states.”
“I drove ten miles for a diner?”
“You know a lot of restaurants where the kitchen’s open after eleven on a weekday?” Max countered. “Besides, you haven’t seen their milkshakes.”
Grady’s stomach growled so loud Max could hear it. “Milkshakes?”
“Eleven flavors.”
He looked torn. “That’s not on my nutrition plan.”
Max eyed him up and down. “I think you can get away with it this once.” Then he smiled. “And did I mention the burgers?”
“Okay, all right, stop tormenting me. Let’s eat.”
The diner existed in a kind of weird space. Because it was late, people minded their business. No one batted an eye at two huge guys in suits sitting down across from each other, or at the loud clack and scrape of Max’s lucky cuff links against the Formica table. Probably anyone who glanced at them would assume they were in organized crime, which was either hilarious or horrifying. He wondered what they’d make of the jeweled sea monster on his left cuff.
Max didn’t recognize their server—her name tag said Marcie—and she didn’t seem to recognize them either. “What can I getcha, hon?”
“Hi, Marcie. I’ll have the strawberry cheesecake shake and the house special burger, fries on the side, hold the gravy, please.”
“Sure thing.” She scrawled something on her pad. “And you?”
They’d barely had time to open the menu. Grady raised panicked eyes to Max. Yeah, the milkshake menu alone was overwhelming. Max would give him that.
“He’ll have the same, gravy on the side, vanilla milkshake.” Somehow Max managed to keep a straight face for that last part, even when Grady wrinkled his nose. “Trust me.” He handed his menu to Marcie.
She put her pen away. “Got it. Coming right up.”
When she was out of earshot, Grady said, “Vanilla?”
“Hey, you’re the one who froze. Besides, vanilla is a classic.” If he didn’t like it, Max would trade him.
“Gravy on the side?”
“Some of my fellow Canadians profane their fries with gravy. I can look the other way for you, even though you’re American and don’t have a cultural excuse.”
Grady snorted. “Big of you, but I’m not a fan.”
“I knew I liked you for a reason.”
This time Grady didn’t smile, but he was thawing. Not all the way. Maybe, like, milkshake consistency. “You’re laying it on kinda thick tonight.”
“Bud, you know better than to give me an opening like that.” He did deserve an explanation, though. “I wasn’t trying to be an asshole before, but that’s different from trying not to be an asshole. Which is what I’m doing now.”
The smile was lurking just under the surface. Max knew it. Grady cleared his throat. “Interesting distinction.”
Max propped his chin on his hand. “I have hidden depths.”
Marcie swung by with the milkshakes—served in giant soda fountain glasses with a cherry on top of each. Max reached for his, giddy with anticipation. “Thank you.”
Grady pulled his drink toward himself. “Seriously, though, how are you getting away with this?”
Max wrapped his lips around the straw and held eye contact while he sucked down the first few delicious mouthfuls. Then he pulled back and licked ice cream from the corner of his mouth. “I’ve lost five pounds since the beginning of the season.” Max had a ridiculous metabolism, but that was too fast. “Nutritionist basically said eat some calorie bombs and worry about it later.”
“Well, this should qualify.” Grady took his first sip of milkshake, and his eyes widened. Then he took another sip, and another. “Okay, wow. Ten miles is nothing for this.”
“Right?” Max beamed.
Grady smiled back, and Max felt a rush of triumph—success at last. “Although I admit I thought you were going to tie a knot in the cherry stem.”
“Maraschino cherries are gross.”
Grady picked up his spoon and scooped Max’s cherry off the top of his milkshake. “More for me.”
He popped the whole thing in his mouth. Fortunately for Max’s sanity, he didn’t do the cherry-stem trick either, just pulled it out and set it aside. “Strawberry cheesecake, huh? Pretty good.”
Max took a big sip of his own to wet his dry mouth. “Yeah.”
Their meals arrived in short order. If the milkshake impressed Grady, Max was pretty sure the burger had him ready to forgive and forget. He only made one guilty face before he wolfed down the plate full of food.
Max felt smug, which was a much more comfortable emotion than guilt.
Somehow they ended up talking about kids’ movies, because Grady had never seen Despicable Me and didn’t get why Max’s dog was named Gru. “You know, it’s the one with the Minions? Little yellow guys, obsessed with bananas?”
When no little light bulb came on in Grady’s eyes, Max reached for his phone. “Here, I’ll show you.” He didn’t want to explain his attachment to a movie about a self-proclaimed villain with a marshmallow center who ended up adopting a bunch of adorable children and falling in love with the woman who started off his enemy. Safer to stick to the slapstick comedy of the Minions.
“Seems like it’s just your speed,” Grady quipped, like he was supposed to, and Max relaxed.
“Whatever, dude. The Minions are comedy gold.”
By the time they’d finished their plates, Max had his footing back and the suspicion had faded from Grady’s posture. Something inside him loosened. Max really hadn’t been trying to be a dick. It was good to know he hadn’t ruined this.
But he discovered he had fucked up in an unexpected new way when he called up the rideshare service on his phone. “Shit.”
Grady raised his eyebrows. “Problem?”
Max put his phone away. “I forgot what you forgot earlier—it’s late on a weeknight. Nobody around to drive me home. I’ll have to ride with you back to Philly and get a car from there or call a cab.” Which would take forever.
Grady checked the time and made a face. “I’m not handing you over to some random in the middle of the night.”
How valiant of him. Lucky for that milkshake, or Max might start feeling warm and fuzzy. “Afraid I’ll get mugged?”
“Hey, don’t laugh. There was that guy in Toronto who got carjacked last year.”
“Won’t be a problem for me since there’s no car.”
Grady bit his lip and shook his head. “Look, it’s late and I don’t want your mysterious disappearance coming back to haunt me. But I’m also tired, and I don’t want to drive all the way to Jersey and back in one night, so….”
Oh God, was he offering to drive Max home in exchange for a bed for the night? That would be perfect. Except tonight was supposed to be about Max fixing his fuckup, not making Grady go out of his way for him. “You don’t have to do that.”
Grady gave an abortive, self-conscious shrug. “It’s no big deal. Wouldn’t want to leave Gru without a father.”
“He would probably turn to a life of crime,” Max agreed. “I mean, if you’re sure, I’d appreciate it.”
“I don’t have to be anywhere until two tomorrow—flying out for the Eastern Canada trip.” He looked like he couldn’t believe he was offering, but he didn’t sound like he wanted to take it back. “It’s just an extra twenty minutes’ driving tonight. No big deal. And you’ll probably annoy me enough that I don’t fall asleep at the wheel.”
Max laughed, because otherwise he’d start thinking about how Grady had said it’s no big deal twice, like repeating it could make Max believe it. It was a big deal. So far they’d only hooked up, and only when they were both getting something out of it. This was Grady going out of his way for Max the same day Max casually used sex with him against him in a game.
It was better for Max’s sanity if he didn’t think about that.
“All right,” he said. “Thanks.”
GRADY DIDN’T know what possessed him to offer to drive Max home. He just did it, and they got there, and Max said, “Hey, so… want a thank-you handy?”
… Okay, so maybe he did know.
Grady was too tired and full of forbidden foods to enjoy anything more vigorous. He ended up on his back in Max’s bed with Max braced above him, Max’s hands on their cocks and one of Grady’s in Max’s hair. He could smell the shampoo he’d bought, and the strands were soft and smooth around his fingers.
In the morning he woke up blinking at Max’s bedroom ceiling, still sticky. When he turned his head, he saw Max passed out on his face, Larry the Lobster on full display. Grady had left a halo of fingertip-shaped bruises around it.
Oops.
He helped himself to Max’s shower to wash away their indiscretions. By the time he emerged, Max was downstairs making breakfast.
Gru greeted Grady at the bottom of the stairs, prancing in a circle and wagging his tail. Grady devoted a few minutes to stroking his soft fur and then joined Max in the kitchen and washed his hands.
Max looked up from an enormous skillet of scrambled eggs. “Hungry?”
So Grady was getting fed now too? Max must really feel shitty about yesterday’s game. “Yeah, thanks. You want help?”
“Sure. Can you do the smoothies? They’re basically premade, only have to stick ’em in the blender. Bottom drawer of the freezer.”
Grady’s kitchen skills were up to a lot more than smoothies, but in the two seconds Grady had spent looking over Max’s shoulder, he hadn’t found anything to fault, so he figured the eggs were taken care of. The blender was already on the counter, and the toaster held six slices of whole-grain bread, ready to be toasted.
Grady pushed the bread down and peeked over Max’s shoulder again when the smoothies were blended. “You put sour cream in the eggs?” he asked in surprise when he saw the container on the counter.
Max snorted. “What am I, a heathen? Obviously.”
“Well, you also obviously use store-bought eggs, so I thought it was a fair question.” Grady snooped around for the butter dish. Or was Max a margarine guy?
“By the toaster,” Max said, and Grady found the dish right as the toast popped. “Also, what the hell, where else would I get eggs? I’m not keeping my own chickens. Hedgie and El live next door. They’d kill me.” He added a glop of sour cream to the eggs. “Or are you some kind of egg thief? Is it the buying part you object to? Do you drive around the wilds of Pennsylvania slinking into chicken coops?”
Grady rolled his eyes. “I buy eggs from the farm, idiot.”
“God, of course you do, you insufferable organic-food hipster.” Max laughed. Grady didn’t take it personally. If Max wanted to eat inferior eggs, that was on him. “Can you get the plates? These are done. Cupboard beside the sink.”
Max had practice at ten, so they sniped lazily at each other as they ate and Max fed Gru his egg-covered bread crusts.
Naturally Max one-upped him by getting both of the Monsters’ goals and by goading Grady into taking a cross-checking penalty when Zipper was already in the box. The Monsters’ second goal had come on the resulting five-on-three advantage. Max blew him a kiss when he skated by the penalty box, and Grady could still hear the smug lilt in his voice as he said, “C’mon, Armstrong, we both know you want to hit me harder than that.”
Maybe Grady did, but he didn’t have to be proud of it, and Max didn’t have to bring it up during a game. That felt dirty and unfair.
He did his postgame routine on autopilot. Fortunately his brain reached for “no comment” by default when reporters asked what Max had said to get a reaction.
Grady hated that it happened often enough that it had become an automatic process, though. He’d thought he was making progress keeping Max from getting to him. Mostly he was annoyed with himself because he expected Max to use their sex life against him on the ice and it had worked anyway. He shouldn’t be upset.
But he was. If that made him weak or emotional or whatever, fine.
When he finally got out of his team duties, he had twenty-five minutes to meet Max before the Monsters’ bus left.
He could skip it. Max would probably get the message. But if Grady was going to go home pissed off, he wasn’t going to be the kind of pissed off that had held his tongue all night. He was going to be the kind of pissed off that had given Max a piece of his mind.
He pushed open the door to the least-used trainers’ room—the Firebirds’ arena was old, and this one had a faulty lock—and went inside.
“Finally.” Max sat on the padded table, swinging his feet. He was still wearing his cooldown gear; he’d hung his suit beside the door. Probably smart, but Grady didn’t feel like giving him credit. “I was starting to think you were gonna stand me up.”
“Thought about it,” Grady said shortly.
Max blinked and his eyes went wide. Then he raised his brows. “Do we have a problem?”
What “we”? “I have a problem. You have a decision to make. Are we gonna fuck around, or are you going to run your mouth about it when we’re working?”
Max flushed. Grady could see him fluffing himself up like a rooster trying to look bigger and tougher than he was. “Hey, if you can’t take it—”
“I can take it. But I won’t.” Grady never should’ve let things get this far. “What happens between us off the ice stays off the ice, or it doesn’t happen. Sex with you’s not good enough to fuck up hockey for.”
He expected Max to try to argue, to get angry or defensive or simply leave. Instead he looked at Grady for a long moment and visibly backed down. His expression seemed almost quizzical, like he didn’t understand why Grady was upset or he didn’t believe it. But eventually his forehead creased in a frown and he nodded. “All right. I crossed a line. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Given their history, Grady shouldn’t believe him. He did, though. Which made it awkward to be standing there in the training room with Max, who he wasn’t friends with and wasn’t angry with anymore. Being annoyed with Max had never stopped Grady from wanting to fuck him, but actual anger did.
God, how did not having sex make this more awkward?
Grady cleared his throat. “Good. Well. Now that’s settled….”
Max shook his head. “No, wait, I need clarification. Is it just sex that’s off-limits? Or, like, anything personal that I know about you because we’re having sex? Do I get to chirp you for losing American Ninja Warrior?”
“I was the one who finished first by the rules we established. Besides, you cheated,” Grady said before he could stop himself.
“I came prepared,” Max countered. “The question stands. I need to know where the line is so I don’t cross it.”
Part of Grady wanted to tell him that if Max couldn’t put the effort into figuring it out himself, Grady wasn’t going to do it for him. But that seemed like a bad faith stance. Max was trying.
Grady didn’t care if Max chirped him about losing American Ninja Warrior. Sure, someone might realize they’d gone to a gym together if they looked into that, but the risk was small compared to the actual fucking around they were doing. He wouldn’t care if Max talked smack about Grady’s shitty dates either. Even Grady thought he deserved any mockery he got. So what else was off-limits? “No sex stuff,” he reiterated. “No personal stuff either, like about my family.”
“I wouldn’t,” Max said. “Jesus. What the fuck?”
“I don’t just mean my parents. There’s my sister too. If we keep sleeping together, you might learn things.” Jess called him all the time, and either sex made Grady say things he wouldn’t or postorgasmic Max was too easy to talk to. Either way, Grady would spill something private sooner or later.
Max nodded. “Okay. That’s fair.” He offered a wry half-smile. “Sorry for killing the mood.”
Grady snorted in spite of himself. Time to offer… not a whole olive branch, but maybe a dirty martini. “I mean, trainers’ rooms don’t exactly set the mood either.”
“Poor ambience didn’t stop us in the basement in Toronto.”
Unfortunately, that was true. Before Grady could admit it, Max changed the subject. “But look… let me make it up to you. Late dinner on me?”
“Your bus is going to leave in, like, ten minutes.”
Max shrugged. “So I’ll take an Uber home.”
All the way back to Newark?
But Grady was hungry, now that Max mentioned it. “All right,” Grady said. “You need a restaurant recommendation?”
“Nah.” Max grinned at him. “Let me get dressed. You good to drive?”
MAX HAD always known his mouth would get him in trouble one day. It was kind of what it did.
But if someone had told him he’d be biting his tongue because he went too far chirping Grady Armstrong and Grady threatened to stop having sex with him, he’d have laughed in their face. And that wasn’t even the whole truth. He was mad at himself because Grady had been angry with him, not annoyed.
Max made his living getting other players to react emotionally instead of with their brains. But even though it was his job, he didn’t actually want to make Grady angry. At least, he didn’t want Grady to be angry with him.
It made him wonder where that anger came from. Max didn’t think he said anything egregious. But Grady’s anger was sincere, and whatever he felt was strong enough that he was ready to sacrifice filthy hot sex.
Max mulled it over while Grady followed the GPS to the restaurant Max had suggested, which was twenty minutes outside Philly. The thought he kept coming back to unsettled him.
Grady felt used. Not only for sex, but so Max could get an edge in the game.
Which… when they started fucking had kind of been Max’s plan, or at least something he considered. He expected Grady to do the same. Only now those expectations were upside-down, because Grady got mad at him and Max felt shitty, and what did that mean?
Well, for starters, it meant he hadn’t gotten laid tonight.
“This the place?”
Suddenly Max realized the car had stopped, and he looked out the window. “Yeah. Best late-night diner in two states.”
“I drove ten miles for a diner?”
“You know a lot of restaurants where the kitchen’s open after eleven on a weekday?” Max countered. “Besides, you haven’t seen their milkshakes.”
Grady’s stomach growled so loud Max could hear it. “Milkshakes?”
“Eleven flavors.”
He looked torn. “That’s not on my nutrition plan.”
Max eyed him up and down. “I think you can get away with it this once.” Then he smiled. “And did I mention the burgers?”
“Okay, all right, stop tormenting me. Let’s eat.”
The diner existed in a kind of weird space. Because it was late, people minded their business. No one batted an eye at two huge guys in suits sitting down across from each other, or at the loud clack and scrape of Max’s lucky cuff links against the Formica table. Probably anyone who glanced at them would assume they were in organized crime, which was either hilarious or horrifying. He wondered what they’d make of the jeweled sea monster on his left cuff.
Max didn’t recognize their server—her name tag said Marcie—and she didn’t seem to recognize them either. “What can I getcha, hon?”
“Hi, Marcie. I’ll have the strawberry cheesecake shake and the house special burger, fries on the side, hold the gravy, please.”
“Sure thing.” She scrawled something on her pad. “And you?”
They’d barely had time to open the menu. Grady raised panicked eyes to Max. Yeah, the milkshake menu alone was overwhelming. Max would give him that.
“He’ll have the same, gravy on the side, vanilla milkshake.” Somehow Max managed to keep a straight face for that last part, even when Grady wrinkled his nose. “Trust me.” He handed his menu to Marcie.
She put her pen away. “Got it. Coming right up.”
When she was out of earshot, Grady said, “Vanilla?”
“Hey, you’re the one who froze. Besides, vanilla is a classic.” If he didn’t like it, Max would trade him.
“Gravy on the side?”
“Some of my fellow Canadians profane their fries with gravy. I can look the other way for you, even though you’re American and don’t have a cultural excuse.”
Grady snorted. “Big of you, but I’m not a fan.”
“I knew I liked you for a reason.”
This time Grady didn’t smile, but he was thawing. Not all the way. Maybe, like, milkshake consistency. “You’re laying it on kinda thick tonight.”
“Bud, you know better than to give me an opening like that.” He did deserve an explanation, though. “I wasn’t trying to be an asshole before, but that’s different from trying not to be an asshole. Which is what I’m doing now.”
The smile was lurking just under the surface. Max knew it. Grady cleared his throat. “Interesting distinction.”
Max propped his chin on his hand. “I have hidden depths.”
Marcie swung by with the milkshakes—served in giant soda fountain glasses with a cherry on top of each. Max reached for his, giddy with anticipation. “Thank you.”
Grady pulled his drink toward himself. “Seriously, though, how are you getting away with this?”
Max wrapped his lips around the straw and held eye contact while he sucked down the first few delicious mouthfuls. Then he pulled back and licked ice cream from the corner of his mouth. “I’ve lost five pounds since the beginning of the season.” Max had a ridiculous metabolism, but that was too fast. “Nutritionist basically said eat some calorie bombs and worry about it later.”
“Well, this should qualify.” Grady took his first sip of milkshake, and his eyes widened. Then he took another sip, and another. “Okay, wow. Ten miles is nothing for this.”
“Right?” Max beamed.
Grady smiled back, and Max felt a rush of triumph—success at last. “Although I admit I thought you were going to tie a knot in the cherry stem.”
“Maraschino cherries are gross.”
Grady picked up his spoon and scooped Max’s cherry off the top of his milkshake. “More for me.”
He popped the whole thing in his mouth. Fortunately for Max’s sanity, he didn’t do the cherry-stem trick either, just pulled it out and set it aside. “Strawberry cheesecake, huh? Pretty good.”
Max took a big sip of his own to wet his dry mouth. “Yeah.”
Their meals arrived in short order. If the milkshake impressed Grady, Max was pretty sure the burger had him ready to forgive and forget. He only made one guilty face before he wolfed down the plate full of food.
Max felt smug, which was a much more comfortable emotion than guilt.
Somehow they ended up talking about kids’ movies, because Grady had never seen Despicable Me and didn’t get why Max’s dog was named Gru. “You know, it’s the one with the Minions? Little yellow guys, obsessed with bananas?”
When no little light bulb came on in Grady’s eyes, Max reached for his phone. “Here, I’ll show you.” He didn’t want to explain his attachment to a movie about a self-proclaimed villain with a marshmallow center who ended up adopting a bunch of adorable children and falling in love with the woman who started off his enemy. Safer to stick to the slapstick comedy of the Minions.
“Seems like it’s just your speed,” Grady quipped, like he was supposed to, and Max relaxed.
“Whatever, dude. The Minions are comedy gold.”
By the time they’d finished their plates, Max had his footing back and the suspicion had faded from Grady’s posture. Something inside him loosened. Max really hadn’t been trying to be a dick. It was good to know he hadn’t ruined this.
But he discovered he had fucked up in an unexpected new way when he called up the rideshare service on his phone. “Shit.”
Grady raised his eyebrows. “Problem?”
Max put his phone away. “I forgot what you forgot earlier—it’s late on a weeknight. Nobody around to drive me home. I’ll have to ride with you back to Philly and get a car from there or call a cab.” Which would take forever.
Grady checked the time and made a face. “I’m not handing you over to some random in the middle of the night.”
How valiant of him. Lucky for that milkshake, or Max might start feeling warm and fuzzy. “Afraid I’ll get mugged?”
“Hey, don’t laugh. There was that guy in Toronto who got carjacked last year.”
“Won’t be a problem for me since there’s no car.”
Grady bit his lip and shook his head. “Look, it’s late and I don’t want your mysterious disappearance coming back to haunt me. But I’m also tired, and I don’t want to drive all the way to Jersey and back in one night, so….”
Oh God, was he offering to drive Max home in exchange for a bed for the night? That would be perfect. Except tonight was supposed to be about Max fixing his fuckup, not making Grady go out of his way for him. “You don’t have to do that.”
Grady gave an abortive, self-conscious shrug. “It’s no big deal. Wouldn’t want to leave Gru without a father.”
“He would probably turn to a life of crime,” Max agreed. “I mean, if you’re sure, I’d appreciate it.”
“I don’t have to be anywhere until two tomorrow—flying out for the Eastern Canada trip.” He looked like he couldn’t believe he was offering, but he didn’t sound like he wanted to take it back. “It’s just an extra twenty minutes’ driving tonight. No big deal. And you’ll probably annoy me enough that I don’t fall asleep at the wheel.”
Max laughed, because otherwise he’d start thinking about how Grady had said it’s no big deal twice, like repeating it could make Max believe it. It was a big deal. So far they’d only hooked up, and only when they were both getting something out of it. This was Grady going out of his way for Max the same day Max casually used sex with him against him in a game.
It was better for Max’s sanity if he didn’t think about that.
“All right,” he said. “Thanks.”
GRADY DIDN’T know what possessed him to offer to drive Max home. He just did it, and they got there, and Max said, “Hey, so… want a thank-you handy?”
… Okay, so maybe he did know.
Grady was too tired and full of forbidden foods to enjoy anything more vigorous. He ended up on his back in Max’s bed with Max braced above him, Max’s hands on their cocks and one of Grady’s in Max’s hair. He could smell the shampoo he’d bought, and the strands were soft and smooth around his fingers.
In the morning he woke up blinking at Max’s bedroom ceiling, still sticky. When he turned his head, he saw Max passed out on his face, Larry the Lobster on full display. Grady had left a halo of fingertip-shaped bruises around it.
Oops.
He helped himself to Max’s shower to wash away their indiscretions. By the time he emerged, Max was downstairs making breakfast.
Gru greeted Grady at the bottom of the stairs, prancing in a circle and wagging his tail. Grady devoted a few minutes to stroking his soft fur and then joined Max in the kitchen and washed his hands.
Max looked up from an enormous skillet of scrambled eggs. “Hungry?”
So Grady was getting fed now too? Max must really feel shitty about yesterday’s game. “Yeah, thanks. You want help?”
“Sure. Can you do the smoothies? They’re basically premade, only have to stick ’em in the blender. Bottom drawer of the freezer.”
Grady’s kitchen skills were up to a lot more than smoothies, but in the two seconds Grady had spent looking over Max’s shoulder, he hadn’t found anything to fault, so he figured the eggs were taken care of. The blender was already on the counter, and the toaster held six slices of whole-grain bread, ready to be toasted.
Grady pushed the bread down and peeked over Max’s shoulder again when the smoothies were blended. “You put sour cream in the eggs?” he asked in surprise when he saw the container on the counter.
Max snorted. “What am I, a heathen? Obviously.”
“Well, you also obviously use store-bought eggs, so I thought it was a fair question.” Grady snooped around for the butter dish. Or was Max a margarine guy?
“By the toaster,” Max said, and Grady found the dish right as the toast popped. “Also, what the hell, where else would I get eggs? I’m not keeping my own chickens. Hedgie and El live next door. They’d kill me.” He added a glop of sour cream to the eggs. “Or are you some kind of egg thief? Is it the buying part you object to? Do you drive around the wilds of Pennsylvania slinking into chicken coops?”
Grady rolled his eyes. “I buy eggs from the farm, idiot.”
“God, of course you do, you insufferable organic-food hipster.” Max laughed. Grady didn’t take it personally. If Max wanted to eat inferior eggs, that was on him. “Can you get the plates? These are done. Cupboard beside the sink.”
Max had practice at ten, so they sniped lazily at each other as they ate and Max fed Gru his egg-covered bread crusts.
