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came out of himself a little bit more, too.
He's even sporting a new, super-short haircut that's
driving me fucking mad. Every time he catches me staring at
him, he just grins, running his palm over that spiky hair with
a little shy gesture. Shy my ass. Every time he does that, it's
an invitation that makes me want to sprint to his side and do
the exact same thing with my own hands. And while I restrain
myself most of the time, occasionally I move in for a quick
kiss and run my fingertips over the bristly hairs along the
back of his neck.
He's hot as hell, and he knows it, which is just fine by me.
He deserves to know how beautiful he is, that the new haircut
works its magic over me like a damned voodoo charm.
Of course, Maxwell always glows this time of year,
anyway. He's like a little boy when it comes to Christmas; I
saw that from the very beginning of our friendship. I'd only
known him a few months when he and Louisa threw a big
holiday bash at her house. Between their two guest lists there
were probably seventy-five or more people crammed into that
place, and Max was in the thick of everything, right in his
element. He moved easily through the noisy partygoers,
serving up elegant hors d'oeuvres on trays, and making fancy
sausage balls in the kitchen.
He never even broke a sweat, just kept smiling and
chattering with all their friends. In fact, Louisa was the one
who looked vaguely panicked by it all, but not Max, not even
close. He loved every minute of it, right down to placating the
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cops when they showed up around midnight because the
neighbors had complained.
But more than anything, it's those fantastic little sausage
balls I remember. I can practically taste how spicy they were,
even now. I have a funny memory of plucking a handful of
them off of his platter while he was arranging them, just to be
irritating. Even then, I had to pop his proverbial bra strap
that's nothing new at all. I probably managed to swipe half a
dozen of them before he could stop me, and he kind of
swatted at my arm as I darted out of his reach. He had this
confounded expression on his face as I glanced at him, so I
turned back for a moment.
"What?" I wondered if I'd truly pissed him off. Figured I
probably had since I was constantly pissing off Veronica, but
honestly? I really hoped I hadn't because I wanted him to be
happy with me.
He gestured me closer, smiling at me innocently. I loped
over to him, and when I was just a couple of feet away, damn
if that debonair, polished guy didn't suddenly hurl two more
sausage balls right at my head. "Thought you might want
those," he teased, pushing past me without another glance.
So the little devil flirted right back. Funny that I never
realized it for what it was at the time.
Especially since I remember thinking how killer that suit
looked on him, with that pinkish-colored tie. That he was
sophisticated and smooth in ways I'd never be, and probably
had girls all over him wherever he went. I wondered if Louisa
ever got jealous about that fact, 'cause I knew I would...if he
were mine.
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That's what I was thinking as I watched her take the silver
platter out of his hands, leaning up on her toes to kiss his
cheek, a tender gesture, and an oddly innocent one between
two people who I assumed were lovers. He sure as hell struck
me as a beautiful man that night, and even way back then,
some small voice inside me was willing to admit that fact.
And glancing at him beside me now, sleeping so sweetly,
he strikes me as even more gorgeous than four years ago.
Probably because I don't have to figure anything out now,
don't have to translate the confusing, rogue voices inside my
head.
It's very simple: I know I'm in love.
It feels a little weird, not being alone at Christmas. For the
past seven years, I've spent every holiday back in L.A., all by
my lonesome on the big day. Bowl games, frozen pizza and
loads of beer. Not a bad way to pass the time, but it had
gotten old. Edna never stopped trying to get me home, but
with the short hiatus from the studio and the frigid
temperatures back in Iowa, I just couldn't muster much
enthusiasm for the trip. Besides, Ed always had plenty of
company between her church friends and neighbors.
The past couple of years, the Winchester Contingent Max,
in particular kept trying to convince me to head home with
them. I was pretty tempted, especially last year when Max
and I were already damned close, but still I stuck it out alone.
Yet the solo gig didn't fit anymore, either. I think maybe
that's why I called him at his folks' house on Christmas Day
to wish him a happy holiday. Strange to think we were still
just best friends then, because I definitely remember that he
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sounded a little breathless to hear my voice. He told me he'd
missed me, I blushed when he said it, and then mumbled
something lame back to him.
Then there was the gift he kind of thrust at me, right at
the LAX curbside when I dropped him off last Christmas. One
moment he was plunking his bags on the sidewalk, the next
leaning back through the passenger door with a foil-covered
box.
I pointed at the big, flouncy bow on top. "Louisa wrap
that?" I teased, and he smiled a little sheepishly.
"Nope, just me."
"Cool," I said, stalling for a moment, not sure what to say,
because I didn't have anything for him. "Thanks, man. I
didn't, you know..." I gestured awkwardly at the gift, and he
nodded, stepping back onto the curb.
"I know. I just found something you needed."
"Well, uh, thanks."
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