I was even fascinated with his light-colored arm hair. Like a total freak.
“Uh.” I sipped my white wine and cleared my throat. “Story?” I shared a glance with a confused Reid. “I don’t think I understand the question.”
Max nodded. “Everyone has a story . . . a few choice words that describe their past woes.” He took two long sips of his drink and then said, “Take Jason, for example.”
“Oh, hell.” Jason’s expression went from relaxed to straight-up hostile.
“Home skillet can’t make it through a twenty-four-hour period without a Little Mermaid Band-Aid.” Max shook his head. “Also, he almost got married last year to a total bitch named Jayne, who I’m not entirely convinced wasn’t an actual vampire, because when I put garlic under her mattress she made a really loud screeching sound.”
“Because you scared the shit out of her,” Milo added. “Not because she bites.”
“Oh, she bit.” Jason shuddered. “Hard.”
“Can story time be over now?” Colt asked.
“Colton and Milo are best friends to lovers. It’s romantic, really.” Max said wistfully. “She’s wanted his man package since she knew what it was, though to be fair I’m not entirely sure she knew what it was until about a year ago, when he showed her.”
Milo groaned and covered her face with her hands.
“Becca’s and my story was freaking televised. No need to rehash that round of awesome, though here’s a few hashtags just in case you didn’t TiVo every episode: #zombies, #hades, #beccakissesmaxhard, #sevendwarves, #bachelorislandwhereeveryonegoestodie.” Max smacked a loud kiss on Becca’s cheek and turned. “And Reid.” Max chuckled. “I think we all know his story . . . it involves dear old sweet Grandma, dentures, Bengay, and what I’m hoping was a very thorough bout of therapy.”
“Don’t forget the drugs,” Colton piped up. “And climbing the roof.”
“Or jumping out of that tree.” Milo nodded.
“And the ChapStick,” Max said in a hollow voice.
“Okay!” Reid held up his hands. “Maybe we should all rest before we land, yeah?”
Max eyed Reid suspiciously. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know?” Reid repeated. “Know what?”
“Her story!”
Reid gaped. “Of course I do!”
Max sat back and held out his hand. “Then be my guest.”
“Er . . .” Reid rubbed his lips together. “Jordan likes chocolate.”
“Colt’s allergic, and you can find that shit out on Facebook.” Max yawned. “Next.”
“She’s . . . driven.” Reid nodded. “And rarely lets her hair down.”
“And I think I speak for everyone when I say thank you for keeping that mess contained.” Max pointed at my head while I self-consciously patted down my mane. Thankfully, it was still in place and hadn’t yet chosen to pop out of its constraints or give the nice old man behind us a surprise heart attack, at which point I’m sure Max would say something like, “Don’t worry, I’ve got this, I’m a doctor.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, taking a long, long, very long sip of my wine.
Max eyed Reid. “Still waiting.”
“She’s a . . . shrew.”
I rolled my eyes. “Good one, Reid.”
“See!” Max’s ice nearly launched itself in Jason’s face as he thrust his cup into the air. “You don’t know her story . . .” All eyes turned to me while Max said in a quiet voice, “Start at the beginning.”
“I was born,” I said dryly.
“Wrong beginning.” Max cracked a smile. “We all know you’re the girl who gets food on everything, no shame in that . . . just means my dear brother gets to lick it off.”
“Thanks, man.” Reid covered his face with his hands and let out a groan.
“Got your back, son!” Max nodded seriously. “So Jordan . . . story? You keep a plant alive for how many years? And why? You live alone? Why? Fear of commitment? Snakes? Sharks? Holy shit, you like women!”
“Stop.” I held up my empty glass. “Fine, I’m . . . invisible.”
“Neat trick.” Max grinned. “Explain.”
I shrugged tightly, irritated he was pulling the information out of me so easily—then again, it could be the alcohol. “Well, in my class picture it actually says, ‘Jordan Litwright. Not pictured.’”
“That’s what they do,” Max said slowly, “when you miss picture day.”
“Right.” I nodded. “But I was there.”
“Oh,” they all said in unison.
“In a red shirt.”
Max patted my hand. “This happen on multiple occasions?”
“Every. Year.”
Max pressed the call button. Once the attendant arrived, he ordered a whiskey on the rocks for everyone. Double for me.
I opened my mouth to continue talking, but Max held up his hand. “We need whiskey for sad stories.”
We waited ten more minutes in tense silence. I prayed Max would get bored and forget. But he refused to turn around.
Though Becca tried, bless her heart. I’m pretty sure she was thinking about flashing him.
Then our drinks came.
“You may continue,” Max said.