There had to be one moment, at least one, in my short life when I actually asked a woman out and dated her.
My brain hurt.
And after another half hour of tossing and turning, the panic set in. It was slow, almost like jumping into a hot tub and midair yelling, “Oh, shit!” into the night, knowing that the heat was coming, knowing I was about as screwed as a lobster in Maine.
The worst part, if I can be completely honest, was that I’d always been extremely secure in my ability to get women, only to finally realize at age twenty-eight that I never actually pursued them in the first place.
I needed Max.
Loath as I was to admit it.
I just needed to do it in a way that he wouldn’t hold over my head for an eternity.
There are ways to ask for favors and there are ways to ask for favors. Max was the type to whom you never actually admitted out loud that you needed help. Rather you tricked him into talking so much about a certain topic that he inevitably bragged about himself and his experiences, and then suddenly started spouting off what he considered wisdom. Really, his advice was just a lot of bullshit that he managed to make creatively smell like roses, but somehow it ended up being spot-on at least 90 percent of the time.
Damn it! There I go with the roses again.
What’s the saying? Gird your loins? Yeah, I was going to do a hell of a lot of that in the next few minutes. I told Max to meet me for lunch at Shake Shack. I hoped that the sheer volume of people would deter him from either making a scene or stripping in public or landing us in jail—take your pick. Nothing was out of the question where my brother was concerned.
“Well, well, well.” Max peeled off his aviator sunglasses and shook his head slowly. “The prodigal returns.”
“Never left.”
“And by the looks of it, he needs my help.”
“No, I don’t.” Oh, and by the way, of all the people to gift with mind reading, God gifted Max. It’s a real thing, just ask anyone who’s ever met him.
“Yes, you do.” Max ran a hand through his wavy dark-brown hair and grinned. A few teens standing next to us started whispering. I half expected him to turn around and pose for a picture, not that I blamed him. It was an Emory thing, females being drawn to us. Women stared, and Max had always been more than happy to let them look their fill, all the while signing their bra straps like he was a rock star. I hated that I needed Max, but if anyone could help, it was him. How the hell was I supposed to romance? Did I even know the definition of the word? “You’re stalling.”
“Huh?” I blinked against the sun, shielding my face with my hand.
Max motioned me toward the long lunch line. “Spit it out, we don’t have all day, and by the looks of your shaky disposition the longer you keep that shit in the more susceptible you are to the elderly.”
I rolled my eyes. “Please.”
“Grandma loved it when you played the victim.”
“You know what? Thanks for meeting me for lunch, but—” I stepped away, but Max jerked me back by my white T-shirt, nearly hanging me in the process, and shoved me toward the cash register.
“What can I get you two?” the chipper adolescent squeaked, braces flashing, black-rimmed glasses falling down her nose.
“Two burgers.” Max wrapped a muscled arm around my shoulder and squeezed hard enough for my spine to pop. “A large fry to share with my lover.”
“Oh, dear God.” I looked heavenward, although I wasn’t sure why, considering all these years God’s been ignoring my plea to strike Max where he stood.
“And a strawberry milkshake . . .” He winked. “Brings all the boys to my yard, feel me?”
The girl blushed and typed in our order, then called it via the microphone. “Will that be all?”
“For now . . .” Max said, almost like a threat, though the girl seemed excited about it.
“And we’re walking . . .” I shoved him toward the tables.
Our order came a few minutes later.
I stared at the fries.
And my burger.
“Spill.” Max made a slurping noise through the straw, his expression bored. “I don’t have all day and I need to get back to the office to make sure my new desk gets delivered to the right floor.”
“New desk?”
He nodded. “The other broke.”
“How?”
He grinned. “He asks how . . .” With a bout of laughter he made a spanking motion with his hand. “Taking my work home, feel me? Or maybe it’s taking my home to work? Becca liked the idea of possibly getting caught, though thanks to you the only thing people may catch is a flash of boob and some heavy kissing—maybe some blue balls if they’re lucky. BTW, have I told you how much I loathe you and this little stunt you pulled? No?” He sneered. “Lean forward.”
“I’m not letting you slap me.”
“Damn it, and I was so sly about it.”
“Your slapping hand was midair.”
Max looked up, then brought his twitchy hand back to the table. “That it was.” He placed the milkshake back down and shrugged. “Now, tell Max your problems.”
“It’s not a problem . . . per se.”
He nodded emphatically. “I see, and when did you first realize you had ED?”
“WHAT?” I roared.
“It happens!” he held his hands in the air. “Just ask Jason.”
“I’m not asking Jason about his ED.”