Page 82 of The Sidekick

“Thanks,” his shoulders sag in relief.

“What does your boyfriend think about this?” I haven’t asked about the guy much, mainly because I don’t like his toxic ass, and I’ve never even met him. I don’t know why I’m currently invested in Max’s drama. Any attention I give the situation helps fuel his desire to have me meet this poor woman as a mediator. No thanks.

“He’s nervous. She’s giving me a ledge to cling to, but he’s still in the cold.” The smirk he gets as he says it makes me want to smile. He obviously loves to stir up shit in his relationship with Trevor.

“When is he going to put in some effort?” I contain my disdain because the ass hasn’t done anything, and I know it. Fucking coward.

“Dude, please meet with him. Maybe between us, we can get him to see reason,” he clasps his hands together and drops to his knees to beg me.

“I am not your mediator. Tell the fucker yourself.”

“I have been. He’s not listening. Again.”

I write him off as a loss and shrug. “What happened to the suspicious roommate?”

Max’s happy grin comes back with a vengeance. “He’s like a brother to her. She saw a text relating to him and the mention of a blowjob, and she almost puked right in front of me.”

“I’m happy for you?” I’m not sure how to take that one.

“Whatever, you emotionless ass,” he says with a sappy smile, and I hide my cringe at his puppy love behavior.

Babygirl,

I lied. I’d talk to you. Even if you screamed or threw shit, I’d stand there and take it.

Chapter Thirty

Tera

Getting to know Max is so weird. Not uncomfortable, no idea what to say, blind date vibes. It’s odd because we get along so well. If he was single, I would have fallen all over myself for him by now.

But he isn’t. He’s in love with his boyfriend, and it’s sweet to see, even when it hurts. When I ask, he tells me stories about their relationship, eager to talk about it. The pure happiness he shows is sobering. I can’t see anyone being that happy with me.

They may have the right idea about this third-person thing. They don’t have to get hurt, and they fill a need they both occasionally have. There’s nothing wrong with that if everyone agrees. I could do that. If I think I’m catching feelings again, I can always walk away and know I have a friend in Max.

I know deep down that it doesn’t work like that. I don’t work like that, but I’m so close to jumping in without a care, just like before. The thoughts always sober me up to reality and turn my smiles cautious.

We’ve only been hanging out for two weeks. No physical intimacy, no kisses, or hugs or even hand holding. Conversations, movies, and actual getting-to-know-you instead of jumping into things. It makes me feel awkward because all I can think about is how good he felt, how perfect that one blip of time with him was. Sometimes, I think he feels the same way.

Something is going to have to give here.

I guess that’s me and Satan. I never go to the bar, and Max doesn’t ask me to. That can’t last much longer. It feels like Max is spending every spare moment with me instead of his boyfriend, making me feel guilty.

My phone rings, and I glance down, surprised to see Max’s name come up. He should be at work right now. Oh no, what if something happened?

I pick up in a rush, “Are you ok?”

There’s a pause, and I’m picturing all sorts of horrible things before he answers. “I’m fine, just run a little ragged. I was calling to beg you for a favor?”

I’m so relieved that I brush off his hesitance. “Sure. What do you need?”

“I need help at work,” he says softly, and I can hear loud laughter and a lot of people talking over each other excitedly. “We’re so short-staffed I can’t keep up, and I suck as a waiter.”

“I thought you had a full staff?” I ask in confusion. How could he be short-handed so suddenly?

“We do when they show up.” His reply is grim, and I can perfectly picture the heavy scowl on his face.

“I don’t know,” I chew my lower lip nervously. I haven’t been back since I lost my temper. And if they’re as short-staffed as he says, Satan will be on the floor as a waiter or a bartender, maybe both.

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