Page 47 of Party Favors

“Maybe the reverse is true. Squirrel heaven is dog hell. Because no dog would ever end up being eternally punished. They’re too pure and perfect.”

“I totally agree with you,” he said as we went down the stairs to get on the subway. “I also think dogs are much smarter than we give them credit for. Basta knows a lot of human words, but I don’t understand any dog barks.”

This led to a long but interesting debate on what we thought of animals’ levels of intelligence—like how an ape could communicate with sign language or parrots could speak and comprehend things, but like Max had pointed out, it never seemed to work the opposite way.

It wasn’t really date-like material, but I found myself fascinated with all of his thoughts and ideas and couldn’t agree with him fast enough. He was easily one of the most interesting people I’d ever met. I loved the way his mind worked.

I also probably stood a bit closer to him than was necessary on the subway. We were both holding on to the handrail and standing, as there was nowhere to sit. A man was edging closer and kept “accidentally” bumping into me even though the car was not that full. I moved away from him—I knew where this was going and wasn’t in the mood to be randomly groped.

Max seemed to understand what I was doing and wedged himself in between me and the other man. I was pressed up against Max’s side and discovered a well of self-control that I didn’t know existed as I refrained from wrapping my arms around his waist.

It got worse when he put his arm around my shoulders, like he had at the bar last night, in a protective gesture. My brain basically short-circuited entirely and I could only nod and listen as he talked, incapable of contributing anything to the conversation.

We got off on the Times Square–42nd Street stop. Max took his arm away from me and I mourned the loss of his touch.

How was I supposed to be friends with this man?

I’d somehow managed to keep my hands and lips to myself with Adrian for the last four years. Surely I could do the same with Max.

The only problem was that it all felt completely different.

Like I’d never been as attracted to Adrian as I was to Max.

We walked a few minutes to the theater, where they had begun letting people in. I showed them our tickets and we got our programs. I made my way down to the second row, scooching past people to get to our spots.

“These are really good seats,” Max said as we both settled in.

“They are!” I agreed. “Peter always delivers.” I leaned forward, trying to take my coat off, and struggled with the position I was in.

I felt Max’s fingers against my shoulders, moving down my arms as he helped me remove it, and everywhere he touched left tiny fiery trails of sensation.

I tried hard not to shiver.

When he had my coat off entirely, I said, “Thank you.” I sounded breathy and desperate.

Not good.

“My pleasure,” he said in a growly way that made all the tingling feelings inside me intensify.

I could only gape at him, wishing I had another article of clothing that he could remove for me without us both getting arrested for public indecency.

His gaze held mine, and then it drifted down to my mouth and my breath hitched.

“Everly, I wanted to ask you something,” he said.

“Yes?” That was a question, but it also felt like my answer. Anything he wanted, I was going to say yes.

But whatever he’d planned on asking was drowned out by the orchestra playing the overture.

I cursed the rotten luck that kept him from finishing.

And instead of enjoying the show, I spent the next three hours wondering what Max had wanted to ask me.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I didn’t question him about what he was going to ask me when the show finished, worried that he might have forgotten completely and would think me ridiculous for bringing it up.

He might have been about to ask me something completely innocuous, like what my favorite brand of bubble gum was. Or if I thought squirrels should have some kind of purgatory so that they could work their way up to squirrel heaven. It could have been anything, and I cursed my overactive imagination for wanting what I couldn’t have.

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