Page 77 of Surviving the Break
“I said I forgive you, Samuel!” yelled a frustrated Debbie in the background.
An adult voice I didn’t recognize asked Michael, one of Max’s students, “How do you know Max loves Ash?”
Michael perked up, nearly falling out of his seat, pushing his wild, blond hair out of his face. “Because one day, Ms. Sam stuck her head into our class and said, ‘Ash is in the building!’ and Mr. Max almost cut his hand off with the saw.” Michael frowned and looked down. “Ms. Sam laughed at him. That wasn’t nice.” He smiled again, pushing a finger in the air. “You don’t almost cut your finger off when you hear someone’s name unless you love them!” He tilted his head and scratched his chin. “Or hate them…”
“All right, that’s enough,” the interviewer said. “Don’t worry, we’ll edit that part out,” she said to someone off camera.
“No, leave it in. He’ll know the truth,” Max responded. The video ended.
With the lock mysteriously released on the classroom door, I stepped out, feeling degrees more confused and in love than when I went in.
Sam stood suspiciously in front of the office door near the building’s front entrance. “Where is he?”
“Uh, that depends. Who’she?”
“Max. Have you seen him?”
“He’s not on the schedule tonight, and his truck’s not in the parking lot. Have you tried calling him?” She stepped to the left when I tried to peer into the glass window of the office door. Her hair blocked my view.
I narrowed my eyes at her, and her eyes, a similar shade to Max’s, laughed at me. Not knowing what I would say to Max if I saw him, I decided it best if I left. I headed home.
I parked in front of my building and looked at all the flowers piled in the car, feeling defeated at the idea of having to make several trips to get them all upstairs when Mr. Downing knocked on my window. I rolled it down.
“Hey there, Mr. Jackson. Don’t worry about those. I’ll get the bell cart and send them up to you. Just send the elevator back down.”
I got out and handed him the key as he held the lobby door open for me. “Keep a few for yourself. I’m sure Mrs. Downing would appreciate it,” I said. He tipped his hat to me, and I headed for my elevator.
“Oh, Mr. Jackson, they finally changed that billboard on top of the building facing your patio. No more having to see that huge Pepto-Bismol bottle.” He smirked, as if he knew something I didn’t.
As soon as I entered the penthouse, I went straight to the sliding doors and onto the pool deck. Sure enough, the spotlit billboard adjacent to my view had a new image on it: a bare-chested Max in a hardhat with a tagline at the bottom that read,All Yours.
I laughed, sinking into one of the lounge chairs. Whether from amusement or hysteria went unexamined, but it felt good all the same. Max was pulling out all the stops, and against my will, a small area to the left of my chest began to thaw at the thought. I spent the night on that lounge chair, fighting to keep my eyes open, not wanting to take them off him.
THERE WOULD BEmany more grand overtures in the days to come. Things came to a breaking point that Friday when leaving the clinic. My car had been turned into a mural of Max and me. Every inch of it. Stunned and immobile, my bag slipped from my shoulder to land on the ground.
Along one side was an image of us playing cards: our first date at my place.
On the other side, Max and I held hands under a canopy of trees: our first stroll in the park. The crème de la crème was on the hood. Max and I, eyes locked on each other in the studio at The Center. Representing the second time we laid eyes on each other. More pivotal than the first. We were painted in the center of a vortex.
How far is he willing to go?I asked myself. It was working. My stomach flip-flopped at the idea, and if I didn’t think he was somewhere watching me, I would’ve allowed the feeling to tow me under. My gaze searched the vicinity, unable to spot him.Maybe he isn’t here.I dialed his number.
“Hello?”
The warmth of his voice caused my cock to throb. “How much is this going to cost me?” Unable to think of anything better to say.
“You’ll be fine by next rainfall.”
I hung up, reluctantly, picked up my bag, and rounded the passenger side, intending to toss it in, but the most welcome sight sat there waiting for me.Pluto.
My lips tugged upward. I sent Max a text.
Ash: How long?
Max: The weekend.
I opened the door and read the sign hanging from his neck:I’m potty trained.I laughed unrestrained—for the second time that week. He had a small duffle bag packed on the passenger floor. I rubbed behind his ears as he licked my face exuberantly, and then I peeked inside. “What did Daddy pack for you, Pluto?” A ball, doggy treats, his blanket, and…“Bubble bath?”
Pluto barked wildly, spinning in the confines of his seat.
