Page 56 of Oops! I Married a Rock Star
As soon as I buy that sucker, I get a text. It’s Max.
–Max: You behaving?
He sent that to me only.
–Me: Of course. I’m a great behaver when I put my mind to it. I charmed your grandmother, too.
–Max: You met the family already?
For some reason, I can sense an undercurrent of disapproval. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have said anything.
–Me: Yup. Well, some of them, anyway.
–Max: Sylvie too?
–Me: Uh-huh.
–Max: Fuck.
–Me: It wasn’t that bad. I behaved like an angel.
A moment of silence. Then my phone rings. Wow. Max is calling me. This must be life or death.
“Yeah?” I say, wondering what could have made him react like this.
“Did you fuck her?” He’s breathing hard and fast, like a pissed-off lion.
What the hell? Serious whiplash here. He was talking about his cousin just a second ago, and now he wants to talk about his sister? He was vaguely satisfied that my penis quit working, although I didn’t clarify that it works fantastically well around his sister. So why’s he getting so riled up?
If I tell him yes, I did his sister, he’s going to hire Bobby and the boys to blow my brains out. Even though he doesn’t spend time in Drover, he probably knows everyone in town.
On the other hand, I can’t say I didn’t. All he has to do is send one text to Becca, and he’s going to know I lied. Sex isn’t the kind of topic most families want to talk about—I’d rather drink bleach before discussing my sex life with my dad—but Max and Becca seem really tight. Besides, what do I know about what sisters talk to their brothers about? I’m an only child.
Okay, time to play dumb. Thanks to years of acting like a shallow idiot playboy, everyone buys my dumb act. “Who’s ‘her’?”
“Sylvie!” he shouts.
Uh… What? He’s still talking about Sylvie? Why in the world would I fuck her when I have Becca? Sylvie’s got a nice enough body, and I suppose her face is okay. But everything she does is fake. Furthermore, it’s obvious she’s overly aware of Becca’s reaction to what she does, and women like that are stressful to be around because everything she does is performative.
But maybe Max feels responsible for his cousin, too. He’s a strong, silent, responsible kind of guy.
“Sylvie’s cherry’s safe around me,” I say.
“Cherry? That skank went around the block with the whole football team as soon as she hit puberty!”
“I didn’t fuck Sylvie,” I say, enunciating clearly. “She was all over me, but I pushed her away. One, she’s not my type, and two, I’m not going to disrespect Becca like that.”
Max’s breathing starts to settle. He lets out a grunt, which I think means “shit” or “good.” Hard to tell.
“I’m on Team Becca, man. If she wants to slap Sylvie, I’ll hold the bitch down for her. Then turn her head so Becca can slap the other cheek. I’m a team player. You know that.”
“You don’t hit women.” He sounds concerned. Does he think I might abuse his baby sister?
Telling him I’m only interested in loving every inch of her body probably wouldn’t help. “Of course not. And I didn’t hit anyone in the hypothetical scenario. I was holding Sylvie down for Becca.”
Max makes a sound I can’t decipher deep in his throat.
“Not that I think Becca would do that. She’s really patient with Sylvie and Margaret,” I add.
