Page 63 of Rematch
Max grinned as he rose from his seat. “You’ll have to catch me first.”
The three of them shared a chuckle.
I led Max out the door and started walking down the path towards his waiting car.
He sped up to walk ahead of me and open the passenger door.
The smell of freshly cleaned leather and black ice, from the Little Tree hanging from the rear view mirror, greeted me.
Max climbed into the driver seat and turned the engine to bring the car to life. An old artist we used to like as teens crooned through the speakers.
The music kept us company as Max drove us to one of the lounges near the skating rink.
The posters in the window were always advertising live music, food and drinks. Sometimes while we waited for our parents to pick us up from the rink, we’d watch the adults in their chic outfits strut in and out of the establishment. Max used to promise he’d take me once we were old enough to get in.
The fact that he remembered warmed the wings fluttering against my ribcage.
Inside, the lounge looked as nice as we thought it would be. Blue and purple lights were nestled in the ceiling, casting an artificial moonlight. A long wooden bar lay on the left side with a softly lit blue backdrop. The color reflected against the glass bottles on the clear shelves. Cushioned high chairs were lined at the brown countertop. Small tables with low cushioned chairs, separated by invisible aisles, occupied some of the space in the middle of the restaurant.
On the opposite end, a cushioned booth lined the other wall. Small square tables and cushioned chairs sat parallel to it. Waitresses dressed in all black with purple writing on their shirts milled around the room, carrying trays of drinks and food.
On the other side of the room, across from the front doors, lay a small stage with a group of musicians on it. The singerat the mic crooned romantic melodies, backed by gentle piano chords and sensual trumpet horns.
The hostess led us up the black stairwell to the upper level of the lounge where U-shaped booths overlooking the lower level lay. From here, we had a perfect view of the band playing below us.
“It’s so nice in here,” I said as I scooted into the booth, still glancing around at the subtle yet serene decor.
“Yeah,” Max replied. He threw his arm over the headrest, behind my shoulders.
“Have you been here before?”
He shook his head. “This was gonna beourspot, remember? I wasn’t gonna come without you.”
I curled my shoulders up and inward, trying to hide the bashful smile creeping up my lips.
His arm fell off the backrest and onto my shoulders. Hooking his arm around my neck, he leaned in close to whisper in my ear. “You look good in my clothes,” he said.
“Yours? After all these years, it’s practically mine now.”
“What if I want it back?”
I scoffed. “You’ll have to fight me for it.”
“And what are you going to do after I pin you down and take the hoodie?” With his other hand, he grabbed my chin and turned my head to meet his sensually mischievous gaze. “Because I have a few holds I’ve been dying to put you in.”
I pressed my hand against his face and lightly shoved it backwards. “Shut up.”
Chuckling, he used his other arm to bring me closer.
Over dinner and drinks, we caught each other up on everything that’s happened in our lives. I told him about my long years in school and the residency where I fell in love with working in the emergency room. He adamantly listened to thestories of my favorite cases and patients who shaped me into the doctor I was today.
Max glossed over his college years and told me about how he got his big break in the MMA world. Tony invited one of his old fighting buddies who now worked as an agent for other fighters to one of Max’s exhibition fights. He kept his attendance a secret from Max, so he wouldn’t be nervous and perform as he normally would. As expected, Tony’s friend was in awe of Max’s skill and winning record. Before he knew it, the both of them were putting him in rings with some heavy hitters. “It wasn’t easy,” he admitted. “I got the shit beat out of me a few times. But, I worked my way up.”
I noticed throughout his stories that he danced around instances involving his father. He’d start, notice where it was going, and pressed the past forward button so he wouldn’t have to talk about it. I understood why he didn’t want to talk about it. In a way, I guess he really wasn’t supposed to. Even though he was only talking to me, he still had a reputable image to uphold. I didn’t blame him for not wanting anything to taint it.
My brows rose when he told me he reconnected with his half-brother.
“Yeah,” he confirmed with a nod. “I, uh…I’ve been training him.”
