Page 40 of Wrecked Rose

Sam:Nope. She is the daughter of a business associate of Dad’s.

Sam:They don’t even live here. I think they are about thirty minutes away.

Max:I’d be tempted to explain the situation to her.

Max:Except if she tells her dad and it gets back to your dad…

Sam:I thought of that, and that’s kind of what I’m afraid of.

Sam:Then again, I don’t want Dad to think he can call the shots with my dating life.

Sam:You know, when I actually have one. Because right now, I’m not ready to figure that out.

I smile. Despite the beating he took, he doesn’t seem like he’s doing too badly.

Max:Whatever you do, it needs to be your decision.

Sam:I get that.

Chapter 26

Griff

My head is a fucking disaster zone. I finally admit this to myself on the drive home from school Wednesday afternoon. Thank God no one else is in the car with me, because who knows what my face looks like as I dig into everything and start to dissect what’s happening with me.

The short conversation Max and I had at the wrestling match almost a week ago has brought to the forefront everything I’d tried to tuck away since the night of the party. It’s been close to two weeks since I let myself do things I never thought I’d do.

Ha. You mean it’s been close to two weeks since you tasted Max. Close to two weeks since you felt his dick harden in response to yours. Close to two weeks since you almost came in your pants from kissing and touchinga guy.

And I’d been the instigator that night—both fucking times. Max hasn’t done anything but open my eyes to something I obviously am not ready for. And that’s why when we finally got around to talking at the wrestling match, I had to make sure he knew that’s where I’m at.Not ready.Confused. All caught up in my head, with one question after another hammering at me. My mind has been a very tortured, twisted up, scary place ever since.

I don’t know how to properly deal with most of what I’m thinking and even less of what I’m feeling—so I’d been ignoring it. And him. As best I could.

But that’s next to impossible since we have classes together. I see him in the hallways. We share friends. We even sit at the same lunch table.

The hardest realization came when I figured out that while I’d been attempting to ignore him and get him out of my head, he’d been doing the same with me.

When I walked into French class on Monday, he’d been up at the front of the room talking to Madame Donnet. If I had to guess, I’d bet he was requesting that she not pair us together for the silly conversation practice exercises. It’s too bad because I like talking to Max. But what would I have said to him, anyway?About that night at the party, Max…

Sorry I stuck my tongue in your mouth.Again.

Sorry I got both of us hard.

Sorry I keep pulling you in, only to shove you away.

And of course then we’d run into each other at the wrestling match. Max had acknowledged me without pushing or making it obvious that we know each otherwaybetter than my friends—or so-called friends—think we do. He’s definitely aware I’m wigging out hard-core, and I appreciate that he’d made that situation easy for me, even after stupid fucking Jack acted like a complete dick to him. Jack had said more rude shit once we’d gone back inside to finish watching, too. Stuff that made me want to haul off and punch him. Stuff that made me nervous for that poor guy, Sam, and even for Max. And when I let myself go there… for myself. I have no doubt that he’s the one behind Sam’s attack two weeks ago—and that he’s not nearly done yet. I don’t know where this has all come from, but it’s got to stop.

I don’t want to think about it right now because it’s fucking heavy and complicated and it’s going to cause problems—on my team once season starts and likely for me personally, either because of his attitude toward Max or because of somethingmore.I know I’m going to eventually have to deal with all of it. And it sucks. I grit my teeth together, contemplating what a mess it could be.

Finally, I shake myself free of all of the bullshit and my mind settles for a moment… and then drifts immediately to thoughts of Max—because I’ve been wholly unsuccessful with my plan to stop thinking about him. He impresses me with how he’s so damn confident and sure of himself. And man, when he looks at me with those soulful eyes, I swear he can read my innermost thoughts. He shouldn’t want anything to do with me, the supposedly straight guy who likes kissing him. The one who keeps losing it and shoving him away.

But somehow, when I said I wasn’t ready, it didn’t freak him out.No.He actually seemed to accept that. Like it’s okay that I don’t know how to do this. And maybe it’s because telling him I wasn’t ready was the most honest I’d been with him… and myself. The second I admitted it, the awkward tension between us had fallen away.

The really frustrating part is I like Max—Max the person, not just Max the gay dude I like to kiss. He’s a good guy. He’s protective of his friends and really fucking funny sometimes. He says exactly what’s on his mind, and I respect the hell out of that.

The thing is,not readydoesn’t mean I’m not interested—and from the understanding look Max had given me, he gets it. This is a big fucking deal.Reallybig.

Being with Max—with any guy, really—is something that would cause some pretty big waves in my life. Figuratively, I’m a strong swimmer, but I don’t know if I’m prepared for the tsunami that coming out as, well, whatever I am, would cause.