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“Hello,” I say, and his body goes completely still for a moment before he looks up at me. He glances over his shoulder, as though wondering if I’m speaking to someone behind him. I grin. “Hello, you.” “Hi.” I sit down across from him. “How ya doing?” He stares at me. I wait, patiently. Before he speaks, he deliberately puts a bookmark into his book and closes the cover. “Fine, how are you?” “Good! What are you reading?” “Uhm, aren’t you supposed to be working?”
Ya se de una que voy a amar a Luke >:3c
“Figured I’d shoot my shot; if you weren’t into dudes, no harm done and we could just enjoy our pie and talk about…Dostoyevsky? Are you seriously reading that, or are you just trying to impress me?” He laughs and shakes his head. “You caught me. I’ve been visiting all the overnight establishments looking for you, just so I could sit here and impress you with my literary taste.” “Well done. I’m very impressed. And now that we’ve established that you’re into me, how about dinner?”
I jot down my phone number. I write my name—Luke Kelly, baseball star and total babe—and slide it over the table to him.
Te amo Luke
“Are you insane?” he asks, leaning across the table toward me. “You’ll have to go to dinner with me to find out.” He huffs an incredulous laugh and shakes his head. “Okay.” “Okay?” “Yeah, sure.” “Text me.” I slide out of the booth, and point a finger at him, threateningly.
my phone chimes with a text. Smiling, I pull my phone out and see a message from an unknown number. Hi. It’s Max. Who gave you this number? I hear a bark of surprised laughter from the dining room, and my smile grows wider.
He starts walking backward, eyes on me. “Text me when you get home. Send me a picture of you in bed.” “Oh my god,” I laugh, shaking my head. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Perhaps this man is beautiful, but I can’t appreciate it because I’ve spent the last few hours looking at your stunning face. Do you even mean what you say, or do words just fall out of your mouth? Maxyyyyyy You gonna send that picture? Of course not. You’re right. Date first, naked pictures later. What kind of food do you like? Whatever. Why? Because I’m planning our dinner date. Duh. Keep up, Maxy.
“Anything to eat? Breakfast? Pie, again? Reggie can make anything.” “Uhm, yeah, I should probably eat,” he says wearily. “Maybe just some eggs.” “Bacon? Toast? You a sausage guy?” I waggle my eyebrows at him and he cracks a smile.
“You got it, handsome.” I wink at him and he scoffs, shaking his head. My best friend, Margot, tells me I’m an “incessant flirt”, which is apparently a bad thing. I would challenge anybody to have a conversation with Max Kuemper and not flirt. The man is a fucking babe.
Our friendship has suffered the most this past year—after the party and the subsequent hospital visit. He’s no longer my best friend, but a mother—eyes always watching, and wearing his worries on his sleeve. I hate him and love him in equal measure. I miss him even when he’s standing there, right in front of me.
“So, Maxy, tell me.” “Tell you what?” “Anything. Everything. I want to know so much about you, I could write your biography.” “Oh, I’m not interesting,” I demure. “Tell me about you instead.” He tips his face to the sky and rolls his eyes dramatically. “I’m not interesting says the guy who was drafted to play hockey in the highest league possible. I’m not interesting says the guy who reads sad Russian literature for fun and picks up hot strangers at diners.” “I didn’t pick you up,” I point out. “You just sort of attached yourself to me.” “Like a cuddly and adorable koala.” “Or a parasite.”
“Yeah, I’ll go steady with you, you fucking weirdo. But no more ghosting me for three days. I’m too needy to handle that.” “Mm, possessive, are we? I like it. I’m going to change my Instagram bio to read: Property of Max Kuemper,”
I know he doesn’t belong to me, but I can’t help but feel that if someone were to be created specifically for me, they’d look and act a whole lot like Luke.
I look down at Max’s socked feet, my stomach performing a strange, swooping motion. “Jesus, even your feet are sexy,” I tell him. He looks at me and then down at his own toes. “You are the horniest motherfucker I’ve ever met,”
He really is
“So…we’re good right? We’re not mad at each other or fighting anymore?” “Which is better, baseball or hockey?” “What’s baseball?” “Definitely still fighting,” I say, and earn myself another snort of laughter.
“There’s just no way around it. You cool if I fuck you?” “Super cool with that.”
“You have a very beautiful dick, I hope somebody has told you that,” I let him know seriously, and watch him bite his lip. “Of all the adjectives…,” he murmurs. “Also, you’re hung like a horse,” I follow-up, and he laughs. “I do love compliments.”
“Hi,” she says. “Gay,” I reply, pointing a finger at my chest. She sighs and pats my arm twice before letting go. “Naturally.”
“You’re a fucking rapist.” My voice cracks across the space between us like a whip, and Bryce’s hand tightens to the point of pain on my arm. I don’t look at him. I don’t look at anyone except Theo who’s still fucking leering at me, like the accusation is funny. Next to him, Cruz is no longer smiling, eyes bouncing around between Theo, Bryce and I. He looks afraid.
LUKE NECESITO QUE LO CAGUES A TROMPADAS PORFAVOR!!!!!!
I don’t even notice the flashing lights until I’m being pulled off of Theo; for a second, I think it might be one of his friends coming to his rescue, but I’m shoved down, hard, face-first into the grass with what is unmistakably a knee planted between my shoulder blades. I try to push up, but my arms are twisted behind my back and there is a sharp pain across my wrist as handcuffs are clicked into place. The police.
LIBERENLO!!!! HE DID NOTHING WRONG!!!
