A Sticky Situation (Awkward Love 7)

“Yeah, I didn’t mention it?” I say, keeping my voice vague.

“No. You didn’t.”

“Huh. I’m sure I did,” I muse. I have no idea what the fuck I’m saying, but I run with it anyway. “Yeah, she’s really cool, but we’re keeping it under wraps because it’s so new.”

“Really?” Max asks, his voice suspicious. “What’s her name, then?”

“I’ll tell you when the times right,” I assure him.

“I call bullshit.” Max decides after a moment. “Remember back in eighth grade when you had to invent a girlfriend to go with you to the winter formal?”

“You mean the same girl I had you believe I was dating for six months? If you believed that, then who’s the real idiot—”

“Okay, I get it, but at least agree to come over for dinner,” he pleads with me. “Then you two can tell her yourself.”

“Because you’re too much of a pussy to do it for me?” I growl. “Okay, fine. I’ll come to dinner Friday night if it means you’ll cut me a break.”

“Okay, great. So, you wanna tell me what’s up with you today?” Max asks.

I sigh and rub my head. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.”

“Did they run out of that strawberry scented hair gel you love so much?” Max sniggers.

“One time, man,” I grumble. “And I didn’t know it was scented when I brought it.”

“Yeah, but you sure as hell did when Monty tried to rape you,” he chortles.

Apparently, Max’s eighty-pound bull mastiff, Monty, has a bit of a thing for strawberries. It took three grown men to pull him off me, much to the amusement of the thirty other people at that party. The only upside was at least a few of them probably thought I was Brix.

I chuckle. “Anyway, I’m pissed off at my brother.”

“Brix?”

“Do I have another brother?”

“Sorry, I thought you were done with his crap,” Max grumbles. “So, what did he want this time?”

“I didn’t get that far,” I explain. “I told his assistant if he needs my help, he needs to ask me himself.”

“Don’t let him pull you into his bullshit world again, Nate. Remember last time and how long it took for you to get your shit back together?” Max warns. “Seriously, he’s a lost cause. Tossing hookers in the trunk of your car? That’s got to be a new low.”

“Not to mention enough coke to sedate an elephant.” I chuckle.

Max pauses. “I’m surprised he trusted that in the trunk with the hookers. Just watch out for him, okay?”

“I will,” I promise him. “Hey, how come you’re not at work?’

“I am. Speaking of, I better get back to it before the boss fires my ass,” Max murmurs. “I’ll see you Friday, okay?”

“I’ll be there,” I assure him.“Shit,” I growl.

I toss the wrench onto the ground and get to my feet, pulling myself out from under the car. I’ve been working on fixing this exhaust for the better part of two hours, and the more I can’t figure it out, the more frustrated I become. If I can’t, it’s going to become one hell of an expensive problem, because I’ll end up losing my shit. I walk over to the fridge, glancing at the time along the way.

Oh, well. It’s five somewhere in the world, right?

“Can you spare one of them for me?”

I turn around and frown, because Brix is standing in the doorway near my office. He smirks at me, his hands wedged deep into the pockets of a pair of jeans that probably cost more than my car. I toss the can at him with as much force as I can muster. He catches it with ease, flicks the tab back and gulps it down in a few mouthfuls.

“You still throw like a girl,” he comments.

“Yeah? Well, you sing like one,” I retort.

It’s barely been an hour since my call ended with Kitty. Even if he was close by, that’s impressive with the traffic at this time of day.

“You got here fast. What, were you hiding around the back?”

He shrugs and tosses his empty can in the trash.

Things must be worse than I thought.

“This place hasn’t changed much.” He glances around, then turns his attention back to me, looking me straight in the eye. “Neither have you. It’s still just like looking in a mirror.”

“Except I’m cuter,” I say with a smirk as I grab myself a beer. I offer him another, but he shakes his head. “Were you expecting piercings and face tattoos?”

“After your pink hair in high school?” He chuckles to himself. “I wouldn’t be shocked.”

“Hey,” I protest. “I rocked that pink hair.”

“Trust me.” He shakes his head. “You didn’t.”

“Whatever, it was worth it just to have my own identity,” I mutter. I shake my head. “Even back then, people were constantly thinking I was you.”

“Funny, I never had that problem.” He smirks. “I guess because nobody was ever looking for you.”