Revved To The Maxx

“Enough,” Maxx snapped. “Rufus, heel.”

Immediately, Rufus returned to Maxx’s side, and I heard him mutter “traitor” under his breath before pushing open the side door and letting it shut behind him. I rolled my eyes but followed, walking into a large mudroom. I stepped into the next room, taking it in. The kitchen was huge, with white cupboards, pretty trim, and well-worn butcher-block counters. There were a few dirty dishes in the sink. Otherwise, it had a neglected look to it. Dusty, unused, and needing attention. There was a dining room, with a huge farm table piled high with more boxes on top and around it, one space cleared where Maxx obviously ate. Ahead was a living room, a big fireplace in the center. It was a well-proportioned room, but sparse. There were plain white walls, no pictures or anything personal around. A TV hung on the wall, one chair in front of it, and a sofa pushed against the far wall. It needed attention.

Maxx let me wander, not saying anything, leaning against the counter in the kitchen. Rufus kept me company as I explored. The stairs divided the house, the central hall the focal point. There was a nice bathroom off the kitchen, and opposite it, behind the living room, was a bedroom—unused and piled with more boxes. I trialed my fingers over them, noting these were of a more personal nature, labeled and stacked neatly. Looking at the fading wallpaper and the old-fashioned bed frame dismantled and resting against the wall, I had the impression this room stored Maxx’s parents’ most prized possessions. Feeling as if I were intruding, I left the room, shutting the door behind me.

I hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, looking up. I glanced to the left, where Maxx was now leaning against the doorframe, watching me in silence. I tilted my head toward the stairs, and he pushed off the door and went ahead of me. At the head of the stairs was a set of barn doors which he bypassed and showed me the other two bedrooms. Both had a bed and dresser but were obviously unused. There was another bathroom, this one with a claw-foot tub, and I wondered if I might be allowed to use it. If, that was, I made it past my trial period.

Maxx hesitated then opened the barn doors. I stepped inside, knowing it was his room. His scent saturated it. Manly, woodsy, and warm. He had a huge bed made from rough wood, and the oak floors were stripped and wide. Through the open doors, I could see one side of the room had a closet and the other a bathroom. It was tidy, but like the rest of the house, neglected and sterile. All the walls were white, and there was little in the way of pictures or personal touches.

It felt as if Maxx was existing, not living.

“Seen enough?” he asked.

“Lots of work to be done,” I replied lightly.

“Sort of the reason for my ad,” he responded, walking ahead of me down the stairs.

“Easy peasy.” I sniffed. “I look forward to it.”

In the kitchen, I opened the fridge and the cupboards, growing more confused at the empty shelves. There were some staples—sugar, peanut butter, coffee, and the fridge held a large selection of condiments, but there was little in the way of groceries, aside from some canned goods.

I turned to look at him, aghast. “Where is your food?”

He shrugged. “I don’t cook well. I buy enough food for a week. I usually shop on Saturday afternoons.” He smirked. “Which is now your job, Charly. Get to it.”

I placed a hand on my hip and arched one eyebrow. I held up my phone, showing him the ad he had placed. “Huh. Would ya look at that? The ad said Saturday afternoons and Sundays are free.”

He glowered. God, he was handsome when he did that. It really should be illegal. I shouldn’t enjoy it as much as I did, but there was a little flutter in my chest, regardless.

“It’s either shopping today, or we both go hungry this week. Your choice.”

“Fine.” Then I paused. “How will I pay for the food?”

He snorted. “A, if you think I’m going to hand over the keys and a pile of cash and let you leave, you’re crazier than I think you are. I’m not that stupid, Red—” he paused, flustered, color creeping up on his neck “—I mean, Charly. I’m driving you into town, and I’ll pay for the groceries. And B, I think you lied about being able to drive my truck. I doubt you can even see over the dashboard.”

“I can so,” I protested, even though I wondered if he was right. The thing was massive. “I’ve driven a truck before.”

“Not this one.”

We glared at each other, and I tried not to notice the way his eyes looked in the bright light of the kitchen. Dark and deadly, the small lines around them only emphasizing the sexiness of his stare. If only he wouldn’t ruin the image by talking. But that was impossible.