My Sweet Bully

The air gets sucked from my lungs as the tip of his tongue tempts the opening, barely breaking the surface of my mouth. And just like that, as quickly as he’s there, he’s gone.

Max pulls away, and I waver slightly on my feet as I touch my lips, still able to feel him. My skin buzzes, tingling like I licked a hot pepper. I’m speechless, left with a pool of desire between my legs.

“I. . . um, I. . .” stuttering, I don’t really have any words to say, I’m just trying to end this feeling inside me.

“That was just to quiet you down,” he says. But I can see him breathing heavily, his chest is rising and falling rapidly as his hands twitch at his sides.

He liked it, and so did I.

Inhaling slowly, he takes a small step back. Holding out his hand, he rests the other on his hip. “Don’t blame yourself for anything in my life, Prairie.” Slicing the air, his eyes steady on mine. “Not a damn thing is your fault. I was six when my mother died, I barely remember her. And that shit over the summer, you didn’t know who I was, or who my brother was. I took the wrong road long before you ever got involved. This isn’t your fault, and I know that, even if it’s hard for me to not want to blame someone else for this shit. It can’t be you—I won’t let it be you.”

Max isn’t trying to put on an act right now. His walls are down and he’s spewing truth like a broken faucet. Maybe he doesn’t realize it now, but his words mean everything to me.

I know deep down it isn’t really my fault, but I almost can’t help but feel some guilt. I’m the nail that sealed the coffin, that’s my role.

But I had to hear it from him to truly believe it. He’s just the confirmation of what I already knew was true. His words are the comfort I need.

Pressing up on the tips of my toes, I kiss him back. I kiss him so he knows I’m thankful for what he said. I kiss him so he knows that he isn’t the bad guy.

I kiss him because it feels right.

And sometimes, what’s right doesn’t make sense.

7

Max

Running flat palms over my head, I stand outside the front door. The music is blasting, and I can hear people inside. Cars line the street on either side, a few are even parked up on the sidewalk.

There’s a moment, just a single blip in my brain, when I think about turning around and leaving. I don’t belong here, and I haven’t belonged at a party like this for a really long time.

I can’t believe I’m fucking here right now.

Looking around, I glance back over my shoulder. I’m not sure if Prairie is here yet. I don’t see her car, but she might have come with Amy.

Bringing my knuckles to the door, I hesitate. They float in the air, while my head reminds me exactly why I should leave.

You hate her! She’s nothing, she’s no one, she doesn’t deserve even a second of your time!

My brain is right, it knows the truth. But it isn’t my brain that’s in control right now. It wants to fight to take over, it wants to push the red emergency eject button and get the fuck out of here.

So, what do I do?

I don’t listen.

I knock.

The door flings open and Chad’s mouth hangs open as he looks me up and down like he’s seeing a ghost. “Are you fucking serious?” Holding a closed fist to his mouth, he laughs. “Max Ramon, you finally crawled out from under your rock. How’s it feel to take in fresh air?”

“Dude, seriously, I didn’t come here to fight or any shit like that. I’m here to have a good time, that’s it.”

“A good time. . .” he draws the words out as he smiles and yells over his shoulder. “Brent! Hey, Brent!”

Brent Jones is a six foot tall, two hundred pounds, linebacker. He moved here a few years back and slipped right into the position on the football team.

“Yeah?” Walking up, he chugs whatever was left in his red cup, and throws it over his shoulder.

“Are you having a good time?”

“Always, Cap.”

Letting out a breath, I shake my head and hold up my hands. “You know what, forget it, this was a bad idea. I’ll just go.”

Yes! Go, before she gets here. Fuck her, you shouldn’t be doing anything for her.

Chad laughs loudly, throwing out his hand to grab my shoulder. “I’m fucking with you, Max, come on in. It’s about time you joined us again, it’s been fucking years.”

Years is an understatement.

I haven’t talked to most of these people since we were in grade school. Partly because they ousted me as the poor kid, and partly because they’re all dicks. I knew that even at seven years old.