Happily Never After

I BUCKLED MY seat belt as the plane prepared to land in Detroit.

Max called me Wednesday night because he’d been asked to do what he called “the easiest wedding we’ve ever scored.” The bride and groom in this instance both wanted out but couldn’t bring themselves to call off the wedding and upset the parents, so they were leaving it to the professionals.

Us.

An added bonus: It wasn’t within driving distance, so the unhappy couple had offered to pay for our travel and accommodations.

Yes, please.

I’d never outgrown the love of planes, people watching in airports, and hotel stays, so I was all in on this weekend.

Unfortunately, I’d had meetings all day that I couldn’t miss, so my plane was coming in later than Max’s and I was going to Uber to the hotel. He’d landed in Detroit at two fifteen, and it was now six thirty.

He was probably already drunk in the hotel bar.

Before I left, Larry warned me to stay away from Max’s mouth because he didn’t want me to get hurt. He was convinced that either Max or I was going to end up having feelings for the other if we didn’t stop with the “getting mine” kissing game, and it made sense that he’d think that.

What he didn’t understand, though, was just how opposed we were to relationships and romance and the L-word. He thought I was coming off a breakup and a little bit jaded; he didn’t know that I actually knew the truth about love and everyone else was a fool.

Still, I was going to stay away from Max’s lips because I didn’t want our non-relationship to progress into some sort of friends-with-benefits situation. I wasn’t sure exactly what made the two different, but I knew they weren’t the same thing.

Probably.

But it didn’t matter because I was through playing.

When I finally disembarked from the plane and rolled my bag up the Jetway, I got a text.

Max: Did you land?

Me: Literally walking off the plane. I’m assuming you made it?

Max: Just ordered a beer at the hotel bar.

Me: Nothing has ever sounded so dreamy.

Max: Want me to have one waiting for you? Pick your poison, Steinbeck.

Me: Shiner Light Blonde if they have it, Mich Ultra if they don’t.

Max: Consider it waiting. Have you eaten?

Me: Wolfed down a pizza before boarding so I’m good.

Thankfully the bride and groom had made the arrangements in advance, so the hotel shuttle was waiting outside, and a mere twenty minutes later I was walking into the hotel lobby. After getting checked in and changing into black leggings and a Celtics sweatshirt, I was hard-core ready for that beer.

My room was right next to the stairwell, so I ran down the stairs instead of taking the elevator. And when I walked into the hotel bar, butterflies went wild in my stomach at the first thing I saw: Max grinning at me from his spot at the bar.

Even though I wasn’t into him, he was almost too attractive to look at.

Also, the man could definitely pull off gray sweatpants. Somehow Max looked like a professional athlete in his white Cubs hoodie, gray pants, and Nikes. He didn’t look scrubby at all, whereas me in sweats and a hoodie brought to mind assumptions of a hangover or rampant joblessness.

And he was wearing a pair of tortoiseshell glasses that made him look like a model, like this was the “at home” version of Max Parks in a GQ spread.

“Well, hi,” he said, his eyes all over me.

“Well, hi,” I replied as he gestured to my Shiner Light Blonde on the bar. “And also God bless you.”

“Rough day?” he asked as we both climbed onto our stools.

“One fire after another,” I said, already dreading Monday morning’s follow-ups. “Which is why I’m switching to vodka after this.”

“Perhaps I’ll join you,” he said, smiling, and his eyes dipped down to my sweatshirt before returning to my face. “I had a day full of fires, as well, even from the air.”

“Maybe we should just do shots instead,” I joked. “Cut out the pesky mixers when we’re just looking to take the edge off.”

“Clever girl,” he said in a dirty voice that made me look at his lips just before he motioned to the bartender and said, “Two kamikaze shots, please.”

—

An hour later, I was buzzing hard.

We’d only done two shots, but they’d simmered inside me, mixing with the beer and my exhaustion in the most delightful way. Suddenly I was unable to make my mouth do anything other than smile as I watched Max watch the basketball game on the TV behind the bar.

“Hey, Maxxie,” I said, patting his arm. “Let’s post a sloppy selfie.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t look away from the game. “Sloppy?”

“Tipsy, sloppy—call it what you want, but let’s capture it.” I patted his arm again. “Wow, your arm is really solid, just like your chest. Are you swole under your clothes, kid?”

He did look at me then. “You just said swole and called me kid.”

“Yeah. So?” I grinned at the suspicious way he was peering at me, then pulled a Larry and said, “What are you, the language police?”

His lips curled into an amused smirk. “You’re drunk.”

“You’re not?” I asked, a little too loudly.

“I’m feeling good, but that’s a few stops short of drunk.”

“Paul,” I said, not looking away from Max’s hot, dark eyes as I spoke to the bartender. “Can I please get a shot for this guy? A three wise men, but a double, if you could. He’s got some stops to make.”

“No problem,” I heard, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from Max.

“Why,” he asked, his eyes dipping down to my mouth before coming back up again, “did you pick that particular shot, Soph?”

“Because it’s what you liked the night you ruined my wedding.”

“You mean the night I saved your life,” he corrected, lifting a hand and pushing back the hair that’d fallen out of my messy bun.

“That’s what I said.” I felt something more than buzzed as our gazes held and my heart stuttered a little in my chest. “The night you saved my life.”

“Here you go,” I heard as Paul set down the shot, but I still couldn’t look away.

“Thanks,” Max said, and his gaze didn’t waver from me as he lifted the double shot and tossed it back.

“Do you have cash?” I asked, leaning a little closer and lowering my voice.

“Yes,” Max replied, his jaw doing that little flex thing that I found sexy as hell. “Why?”

“Because I want to kiss you right now and I don’t want to wait for my card to be processed.”

He stood, pulled a money clip out of those beautiful sweatpants, and dropped some bills on the bar. “Let’s go.”

Before I had a chance to even process his acquiescence, his big hand was wrapped around mine and he was pulling me off my stool and out of the bar.