Faking It (Losing It, #2)(29)

After what could have been an eternity or a few seconds, Cade whispered, “Pain changes us. Mine made me want to be perfect, so that no one would ever want to leave me again.”

I inhaled deeply. “Yours made you Golden. Mine just made me angry.”





17

Cade

A bright light flashed on the other side of my closed eyelids. Groggily, I went to rub my eyes, but something had my left arm pinned to the bed.

A woman stood over me with a camera in her hand. Black spots flooded my vision, and it took me a few moments before I remembered where I was and what I was doing here. The woman with the camera was Mrs. Miller, and she’d just taken a picture of Max sound asleep on my arm. There was a little wet spot on my sweater from her drool.

God, I wanted a copy of that picture.

Mrs. Miller held a finger to her lips and whispered, “I’m sorry. The two of you just looked so sweet that I couldn’t resist.” This was officially the weirdest day of my existence. “Dinner is ready. Mick and I will wait for you two to get freshened up.”

She tiptoed out of the room and closed the door on her way out.

Time to wake the sleeping dragon.

In sleep, Max looked younger, softer. She had long eyelashes fingernails scrapenit">FINDING IT that rested against her cheeks. Her nose was small and turned up slightly at the end. Even sleeping, she had the sexiest lips I had ever seen. Full and slightly puckered, it was like they were calling to me. And I couldn’t stop thinking about her saying she wasn’t sorry I kissed her.

Not that it mattered. She was taken.

I was doomed to always be attracted to the girls I couldn’t have.

Plus, what she’d told me earlier . . . it couldn’t have been easy. I could tell how raw the memories left her, and the last thing I wanted was to take advantage of that tenderness.

I was about to nudge her awake when her eyes opened, and she caught me staring at her. She blinked a few times and then her eyes narrowed on me. She sat up and slid to the complete opposite side of the bed.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Whatever closeness we’d gained earlier didn’t appear to have carried over through her nap. The walls were back up and I was still on the outside.

“I swear it’s not as creepy as it looks.”

“Said the serial killer to the police.”

Her hair was messy and closer to how it usually was.

I said, “I was about to wake you up. Your mother just said dinner is ready.”

“My mother was in here?”

I was coming to enjoy that wide-eyed exasperated look she got every time something concerned her mother.

“She might have taken a picture of us.”

She grabbed a pillow, and I narrowly blocked a swipe to the face.

“You let her take a picture of us?”

I grabbed the pillow when she went in for a second swing, and used it to pull her closer. “I didn’t let her. I woke up to the flash.”

“Seriously?” She made a noise that was part groan/part growl and buried her face in her hands. “Kill me now.”

I kept the pillow between us as a buffer and said, “It’s almost over.”

“You’ve not been to one of my mother’s Thanksgiving dinners. It’s only just beginning.”

She slid off the bed and went to the bathroom to splash her face with water. I followed and did the same. It was frighteningly domestic as we both tried to maneuver around the small space without bumping into each other. I was struck by the oddity that I had known this woman just over twenty-four hours. And twenty-four hours from now, we would likely go our separate ways, never to hear from each other again.

I swallowed, and she looked at me from the bathroom door.

“Well, are you coming?”

“Yeah, right behind you.”

We were ambushed with another photo attack as soon as we entered the living room.

“Mom! Seriously?”

Mrs. Miller’s eyes reminded me of those commercials about abused pets—designed to make you feel bad. “I’m sorry. Cade mentioned earlier that you were okay with pictures, and I—”

“Oh did he now?”

I was in trouble. She fingernails scrape for the owlmylaced her hand with mine and squeezed a little harder than was comfortable.

“Oh, you know, sweetie. I told your mom how upset you were that you overslept because you wanted to look nice for them. We talked about how nice it would be to have pictures to commemorate our first holiday together.” Mrs. Miller snapped another picture while I was talking to her daughter. “Mrs. M, don’t mind Max. Maybe we should just save the pictures until after dinner.”

“Of course, and for the last time, Cade. Please call me Betty. Or Mom.”

Max smiled widely at me, but I had a feeling it was more like those predators on the Animal Channel, baring their teeth in a show of aggression. She leaned up, smiling all the while, and said quietly, “If you call my mother ‘Mom,’ I’m going to replace that turkey in the oven with your head, okay?”

I smiled back, and curled a hand around her cheek. “I’m calling your bluff, Angry Girl.” Max was glaring at me, but I could tell she was glad to be back in normal territory. Normal, of course, being our attempts to piss each other off. I called to her mother in the kitchen, “Mrs. Miller—I mean Mom—your daughter says the sweetest things sometimes. I think it would shock you how romantic she can be.”