Picking Up the Pieces (Pieces, #2)(20)

I heard running water, mixed with Amanda’s cursing, coming from the bathroom. “Fuck, f*ck, f*ck! Ouch! Jesus Christ!”

“Amanda, are you okay?” I knocked on the door, unsure of what could elicit such urgent screams.

“Uh, yeah. I just . . ." She sighed deeply before continuing. "I sprayed myself in the eye with sex toy cleaner.” She opened the door and thrust the bottle my way. “Can you read this? Should I call poison control or something?”

“You’re ridiculous. Just keep splashing water on your eyes. It’ll come out. The stuff is made to go on things you put in your body. It’s not poisonous.” I couldn’t help but laugh at her. This kind of stuff always happened to Amanda. “How did you do that anyway?”

As she flicked on the light and held up the vibrator she’d been clenching in her hand, I instantly became sorry I’d asked. “I was cleaning this in the dark. I couldn’t see which way the bottle was gonna spray. I just started pumping, and it sprayed in my eyes.” She pulled a hand towel off the rack and dabbed her face dry. “I didn’t even get to clean this yet,” she said as she ran the vibrator under the water and sprayed the cleaner cautiously toward it.

“Why does every conversation I have with you revolve around sex?”

She shrugged. “‘Cause I love sex. And when I can’t have it with someone else, I like to have it with myself. Speaking of . . . there seems to be a little more pep in your step the last few days,” she nearly sang. “Tell me about him.”

“Who?”

“What do you mean ‘who’? Whoever has you so happy. You’ve been walking around with a goofy smile since the weekend.”

“I have?” My question was genuine.

“Yeah, you have. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

“Um, no, not really.” I hadn’t noticed I’d been happier. More energetic? Definitely. More upbeat? Maybe. But happier? That was an emotion I thought had left me months ago. I’d seen Max over the weekend, and it had gone well—once we’d gotten past our little spat in the beginning, that is. The rest of the night had gone better than I'd expected, full of easy conversation and light laughter. We had fun together. I kept waiting for the bomb to drop, but it never did. He even divulged his interest in the job prospect his agent had scored for him. Max Samson opened up to me, and the shock had nearly killed me on the spot. He’d texted Monday to thank me for meeting with him and told me he’d text me later this week. But we were still so far from what we were when we were at our best. And our “best” was never all that good to begin with. We had a long way to go. Maybe I was just happy we’d begun the journey.

“Oh, before I forget, do you wanna go play pool Saturday? Steph and Danielle wanna go. We can drink and make stupid bets.”

Thank God for Amanda’s ADD. If there was one thing she was good for, it was a random change in subject. “Sure, but I know better than to bet against you.”

***

Friday afternoon I got a text from Max: Wanna meet up tomorrow night? A buddy of mine’s in a band and he’s playing at a bar in the city tomorrow. Could use a little company.

Remembering my plans for the pool hall with Amanda, I wrote back: I might be able to go later. What time?

He doesn’t go on until 10:30 I think.

That could work. I can probably get there a little after that. Text me the address and the name of the place. As I put my phone back into my desk, I wondered if it was really wise to begin an ongoing relationship with Max, even if it was just a friendship. It was one thing to discuss his career prospects. It was another to hang out with him for the fun of it. Was I just rationalizing it by telling myself that he needed a good friend? Someone who could get him through the mess he'd made of things? But, more importantly, was I really the person to help him do that?

***

Saturday morning I occupied myself with CrossFit and a pedicure. I tried not to think about seeing Max, but my effort had the opposite effect. We had felt so comfortable last time we’d seen each other. Well, we had eventually. Things weren't comfy initially. But I could only imagine that things between us would only get easier, especially since the complication of sex had been removed from the equation. Because I sure as hell wasn’t going down that road again.

I got ready for the night early, quickly deciding on snug white pants that stopped just above my ankles, small heels, and a light green top. As always, Amanda was running late, still straightening her hair when I walked out of my room. She pulled herself away from the mirror to appraise my choice in attire.

“Who are you all dressed up for, Lil? We’re just goin’ to the pool hall.”

Shit. Had it been that obvious that I’d given more than my usual thought to my appearance? “Nobody,” I replied, hoping my quick response would cause her to drop it. “Can’t a girl just look nice?”

As her eyes moved down the length of my body, I was sure she didn’t believe me.“Nobody, my ass. You look hot.”

“Do I?” I asked with a quick spin. Despite the fact that my appearance caused Amanda to question my intentions, it felt good to know that she thought I looked nice. She wasn’t one to dish out serious compliments often.

“Yeah, you totally do. If I were a guy, I’d f*ck you.”