Until April (Until Her/Him #10)(39)

“He was once a teenage boy,” Malo says from behind us, and I twist around so I can roll my eyes at him. “What? It’s true.” He pulls out one of the stools at the table in the kitchen area and starts looking through the stack of boxes and mail.

“For once, he’s not wrong,” Maxim says, and I start to look up at him and smile but jump when Malo yells, “Yes, they finally came!”

“Fuck me,” Maxim mutters when Malo pulls out a pair of what looks like black yoga leggings from a large envelope.

“I would like you both to feast your eyes on the first ever pair of Panic Pants.” He holds them up with a wide, proud smile on his face.

“Panic Pants?” I repeat, sure that I’m missing something.

“Yes, Panic Pants.” He looks down at them, wraps his finger through a red plastic loop, then tugs.

“What is that?” I cover my ears when a blaring, screeching noise fills the room.

“Panic Pants.” He grins.

“Jesus, turn them off,” Maxim orders over the annoying sound.

“All right, all right.” He fiddles with the pants for a few seconds before the sound thankfully comes to an end.

“What exactly are they for?” I ask, stepping toward him.

“For anyone who works out alone outdoors.” He looks from the pants to me. “Don’t look at me like I’m crazy.” He carefully folds them up as he continues speaking. “Let’s say you’re running in the woods and some dude comes out of nowhere to attack you. All you do is pull the cord, and bam!” he shouts, pretending to pull an imaginary cord. “Just like that, you’ve startled them, and either they will run off or give you some time to get away. And I haven’t tested it, but I’m thinking that if you run into a bear or something, you could pull it, and it might startle them into leaving you alone.”

“That’s—” I try to think of the right word, because I’m both a mixture of surprised by how smart the idea is and doubtful that there is an actual market for something like Panic Pants. “—cool.”

“Right, and now that I have the first official pair, I can finally get my page set up and running on social media and submit these babies to the millionaires on Shark Tank.” He looks at his brother. “Mom is going to love this.”

“That’s doubtful,” Maxim mumbles just loud enough for me to hear, and I barely avoid smacking him in the chest for not being supportive of his brother, who is obviously proud of his invention.

“Well, I’m honored that I got to see them first. I hope they’re a hit.”

“I knew I liked you.” He smiles at me, then looks at Maxim. “Since you’re here, are you okay with me taking off for a bit?”

“Go for it.”

“Cool.” He looks at me. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to knock when I come back, just in case you’re both naked.”

“Thanks,” I say sarcastically.

“Anytime.” He picks up a set of keys and tucks his package under his arm before heading out the door, closing it behind himself.

“You know, you could be a little more supportive of your brother.”

“Babe, every week, he’s coming up with something new that he’s sure is going to make him rich. This week, it’s Panic Pants, and last week, it was Weight Shoes so you don’t have to do leg day at the gym—his words, not mine.” He shakes his head. “Our parents gave each of us kids a good chunk of money when we graduated college, and where I used mine to open a business and Melanie used hers to buy a house and pay for more school, he’s blown all his on stupid shit and is now trying to get it back by doing more stupid shit.”

“I get what you’re saying, but then again, who are you to say that Panic Pants or Weight Shoes won’t take off? I mean, I doubt that anyone really thought the paperclip or sticky notes were genius ideas, and yet they’ve both probably sold billions of dollars’ worth each.” I go to the couch and kick off my shoes before taking a seat, finding it just as comfortable as I thought it would be.

“You sound like my mom.”

“She is obviously smart.” I lift one shoulder, then add, “Besides, he’s not hurting anyone or out selling drugs, so what does it matter to you what he does with his time or his money?” I look up at him when he doesn’t say anything and find him watching me with a warm look in his eyes. A look I swear I can feel seep into each and every cell of my body. A look I’ve seen on my dad’s face when he looks at my mom. An identical one I catch from time to time on my sisters’ and cousins’ husbands’ faces when they look at them.

“You’re right.” He starts to step toward me but stops when the phone on his desk rings. “I’m here to work.”

“That you are.” I tuck my feet underneath me, and his eyes roam over me from the top of my head to my black-painted toes before he closes the distance between us, wraps his hand around the back of my neck, and angles my head just like he wants it before he kisses me. The kiss isn’t deep or wet, but it is hard and filled with an emotion I can’t put my finger on.

When he pulls away, he touches his lips to my forehead, then mutters, “I’ll give you a tour of the club once Malo gets back.”

“Sounds good,” I agree, and he lets me go with a smile, then heads to his desk.