I wiggled into an upright position, fully intending to break away from our passionate embrace. But the pressure of my ass pressing into Maxx’s crotch erased my second-guessing.

Maxx moaned again, this time a little louder. I glanced around, worried about the show we were putting on. So far so good, no one was paying us any mind.

I could feel his erection straining under his jeans, and it twisted up my insides. Maxx wrapped his arm around my back and maneuvered me so that I was kneeling, straddling him in the tiny seat, my skirt hiked up over my hips. His hand pressed into my lower back, pushing me against him. His mouth kissed a line up the column of my throat, his tongue flicking against my skin.

“Fuck, you’re perfect. So f**king perfect,” he murmured as his mouth took hold of mine again.

I ground against the firm ridge inside his jeans, needing some sort of relief from the ache between my legs. We made out and touched for the rest of the movie, but we kept it strictly PG-13. It had both awakened and frustrated me.

We barely noticed when the movie was over and the lights came back on. “Get a room,” someone muttered, tossing a handful of popcorn in our direction.

Maxx and I broke away, and I let out a strained laugh. His mouth was swollen, and I’m sure my face was red and raw from his stubble, but it had been worth it. That had been the most potent make-out session I had ever had.

I slithered off his lap and stood up on very wobbly legs, straightening my skirt. Maxx took my hand and led me out of the theater. We didn’t look at each other, and I wasn’t sure if it was out of embarrassment or an overload of lust.

We stepped out into the cool night air, and I wished I could think of something to say, something to make this moment last or perhaps make it go away. Maxx confused me. He confounded me. He made me question absolutely everything.

Maxx stopped abruptly and turned around to face me. He gripped my shoulders and brought his mouth down to mine. He kissed me thoroughly before letting me come up for air.

“Thank you,” he said against my lips.

“For what?” I asked shakily.

Maxx smiled against my mouth and didn’t answer. Then he backed away, holding on to my hands until they were outstretched between us. Slowly he released my fingers.

“Good night, Aubrey,” he murmured, pulling his paint-stained hoodie up over his head and turning away.

“Hope is the thing with feathers—that perches in the soul—and sings the tune without the words—and never stops—at all,” Maxx said, his words drifting back to me in the cold, night air.

Why had he just quoted Emily Dickinson?

I stood there, flabbergasted, watching him walk down the sidewalk.

Chapter thirteen

aubrey

for ten minutes I stood outside the movie theater wondering what had just happened. The childishly insecure part of me felt completely and totally rejected.

One minute Maxx had been kissing me; the next he was leaving me alone.

What. The. Hell?

If I was hoping to solve some of the mysteries of Maxx Demelo tonight, I was sadly disappointed.

I touched my lips gently with my fingers. My mouth was still bruised and tender, and the cold air stung my sensitive cheeks, rubbed raw by Maxx’s scruff. My body was strung tight, my heart felt abused and thrown away, and my head was yelling at me for being such a colossal idiot.

I pulled my phone out of my purse and checked the time. It was only ten o’clock. What kind of guy left the girl he’d been mauling for the last hour without a word? Without an explanation? And without offering to walk her home?

After my shock had worn off, it was quickly replaced with irritation and something akin to rip-his-balls-off rage.

I didn’t like being played. I didn’t take kindly to being made to look like a jackass. Well, f**k Maxx and all of his kissing awesomeness.

My phone rang, and I looked down to see Brooks’s name on the screen.

Crap, I had totally forgotten about our plans.

“Brooks, hey!” I said, walking back in the direction of my apartment.

“Where are you?” he asked, sounding annoyed.

“Uh . . . well . . .” My words trailed off.

“Uh . . . well? That doesn’t explain much, Aubrey. I’m at your apartment, but guess who’s not here? That would be you. Are you bailing on me?” he asked shortly.

“I’m coming. I just had to run out for a bit. Is Renee still there?” I asked, not wanting to admit where I had been. I was embarrassed, and I felt used.

“Nobody’s here. I’m standing in the hallway like a dumb-ass. Your crazy cat-lady neighbor keeps peeking at me through the door. She’s freaking me out,” he said, dropping his voice into an exaggerated whisper.

I chuckled, though it was a weak impersonation of my normal laugh. “Hang tight, I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I promised and then hung up.

When I got back to my apartment, Brooks was sitting on the floor outside my door, texting someone. Looking at him, I couldn’t understand why he didn’t date. He was a good-looking guy who could be doing a lot more with his Saturday night than hanging out with a girl who would never put out for him again.

I wondered, not for the first time, why he limited his social life to hanging out with me. I really hoped the reason wasn’t something akin to residual feelings that could never be reciprocated.

“You’re finally here! My ass was going numb,” Brooks grumbled, getting to his feet as I unlocked the door. I turned on the light and about flipped my shit.