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Max:
I wish I had the answer. But I do know one thing.
Andi:
What’s that?
Max:
You got me. And I’ll be next to you the whole day. So if you need to leave a situation, give my hand a squeeze. If you need me to divert the conversation, give my butt a smack. And if you need to kiss me, for whatever reason, just lean up and plant one on me.
Andi:
A kiss? Butt smack? Really?
Max:
Hey, I’m just doing my part as the fake boyfriend.
Andi:
Best fake boyfriend ever. =)
Max:
Damn straight.
CHAPTER FOUR
MAX
I’ve always been a lover, not a fighter.
But I swear on my Meemaw’s grave and my original vinyl of Johnny Cash at Folsom Prison, I will knock Andi’s ex right the fuck out if he says one thing to her tonight. Because the cocky asshole has had it coming all day.
It started this morning when I dropped Andi off at the venue where the wedding and reception are taking place. I didn’t want us to have two cars tonight, so I volunteered to bring her down. Just our luck we got here at the same time as Fuckwad, who stared at us as I walked Andi inside. With my hand on the small of her back, of course.
Then at the wedding while everyone was looking at the bride, or the bride and groom, he was staring at me. Sometimes I stared back. Sometimes I gave a little wave. Sometimes I sent a look of murder. Whatever I was feeling in the moment.
Now, as I stand here at the bar during cocktail hour, I see him and some of the other groomsmen staring and pointing at me. Like this is fucking middle school or some shit.
Let them whisper. Let them talk. He has no idea who he’s dealing with.
As if on cue, the fucker starts making his way over to me. He has a snarky look on his face and a confidence in his stride that I try not to laugh at. He’s the definition of I-think-I’m-an-alpha-male energy. I should ask him what podcast he gets his audacity from.
“Max, isn’t it? The bartender that Andrea dragged me to some dive bar to see perform?” He says, extending his hand to me. “James Culver.”
I slam my hand into his, probably shaking it harder than he’s ever felt in his life. “It is.”
We stare at each other for a few seconds, each sizing the other up as we take a few steps away from the bar. This is the first chance I’ve really had to check him out, up and close and personal. He skipped the rehearsal last night—which set Andi at ease then, but it made today that much more stressful.
“I’m glad you came with her. She needed a friend,” he says, his voice failing to be sincere. “I’d hate for her to be alone when I was here with Cheyenne.”
“Oh, I’m more than a friend,” I say, my chest unintentionally puffing. “I’m her boyfriend.”
“You’re what?” he says, starting to laugh louder with each word. “You’re her…boyfriend?”
I take a step closer, mostly because it’s now time I remind him that I have a good seven inches on him height wise. “I am. Been together a few months now.”
