Page 82 of Happily Never After


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The man lookedverygood.

I wasn’t sad when he texted that morning to see if I wanted to meet up to get more pictures for social media. Spending time with Max was my new favorite thing, and if it helped his career and mine, I considered it a win-win.

“How do you know about this place? Do you take all your lady friends out for paddleboating?” I locked my car and we started walking toward the marina building. “Or is it pedal?”

“I think it’s referred to aspaddleboating,but you have topedal, so I’m kind of at a loss.”

“Same.” I glanced over at him. “Should I have changed? How intensive is the pedal situation?”

I was still in the black sheath and polka-dot wedges I’d worn to work. We’d agreed to meet at six thirty, so I’d come straight from the office.

“I’m glad you didn’t change, I like that dress,” he said, andeven though I couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, I could feel them on me. “And you’ll be fine. We’re here for photos, not speed records.”

“True.” I could smell his cologne, and memories of his hotel room flashed through my mind as I attempted tonotspontaneously combust while we approached the marina. “So your dad is really buying the boat?”

“He said he made an offer.” Max put his hand on my lower back as we walked through the arch that led to where the boats were tied up, and the heat of his fingers messed with my head. My brain wanted to linger and remember all the places those fingers had touched, but I snapped back into focus when he said, “I seriously can’t believe our plan is working, Steinbeck.”

“Me, either,” I said, squinting in the evening sun, wishing I’d brought my sunglasses. It was a warm evening, still in the eighties, and the sun was bright on the water.

He pulled tickets out of his pocket and gave them to the scrawny kid with the Mohawk manning the boats (his name tag saiddewey), who looked at me and asked, “Do you want a pink one?”

I heard Max’s snort, which made me reply, “No, but maybe this guy does.”

“I would love a pink one, thank you,” Max said, his mouth sliding easily into a smile.

Damn, but he has a great smile.

“Would you mind taking a picture of us?” I asked Dewey.

Max turned to me and said, “Can I pick you up?”

“What?”

“Fireman’s hold would be funny, don’t you think?” He looked so into the idea that his face had transformed itself into an expression a six-year-old would wear upon seeing a unicorn. “It’ll look like I’m throwing you into the boat.”

“But you’re not a fireman.”

“I think he just means when a guy throws a girl over hisshoulder,” Dewey explained to me as if I were a moron. Apparently Dewey didn’t understand sarcasm, at least not from me, because he said slowly, “It’s called a fireman’s hold.”

I could tell Max was trying hard not to laugh. “Duh, Sophie.”

I shrugged and said, “Fine. Toss me over your shoulder, Parks.”

“Attagirl.” Max lowered his torso and then boom—just like that, I was dangling over his shoulder like I weighed nothing. The kid took a picture of Max with my ass in his face, and when he set me down and we looked at his phone, neither one of us could hold in our cackles.

Because Max was grinning from ear to ear like an obnoxious woman-hauling caveman, and I was making a face like he was absolutely annoying but I secretly loved it. Something about the shot was sous, as if we were anus, that I kind of wanted to print it off and put it in a frame.

“You look like a jackass in that picture,” I teased as I put my keys and phone into my pockets so they didn’t end up in the bottom of the murky pond.

“And you look like you’re being abducted by a jackass,” he agreed, putting his phone away. “I might just have to frame it and hang it in my office.”

“You would.”

When we got in the paddleboat and started pedaling, we took a few selfies. They were flirty and cute, exactly the friends-but-is-it-more vibe we wanted for social media. But then we each proceeded to forget all about the reason behind the visit because he said one very stupid thing.

“Thank God I don’t skip leg day, because you are really a slack-ass copilot, Steinbeck.”

I don’t consider myselfobsessivelycompetitive, but I’m self-aware enough to know that Idohave a few issues regarding members of the male species when they behave as if they’re stronger/faster/smarter than me.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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