Page 40 of WASP

Annie’s smile grew. She fucking loved waffles, and the thought of Max making them—that only added to her excitement.

Annie 9:56 AM

How would you rate your waffle-making skills…deciding if it’s worth the drive across town ;)

Max 9:57 AM

Hard to put on a scale. You coming or not, Dillinger?

Annie’s cheeks heated at the sound of Max’s voice in her head forming each syllable of her surname.

Annie 9:57 AM

Be there in twenty :)

She got dressed in record speed, quickly sliding into her favorite pair of jeans and a mauve sweater she knew brought out the natural blush in her cheeks. She thundered down the back steps, hopping the last step into the kitchen where her parents were eating breakfast at the counter, the New York Times spread open to the right of her dad, and the latest copy of Better Homes and Gardens magazine in her mother’s hands.

“Where are you off to? No breakfast?” her mother asked, eyes fixed on the glossy pages of the magazine.

Annie stepped into the mudroom, reaching for her boots, the cute lace-up brown ones that gave her a little extra height. “I’m heading over to Max’s for breakfast,” she called over her shoulder.

“Who’s Max?” her dad asked.

“Why?” her mother followed.

Annie pulled hard on the final knot, stepping back into the kitchen to grab her keys from the basket resting on top of the weird built-in desk no one had ever used for its intended purpose.

“Because she invited me?” Annie offered, annoyed that her parents were partaking in their usual ritual of asking her one thousand questions anytime she left the house.

Her mother looked up at her over the rim of her reading glasses. “You’ll be back in time for our nail appointment? It’s at four thirty. That was the earliest Avery could do.”

“Yeah.” Annie shoved her arm into her jacket. “I don’t think breakfast is going to take five and a half hours,” she said sarcastically.

Her mothers voice dripped with annoyance as she asked, “When will you be home?”

Annie couldn’t help the snark that snaked its way into her words. “Sometime after breakfast but before the nail appointment.”

Her mother rolled her eyes in exactly the same way that all of the Dillinger children had inherited. “God forbid your mother ask some clarifying questions, Annie.”

“Any more? Or am I free to go?” She placed a hand on her cocked hip, petulance surging through her in a way that only being around her family could bring out. Heat rose inside her, drowning out her ability to tolerate her mother’s questions, a skill that had dwindled with each passing month Annie remained living with them.

“No more questions,” her mother muttered.

“Have fun,” her dad called as Annie reached for the door leading to the garage.

She made the short drive across town, arriving at the old house perched at the top of the hill. Once again, she parked on the street, heeding Max’s warning about the driveway being a death trap in winter. Annie touched up her makeup in the rearview mirror, making sure every wisp of hair was expertly slicked back into her low ponytail.

As she climbed the flagstone steps leading to the porch, Annie couldn’t help the way her heart rate increased at the thought of seeing Max, and she knew exactly why.

It wasn’t a secret to them that they liked each other. But Annie was still healing, still on that timeline Max had given her that night at the country club, and she still had one month to go.

She was about to climb the stairs to the entrance of Max’s second-story apartment when the door in front of her opened up and Max popped out.

“Hi!” she said, an excited smile firmly in place. “We’re in Lynn’s apartment. She’s got a bigger kitchen than I do.” Max stepped out onto the porch, and for a moment Annie completely forgot to control her gaze, letting it run the length of her long, lean legs in the tightest spandex shorts she had ever seen. She gulped, her eyes meeting Max’s, who only grinned. “Come on in.” Max held the door open for Annie, the fabric of her black oversized hoodie shifting with her movements.

Once inside, Annie removed her boots and her coat. “Cute sweater. That color looks really good on you,” Max said, gesturing for Annie to follow her down the front hall into the open kitchen-dining area. Annie’s cheeks burned with the heat of her compliment and the success of her sweater choice.

Lynn was seated at the dining room table, a tray of miniature items in front of her. Glasses low on her nose as she glanced up.