Chapter Text
After the events of last night—or this morning, I guess—my mind is a hazy mess. Chemistry as the first class of the day has been a total drag this entire year and being sleep deprived isn’t going to help. I don’t want to get up early after sleeping for three hours just to listen to some old dude drone on and on about science.
Not to say science is boring, but in relativity, it totally is. Compared to acting, it’s a total snooze.
You’d think the dangerous chemicals would make it more fun, but you’d be wrong. The teacher has a voice like nails on a chalkboard with less personality. To top it all off, we barely even get to play with fire, so it hella sucks.
The fluorescent lights overhead buzz quietly, trying to drag my mind back into the white room. I grit my teeth, trying not to look at them too closely. The only consolation I have is that the lights in the white room didn’t flicker like this. It doesn’t help much.
From my right, Max pokes me with the eraser end of her pencil and it takes all of the strength I have left not to snap at her. She’s just trying to cheer me up. Do not go postal on the poor girl, Amber. Just take a breath and mellow out. Max’s cheek is pressed into her notebook and her eyes are alight with a childish glee that I can’t help but appreciate. I stick my tongue out at her playfully, throwing a chunk of eraser at her. It bounces off her forehead and rolls onto the floor but the look on Max’s face is so worth the fucked-up eraser.
She’s hella cute.
I fiddle uselessly with what’s left of my pencil, since Max is supposed to be reviewing my chemistry notes for this year. All of them are meticulous, of course, but it would probably help if she was trying harder to read them than she was trying to keep me awake. Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I kinda just want to sleep at my desk.
“Now, today we’re going to be exploring states of matter—in particular, the transition from liquid to gas,” I want to give a shit, I really, really do, but he’s just not Bill Nye, you know? He’s hard to listen to and even harder to pay attention to.
I blame my lack of attention on sleep deprivation today. Even if Mr. Miller is a total drag, I usually have an easy time tuning him out and taking notes without really having to listen to him.
Sleeping next to Max did help, but sharing a bed with my new roomie doesn’t make up for the fact I only got a few hours of decent sleep.
“I’m going to be boiling this beaker of soda, boiling off the water and leaving the sugar.” I yawn tiredly, letting my head rest on my desk. Max frowns at me, but I just gesture back to my notes. I can survive a day of sleeping in class without losing any progress. It sounds like today’s just going to be a demo day, anyway, “Afterwards, your goal will be to isolate the sugar without decomposing it. This will require you to stay within a certain temperature range, which you can all figure out using your text books!”
The class mumbles to themselves as the experiment continues, plenty of annoyance coloring their tones. This is, like, the easiest experiment ever, so I just watch Max as she snaps a quick selfie, her smiling face immortalized with the click of a button. The camera buzzes, pushing out a picture that she glances at for a split-second before waving it gently, like it’s second nature to her. It probably is. The teacher glares at her and she smiles bashfully, sliding the photo into her camera bag.
Crack.
I lift my head off my desk before it even registers in my mind that something’s wrong. Alarm bells ring in my head as the sound of breaking glass takes over the sound of the burner’s hiss. I open my mouth to shout, but the beaker beats me to the punch.
Crack!
There's a moment before your own death that everyone says is when you relive your entire life, but all that's in my head is the instinctual desire to not die. My hands raise—too slowly. I duck—too slowly. A gleaming projectile sails toward my face, and the scream in my throat dies as a shard of glass pierces it.
Any minute now…
Any … minute .. .?
I cautiously open my eyes to a room frozen in time, a shard of glass hovering on my eyelashes. I can feel it brush against them as I blink, a single lash shaved away by a razor edge. I shove it away in panic and throw myself to the floor with a quiet yelp.
I look up, and it’s still hovering, twirling carelessly through the air.
Okay … pause. What the actual fuck?
A cursory sweep of the room shows me that there are glass shards hanging in the air like some horrifying constellation. The professor is stuck in place with molten sugar and boiling liquid flowing towards him, an expression of abject horror on his face. His button-up shirt is torn by immobile shards of glass and my classmates aren’t better off. Their faces are twisted in fear, eyes wide and mouths open. Some of them have cuts and scrapes over their faces, shards of glass shredding their skin like paper.
Fear plummets into my stomach like a cold stone, and I look over to Max, expecting her pretty, freckled face to be sliced open.
That’s why I’m so surprised to see her shaking violently, hand reached out as if to catch the looming explosion. She’s bleeding, but it isn’t from explosion. Her nose is dripping a thick stream of blood, running from her nostrils, staining her pale skin crimson and wetting her lips. Her mouth is parted, heavy breaths painting the desk red as blood splatters over the marbled surface. It’s macabre in the way an over-the-top horror movie is—and it’s happening to Maxine.
Ever so slowly, the world begins to reverse, the beaker reforming and the boiling liquid settling back inside. The sight of bubbles in reverse is bizarrely mesmerizing. The other students’ wounds heal, shards of glass being pulled from their skin, and the professor’s shirt seals itself shut. The shard of glass that was headed straight for me is the last piece to find its way back to where it came from, closing the beaker. The soda is no longer boiling, and the professor’s hand spins and rests on the burner valve in the off position.
What the fuck? No fucking way. My mind is racing, trying to solve the answer to this problem, but my mind is fucking blown. This isn’t normal, and all my charm and wit can’t tell me why the laws of physics are breaking. What the hell is happening, and how is Max doing it?
Time starts to move normally again and I waste no time, springing to my feet. I want answers. Now.
“Sir, may I take Max to the nurse?” I call out loudly. His hand falls away from the burner. I stumble over my words, feeling for all the world like I’m about to snap into pieces, “She has a nosebleed, and it's pretty bad. Also, that beaker has a crack in it!”
The instructor stares at me, completely lost until my words register in his mind and he looks at Max, whose fingers are stained a vibrant, sickening red that spreads to her collar and drips onto her desk.
“Yes, please take Miss Caulfield to the nurse,” he says, then looks down at the beaker. A microscopic chip in the base glints in the light, “and thank you for telling me about the beaker. Proper equipment is essential!”
He looks back to me but I’m nearly gone by the time I hear him call my name. I’ve already taken Max by the shoulder, guiding her out of the room as fast as she can go. I double back to snatch our bags from the floor. My stomach lurches at the coppery scent of blood on Max’s desk. There’s so much.
It spills over the edges of the desk, pooling in her seat. I run away before I can let myself dwell on the sight of Max’s blood spattering on my shoes. Something hot burns in my chest, a wildfire on my sternum.
I don’t get the chance to dwell on it—thick, dark blood stains the linoleum tiles, leading me to Max.
It’s not like I’m hemophobic or anything… but this? This is more blood than I’ve ever seen in my life. Through skating, surfing and any sort of childhood injuries, nothing even comes close.
That protective feeling I had for her in our dorm comes rushing back with a vengeance and all I can think about is keeping her safe.
The trail of crimson continues into the girl’s bathroom and I follow it inside at a sprint. “Max? Are you in here?”
I’m answered in tandem by both her voice and my own eyes as I turn the corner, “I’m here, Rachel.”
Max laughs nervously, the sound distorted from its usual pitch. Her nose is pinched between her thumb and forefinger, the residual blood slipping over her lips and into the sink. The porcelain basin is almost completely red, thick blood sticking to the edges.
“Holy shit, are you okay?” I ask, rushing to work. She’s a goddamn mess, her chin and chest soaked in blood. I practically rip the paper towel dispenser off the wall, gathering as much of the cheap paper as I can before soaking it in water.
“C’mere, Max.” I grab her blood-soaked chin before she can protest, wiping her face free of blood as best I can.
“I can—Rachel—ugh, okay.” Max gives up trying to bat my hands away within a few attempts, thankfully. I can hardly hear anything but blood rushing through my ears and this is helping. Quid pro quo. I help you, you help me.
Of course, a nightmare is a little bit different than suddenly revealing time travel powers but also, like, I can’t even be bothered to deal with that until Max isn’t a bloodstained mess.
“Oh, my God.” I mutter to myself. The feeling of wet blood sticking to my fingers makes me a little bit light-headed, but I just keep looking into Max’s deep blue eyes and telling myself to breathe.
“What was that?” I ask, after her face is rubbed clean. She’s no longer bleeding, but the pallor of her skin worries me a little bit. Okay, it worries me a lot actually.
“We should probably go to the nurse, now,” Max says. Her voice is nasally and a pitch higher than usual and it’s kind of adorable. Still, I’m not letting her off the hook that easy, no matter how adorable I think she is.
“Nuh-uh. You and me are skipping and we’re gonna talk about what just happened. Got it?”
Max shrinks in on herself, taking a finger between her teeth before I grab her hand and lace our fingers. She squeezes tightly and I let her try to center herself.
“It’ll be fine. We’re just gonna go back to the dorms and get something to eat, babe.” Babe? Babe ??? Rachel Amber you stop that this instant.
“No, we’ll get caught in the dorms.” Max groans tiredly. I bring my arms up under hers, cradling her head against my neck. “Security dude… walks a lot…”
Where else are we supposed to go, then?
The only other place I could possibly take Max right now is my house, but that’s such a far walk… but I don’t have food in our dorm and Max definitely needs an iron supplement ASAP.
Fuck. Fine, I guess we’re going on a field trip. My parents better not be home or we’re both royally fucked. Dragging a bloodstained girl into the house I barely see anymore is enough to get me sentenced to death—or grounding.
“Fine, I’ve got a place we can go.” I let go of Max, holding up a hand to keep her quiet, “But first, you need to drink a lot of water.”
While Max raids the water fountain for all it’s worth, I do inventory on myself and my sanity.
I run my hands over my face, checking for any glass-induced trauma, over the place where my throat should’ve been home to a two-inch borosilicate dagger but is inexplicably uninjured.
My clothes are all fine, containing no wear and tear that wasn’t there before, except for the nearly-invisible blood stains at the hem of my black-and-red sleeves.
That just leaves my sanity to check, and I don’t think I’m going to like those results much more than I did the physical.
Nothing is out of place, no indicators that my mind is slowly dissolving into a puddle of goop. I haven’t gained any sudden urges for cannibalism or murder and the walls don’t seem to be caving in.
Really, the only urge I have is to touch Max and I’d hate to diagnose myself bisexual twice. Coming out of the closet once is more than enough for me.
So, I guess I’m sane and alive, which means that yeah, it hella happened. Fucking time travel. And Max did it. She rewound time and saved everyone’s lives without them even knowing about it and all she got was a nosebleed?
What a shit deal.
But she doesn’t seem too upset about it, chugging away at the drinking fountain until she has to pull back to breathe. She’s such a mess; pink water dribbles down her chin, wetting her blood-soaked t-shirt.
I’ll just throw it in the laundry and hope my mom thinks I’m beginning to dress more conservatively.
Bloodstains not withstanding…
Whatever. Problem for future Rachel.
“Ready to go?” I ask, holding out my hand.
“I guess so…” Max twines our fingers together and I shiver at the feel of her. She’s freezing cold and clammy but I’m quickly warming her up. It feels like I’m sitting in a sauna, sweat beading at my collar.
With every step we take, Max seems to regain a little bit more energy. By the time we reach the front doors, I can hardly tell she’s lost enough blood to paint a wall.
We’re about two blocks down from Blackwell when Max finally asks, “Where are we going?”
“To my parents’ house,” I answer simply, taking in a deep breath as the wind blows past us. It smells of sea salt and rainstorms and things that don’t remind me of this hell-hole. It reminds me of home—of California.
If only it were a few degrees warmer, I could truly fool myself into thinking I was in Long Beach, but the chill in the air has Arcadia’s name written in the margins, impossible to ignore.
“Why are we going to your parents’?” Max asks, her brows furrowed. Her pretty blue eyes are full of confusion and I can’t help but enjoy that I can throw her for a loop. I just wish it were under better circumstances.
“Unless you have a stash of food you didn’t tell me about—” I give her a teasing grin that I don’t really feel, “my parents’ house should have something for you to eat. I can’t have my brand-new time machine tire out already, can I?”
“Very funny,” Max pouts, “I’ll be lucky if I can even do something like that ever again. I don’t even know what happened.”
“Well, unless we’re both losing our minds at the same time, I’m gonna guess time travel, a la Maxine.” I shrug, feeling strangely unconcerned about it. Max is okay. That’s all that matters right now. “So, how about we experiment with it? Really get a good idea what’s going on?”
“I don’t think this is a toy…” Max’s steps slow down as her hesitation makes itself known, “Who knows what it’ll do if I use it too much?”
“Well, then we’d just go back and ride some dinosaurs.” I deadpan. That earns me a crystalline glare I can’t help but laugh at. “I have no idea what’ll happen, Max. I don’t think there’s anything we can do but keep going forward—ironically. But I won’t push it.”
Not right now, at least.
Max hums thoughtfully as we pad down the sidewalk. Her hair twists and turns over itself in the gentle breeze. My fingers itch to tangle themselves in her silky hair, unsatisfied with just the coolness of her hand.
The walk home from Blackwell isn’t a short trip and it’s just another reason why I chose to live in the dorms.
I wonder what would’ve happened to Max if I still lived at home… would we meet still, in a run down coffee shop with chipping paint? Or at the Two Whales, where the juke box breaks constantly and the cracked vinyl seats bite at your skin?
Maybe we never would’ve met at all, simply passing each other in the hall without ever turning our heads.
The thought alone makes my heart ache, the sensation so unfamiliar I almost stumble. I rub my thumb across the back of Max’s hand, meeting her curious smile with one that’s just a little bit fragile.
Two days. No, less than two days and that’s all it takes for me to start crushing on my new roommate and crushing hard at that.
I haven’t felt this way about someone before, but I don’t think Max is just someone. Today just proves that fact.
Max isn’t just another girl in the crowd. She is the girl, the one with the power to turn back time and save lives while she does it.
And of course, I start having feelings for someone so lawful good, or maybe just neutral good. We did skip class, after all. That’s gonna bite us in the ass later, but right now I couldn’t care less. Maybe I can get Dana to cover for us?
Finally, we make it to the place I never wanted to return to; home. Or… just a house, now.
It doesn’t feel like home. Never has, never will.
“Welcome to North Arcadia, the land of rich white people, poorly-seasoned casserole and well-maintained lawns.” I hold out my arms dramatically, spinning away from Max so I can really set the mood. The time traveler laughs happily, watching as I gracefully leap up onto the curb.
“How could I possibly resist?” Max asks, teasingly sarcastic and disdainful. I like that look on her. She could use a little more of it.
The streets of North Arcadia are empty, but the driveways of each house end in a minimum of a three-car garage, each with their own brand-new car.
I hate this place, even more than the rest of Arcadia Bay. The coastal region of Arcadia Bay smells like desperation and poverty. They’re covered in salt and sweat and work their fingers to the bone for every penny.
And then there’s us, and people like us. It isn’t something I’ve thought about too much, but my mom gets to stay home all day and take care of the house and I’ve never once worried where my next meal is going to come from.
I know my family’s rich. It’s just easier to forget about it.
The ever-familiar urge to torch the entire neighborhood comes back in a rush, fire in my veins as I think just a little bit too hard about committing arson. It’s almost embarrassing to bring Max home to this. I don’t want her to think I’m just some rich girl who skates along on her daddy’s money like Victoria.
“Faaaancy.” Max oohs and aahs as we walk past my neighbor’s house. It’s a big, three story home with gabled roofing and a modern black-and-white color scheme that sucks the soul out of anything that gets too close to it. Looking in the window shows an equally depressing interior, cubic furniture and shining hardwood floors. If I didn’t see the guy get his mail when we moved in, I would’ve thought the house was empty. And then there we are: Casa de la Amber.
“House, bitter house.” I scowl up at my parents’ house, willing it to burn where it stands with nothing but spite.
Our house is modest in comparison to the rest of the neighborhood—my dad thought humble means would be better to appeal to voters.
I’m not sure what’s humble about stained glass windows, artisan woodwork, and a manicured lawn but what do I know? I’m just a kid.
Yeah, what the fuck ever.
It feels claustrophobic to come back to this house. It feels like a personal failure, like I’m admitting weakness by running back here.
You’re just here to feed Maxine and get her something to wear. It’s not like you’re moving back in.
I shake my head, grabbing Max’s hand and leading her up the pristine concrete walkway. The sign staked into the lawn that preaches honesty, integrity and loyalty is just begging for a coat of gold spray paint.
Now, let me tell you something important about me.
I’m an impulsive person. Rarely do I think ahead when I get an idea in my head, and this is no exception.
I did not consider the fact that my mom stays at home most days, which means…
Fuck.
My mom walks out the front door, car keys in hand and a smile on her face. I can feel my stomach drop to the ground, leaden and freezing. Fuck. We’re so hella screwed.
Think fast, Rachel!
I turn to Max, grabbing her shoulders. She’s still blood-soaked, looking just as freaked out as I feel. If my mom catches sight of me bringing home a girl covered in blood? We’re so hella fucked.
“Max, you have to rewind. I’ll distract her as long as I can so you can do it right, but we can’t be seen right now.” I squeeze her shoulders tightly, hoping against hope that the chemistry rewind wasn’t just a fluke.
“Rachel?” Show time. Buy Max time so we can take it back. “What are you doing here?”
My mom props her hand on her hip in a gesture that reminds me way too much of myself. I mirror her pose.
I don’t have to be clever or slick, I just need to buy Max—
And just like that, the world warps backwards, my mom uncocking her hip, reversing into the house and closing the door in front of her.
“That’s… so hella cool!”
Max smiles shakily, but she isn’t bleeding and she’s still on her feet. She looks more nervous than anemic and I’ll take that as a win for now.
“We gotta move, though. Like, now.” I say, grabbing Max’s hand in mine. Thank Dog—God—that Max lets me drag her around the side of the house before my mom opens the door again.
This time through, she doesn’t notice we’re there, peering at her around the corner of the house until she gets in her car and drives off.
“Super Max strikes again!”
“That was pretty cool,” Max agrees, just the slightest hint of smugness in her tone, “now if only I could time travel us into the house.”
I wave her off, grabbing a discarded 2x4 from beside the house. Never trust dad to finish anything involving manual labor. I prop it up against the roof below my window and give Max a grin.
“No need, Maxine. Watch this.”
It’s only through the grace of God and probably several other deities that I don’t totally eat shit running up the flat side of a 2x4 and don’t snap it in half with my shitty run-up.
I do a little curtsy once I’m on top of the roof, Max’s responding camera flash widening my smile. That’s going to be a hella cool shot.
“Take more later!” I call down to her, shuffling onto my hands and knees, “It’s your turn now!”
Immediately, Max backs away from the plank, shaking her head. On one hand, I can’t really blame her for being nervous. On the other, I’ll totally catch her if she falls. It’ll be fine!
“I’ll catch you, I promise!”
“You’d better!” Max grumbles, more to herself than to me as she prepares herself for the grueling climb of five feet at an incline. I reach out to her and smile reassuringly.
She grumbles again, but this time she runs towards the board and practically jumps into my arms as she reaches the top, sending the 2x4 clattering to the ground.
“I really hope nobody saw that.” Max worries at her lower lip and I’m struck speechless for a moment as I was her teeth sink into the softness of it.
Hella gay.
“Just rewind it, Max.” I shrug carelessly. Worst case scenario, we run from some cops. That might be a little bit too exciting for Maxine, though it’s totally up my alley.
The brunette hums for a moment before thrusting out her hand, the plank returning to the ground where I’d taken it from and nobody the wiser.
“That’s so cool…” there are so many things we could do with a power like this. Max is, like, a baby god!
“Can I get changed before we get ourselves into trouble, please?” Max asks quietly, pulling on my shirt sleeve. The sticky crust of blood on it makes me grimace. She’s got a point, and I’m hella done with wearing bloody clothes—I can’t even imagine being Max right now.
“Of course, Maxie.” I agree, honey-sweet.
It’s easy work to pry open my window. I never locked it when I lived here and never locked it when I left. It made sneaking out so much easier, especially without the screen.
I—being the chivalrous lady that I am—help Max through the window and totally don’t take pleasure in the fact she practically falls into my arms after tripping over her own feet.
And I also don’t look down at her pretty blushing face and want to kiss those soft, worry-bitten lips.
That would be hella crazy.
“Rachel?” Max’s voice is soft, rolling over me like a warm blanket.
Okay, maybe not that crazy.
“C’mon. Let’s get you changed and fed, babe.”
And there it is again. I can feel my own cheeks warming as Max’s eyes widen at the pet name. I’m slipping, dude. This is not the Rachel Amber that Blackwell gets to see, I can promise you that.
This is the Rachel only Max has seen in the darkness of our dorm, late at night. The girl who clutches at her in the bare bones of an empty room, hidden away from the world.
Just for you.
“Stay here. I think I’ve got some clothes left here.” There’s gotta be at least one or two things I keep here for storage and to wear after staying the night. I took all of my favorites to Blackwell, though so putting together an outfit might be a challenge.
Oh well, I love me a good challenge.
I open up the closet of my empty room and sigh. Not much to work with in here, but I can make it work just fine.
I hum to myself, nibbling at my index finger as I lose myself in thought.
A deep red skirt hangs inside the closet, maybe a few inches shorter than knee-length. It’s made of a nice velvety material that would go hella good with my left-over black top with lacey sleeves. Maybe a little dark for Max’s usual style—and mine, honestly—but it would look killer on the adorable time traveler.
Why does it feel like I’m signing my life away when I’m just picking out clothes?
“Buckle up, Maxie!” I chirp brightly, holding out the clothes to her. “You get changed, I’ll get started on the food. Just bring your dirty clothes down with you, okay?”
Max looks down at the clothes, then up at me. She does it again, and again, and again.
“Are you sure?” Maxine asks, voice small and scared. Scared? Oh, hell no. None of that.
“Hella sure. I might just keep you all to myself once I get you in my clothes.” The words rumble out of my throat, lower than anticipated, flirtatious and promising.
Max stares at me for a long moment before my words hit home and light her ablaze. I watch closely as her blush crawls from beneath her collar, over the edge of her jaw and all the way to her freckled cheeks. I might just break the poor girl before I even figure out what to do with her.
Kiss her, you idiot! My mind screams at me.
“Haha, very funny.” Max rolls her eyes. She’s trying to be cool, but her blush definitely doesn’t help her case.
“Who’s joking?” I shoot back just as I close the door behind me. Max’s frustrated groan is music to my ears.
As I walk down the stairs, I’m hit by an uncomfortable wave of nostalgia. Of course the house hasn’t changed since I’ve been here last. That would be ridiculous, but this is the first time in a long time I’ve come down the stairs smiling.
And I can’t even remember if it was in this house or the old one.
I miss our modest little home in Long Beach. Two bedrooms, one bathroom and just enough space to pretend we could have guests over. It was so much better than all this grandiose bullshit.
“Whatever.” I hiss to the empty living room, glaring daggers at the myriad family pictures lining the fire place, the awards pinned to the walls. Everything here feels suffocating and I can’t wait for the day I leave it all behind.
For now? Food.
I get to work in the kitchen, making us a breakfast slightly more-substantial than half-a-muffin each. Believe it or not, I’m actually not the worst cook in the Amber family. That dubious honor goes to my dad, who could burn water and fry ice—and neither of which made mom very happy, let me tell you.
Scrambled eggs with tomatoes and vegetables? Much, much easier to manage. I move quickly through the kitchen, slicing up the peppers and tomatoes with ease. The eggs sizzle quietly in the pan and I scramble them with the flat of a rubber spatula as I add the fixings and some actual seasoning—let it never be said that Rachel Amber has poor taste.
I’m just finishing plating up our breakfast and pouring out some apple juice when I hear footsteps on the stairs, hesitant and stilted. I set down the plates and lean up against the granite countertop, cupping my face in my hands. I can barely wait.
“Come on, Maxine!” I call out, “Let me see!”
Max takes the plunge, hurriedly stepping down the last few stairs and I wish for a moment that she’d taken her time.
She looks devastating.
I was right. I totally signed my life away.
She’s tied her hair up in a messy ponytail, brunette locks curling around her jaw. Her face is devoid of any trace of blood, her freckles popping against her pale skin and soft cheekbones, brilliant blue eyes looking at me nervously.
I haven’t even gotten to her outfit and I already feel like I’m going to faint.
I should dress Max in my clothes more often. With her slim arms covered in delicate lace patterns, her long legs accentuated by the snug fit of the velvet skirt, her usual nervous posture somehow puts the look together, giving her a beautifully gothic vibe that has my mouth watering, and it has nothing to do with the food.
Holy shit.
“Is that a good reaction?”
I must’ve spoken my thoughts out loud. I feel light-headed and giddy just looking at her.
Max makes her way to the kitchen, steps hesitant and deliberate. I can’t tear my eyes away from her the entire time, trying to make the impossible choice between her legs, her waist, or her face before I eventually just decide to cup my face in my hands and groan.
“Max, I’m supposed to want to eat the food, not you.” I say, muffled by my palms. It doesn’t stop her from hearing it, or squeaking in embarrassed delight. I peer between my fingers and groan again. I’m so fucked. Absolutely fucked.
This was supposed to just be fun—I just wanted a friend. My heart wants more—oh, God, does it want more.
“Come here and eat before I lose my mind, please?” It sounds hella pathetic to say, but if she doesn’t have at least three feet of stone between us I cannot be held liable for what I confess.
“Thanks, Rachel.” Max says softly. There’s the slightest brush against my cheek, the scent of camera film filling up my senses before she pulls away. I can feel the faintest hint of chap stick clinging to my cheek. I summon what willpower I have left, taking a deep, calming breath before taking a seat beside Max at the island.
We eat in relative silence, save for Max’s quiet noises of enjoyment. I find myself staring at her, a habit I’m just now noticing beginning to develop. Even as I eat, I barely notice that I’m scraping the bottom of my plate before long. Maxine shoots me a glance as she drinks her juice, looking so damned amused that I can’t help but want to kiss the look off her face. She purses her lips as a drop of juice escapes from between her mouth and the glass.
Yeah, that one.
She turns to me and our knees touch.
“Max?” my voice is hoarse, almost desperate. She raises a brow curiously, only to freeze as her eyes meet mine. I don’t know what expression I’m making, but if Max’s face is any indicator, it’s telling.
“Rachel…”
“I really want to kiss you.” The words fall out of my mouth like a landslide, impossible to take back. I can see the words hit her like a physical force, the brightness of her irises quickly swallowed by her pupils. She swallows thickly, looking down at my lips, then back at my face. I can feel the fire in my chest reignite, blistering beneath my skin.
“Me?”
Of course, you, Max. I haven’t felt anything like this before. I’ve felt desire plenty of times before, but this? This can’t be summarized with one word. I don’t even think an entire book could sum up what I feel at this moment but, maybe—just maybe—a kiss could be the introduction.
I’m not so stupid to fight this feeling. I know exactly what it is, but I’m too scared to put a name to it. This is the bravest I can be. I place my hand on the bare skin of her knee, looking up at her, silk-soft and pleading.
“You.”
Max brings her hand up to my face, letting her fingers roam over my cheek, her thumb brushing sweetly over my lips. I can hardly breathe as she leans closer to me. Her breath is hot against my lips, her eyes dark with want.
“Okay.”
Her lips press to mine, sugar-sweet and softer than anything.
It feels like home, it feels like flying.
It feels like finally.