Lead Me Not

chapter twelve

aubrey

maxx had invaded my thoughts, whether I wanted him there or not. I kept replaying our conversations over and over again in my head. I berated myself for the ease with which I had spoken to him. I internally raged against my willingness to share pieces of myself that I had purposefully kept hidden. Most of all, I was puzzled by my uncharacteristic reaction toward someone I didn’t know, didn’t trust¸ didn’t want privy to the secrets inside me.

So why hadn’t I been stronger? Why had I exposed a vulnerability that I had thought I’d lost?

One thing was for sure: I had to learn from my mistakes and remember exactly who Maxx was, and who I was supposed to be.

Regardless of his beautiful blue eyes and sexy smile.

And I would definitely ignore the illogical desire to see him again.

Even if I was mesmerized by the man who had snuck his younger brother into the commons so he could eat. Even if I was strangely fixated on the person who had plucked a flower out of the cold January ground and given it to me with a smile on his face. And I was entirely too preoccupied with the boy who had shared how scared he was that he would lose himself to the addiction that controlled him.

The obnoxious need to fix him was there. I could feel it. It sat just beneath my staunch resolve, waiting for me to acknowledge that I wanted to be the one to bundle him up and take care of him.

Maxx was right. I had a major savior complex.

It was Saturday evening, and I had agreed to go back to Compulsion with Brooks. I hadn’t seen him much in the days following the disastrous support group. He had brought me soup and a movie, just as promised, but for the first time I had felt a strange undercurrent between us.

He had been off. There was no other word for it. When I had asked him what was wrong, he had said, “Nothing.” Which was code for Something’s bugging me, but I’m going to be annoyingly evasive about it just to drive you nuts.

I hadn’t pressed him. I wasn’t in the mood to play let’s figure out what’s crawled up Brooks Hamlin’s ass. If he wanted to talk about it, he would.

I knew that he was busy preparing for midterms and was stressed waiting to hear from the grad schools he’d applied to. He had told me enough times that his course load was tough. I had to believe that was the cause for his strange mood.

So why was I being paranoid that it had to do with something else entirely?

This concern, on top of my inexplicable feelings toward Maxx, had me feeling close to a postal meltdown. So I was beyond relieved when Brooks called and made the suggestion that we go back to Compulsion. He had been normal enough, and I had been able to persuade myself that I had been imagining everything.

Renee and I were still engaged in a tentative peace. We had even watched some cheesy sci-fi movie the other night before bed. We had made a silent agreement to avoid the subject of Devon. Doing so alleviated a lot of the tension that had established itself between us over the past six months.

It was only six-thirty. Brooks wouldn’t be coming to get me until ten. I had hours to kill. Renee was out on the couch, studying for her midterms. I had straightened and re-straightened my room a good half-dozen times. I had picked out my outfit for the night, and my reading for my courses was up-to-date. I found myself bored, and that was unusual. I didn’t get bored. I usually kept myself so busy, boredom wasn’t an option. Not knowing what else to do, I joined Renee in the living room.

A muted image of the Shopping Network flickered in the background, and Led Zeppelin played on the stereo. I flopped down on the couch and picked up the remote.

Renee glanced up, giving me a distracted smile before returning to her studying. It was nice seeing her focused on something that wasn’t he who shall not be named.

And then, as if the very thought of him summoned his presence, the doorbell chimed. “You expecting company?” I asked Renee, who shook her head. I got to my feet and started to cross the room to answer the door when it swung open.

Devon sauntered into the room, his hands holding plastic grocery bags filled with beer; two of his skeevy buddies trailed behind him. Devon didn’t bother to acknowledge me as he walked into my apartment and dumped the bags on my coffee table. His friends ground mud into the carpet as they walked into the room.

Devon snatched Renee’s textbook out of her hands and tossed it behind the couch. “It’s way past study time, baby,” he announced, flopping down on the couch beside her and propping his feet on the table, not even bothering to take off his shoes.

His friends, neither of whom looked as though they had bothered with a shower that day, grabbed stools from the island and brought them into the living room. Each guy pulled out a bottle of beer and popped the top, tossing the discarded caps onto the table.

Renee looked flustered and not in the least bit happy to see her boyfriend. But of course she didn’t say anything. She let him take over her space, dictate her time, and decide what she would be doing with her Saturday evening.

I stood there, my mouth slightly agape, hardly able to believe the size of the balls this dude had—balls I’d be more than happy to remove with a butter knife.

“Get your feet off the table,” I told him, my voice low. Devon barely looked in my direction. At one time I may have understood why Renee turned herself inside out over him. He was good looking in an I-try-really-hard-to-look-this-badass way. But I knew that his attitude, his entire persona, was about as fake as the leather of his jacket.

And despite the image he seemed to try to project, I was becoming all too aware of the person he really was beneath the surface.

Devon Keeton was the type of guy who needed to treat his girlfriend like shit because his dick was ten sizes too small. He was the guy who’d wet his pants if confronted by someone bigger than him but would then turn around and kick a dog, just because he could.

I watched as Devon continued to take over the apartment, his friends opening bags of chips and dumping crumbs on the floor. Renee seemed to shrink in on herself, her eyes becoming hollow.

Maybe it was the sight of my friend losing a part of herself that had me ready to explode. Or maybe it was watching Devon and his friends disrespect our home. Or perhaps it was the increasing amount of food debris collecting on my spotless floors.

Whatever it was, it flipped a switch inside me, and I knew if I stayed there a moment longer, I wouldn’t be able to stay silent. I wouldn’t be able to mutely watch my best friend be bulldozed by her jerk of a boyfriend.

I looked over at Renee, her eyes staring straight ahead. I felt angry and sad and a deep, gut-wrenching disappointment at her inability to stand up for herself.

I couldn’t stomach being there anymore. I grabbed my coat and purse and slammed out of the apartment, the sound of Devon’s and his friends’ laughter ringing in my ears.

I walked out into the cold winter air and wished I’d remembered to bring my gloves, which I’d left behind in my haste to leave. I shoved my hands into my pockets and hunched my shoulders up to try to shield myself from the wind.

It was already dark, and I wished I were back home, snuggled up in bed instead of outside in the freezing cold, pissed off. This was hibernation weather, and right now that didn’t seem like such a bad idea. Between my less-than-professional feelings for Maxx and the fucked-up dynamic between myself and my best friend, the thought of sleeping for a few months sounded extremely appealing.

I found myself walking back toward campus, having no other destination in mind and no other friends to call.

I suppose I could blame Jayme’s death for my reluctance to reach out and make new friends, except for Renee and Brooks. Losing her had been traumatic in the worst way possible. But the honest truth was I had never been the sort of person to seek friends. I had a few people I hung out with in high school, but they were the type of friends it had been easy to lose touch with after I had moved away.

Sheesh, this amount of personal reflection was giving me a headache.

“Whoever pissed in your cornflakes had better watch out,” a voice called from behind me. I hadn’t realized I was already on campus. I was on the sidewalk just behind the library.

As the figure came out of the shadows, I was hit by a déjà vu so strong it had me taking a step back. The wide shoulders, the unrecognizable face. My mind immediately jumped to the guy from Compulsion.

But this wasn’t a stranger.

Maxx’s swagger was as confident as ever, his smirk firmly in place. He wore an old gray hoodie splattered with paint. His movements were sluggish, and I wondered if he was on something. I hoped not, for his sake. That would land him in the violating-his-probation kind of trouble.

“Did you take a dip in a bucket of paint?” I asked sharply, unable to alter the nasty tone in my voice.

Maxx looked down at his hoodie and shrugged. “Community-service stuff,” he explained, and I felt like a bit of an asshole.

“Why so angry, Aubrey? You look ready to kill someone,” Maxx observed, leaning against the lamppost, hands in his pockets, looking blasé.

“If you’re just going to vomit up more crappy come-ons, please find another girl who’s more receptive to your witty personality. I’m honestly not in the mood to fend off your pickup lines,” I responded peevishly.

Maxx looked taken aback. He blinked a few times, opening and closing his mouth as though he were trying to think of something to say. I tried to suppress the grin that threatened to give me away.

“What? Nothing to say?” I asked, lobbing my own sarcastic teasing.

Maxx chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. His smirk transformed into a genuine smile. It lit up his face and took my breath away.

“You wanna hang out?” he asked. It was obvious he hadn’t planned on asking me that, and somehow the spontaneity of the offer made it extremely appealing.

“I don’t know if that would be appropriate,” I stated, trying to regain some common sense, something I was sorely lacking when it came to Maxx Demelo.

Maxx snorted. “What’s inappropriate about it? We’re not in group right now. You’re a student. I’m a student. We’re just two students wanting to hang out. What’s the harm?” he asked innocently.

Innocent, my ass.

I cocked my eyebrow at him and leveled him with my best who-the-hell-are-you-kidding look. Maxx bit on his bottom lip to keep from laughing. His blue eyes, while red-rimmed and tired, sparkled with excitement.

I couldn’t deny that I wanted to spend time with him, that I was intrigued by him. And for some crazy reason, my internal warning bells weren’t screaming as loudly as they normally did.

“Come on.” Maxx inclined his head in the direction of the sidewalk, lighting up a cigarette as he went.

Fresh out of arguments and more than a little tired of creating them, I fell into step beside him, waving smoke out of my face.

“Do you have to smoke? Some of us have a good relationship with our lungs,” I snipped.

Maxx took a last drag and dropped it on the ground. “No smoking. Got it,” he said, surprisingly seriously.

“So you’re not going to tell me why you’re in such a shitty mood?” Maxx asked as we walked.

“Roommate drama,” I said.

“Did she steal your Crimson Splash nail polish again?” he joked, and I snorted.

“Do I look like the sort of girl to wage war over makeup?” I scoffed, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what sort of girl he considered me to be.

“You look like the kind of girl who doesn’t take a whole lot of bullshit,” Maxx said, bestowing an unexpected compliment. I arched my eyebrow.

“You see right through me, huh?” I replied blandly. Maxx chuckled.

“Never an inch,” he said under his breath, though just loud enough for me to hear him. I couldn’t help but smile. There was something about being with him that was both comfortable and unexpected. He kept me on my toes, but there were times when our conversation was as easy and natural as breathing.

The dynamic we fell into seemed to pit anger and distrust against lust and longing. Frustration warred with contentment. Irritation and wariness were at odds with vulnerability and sincerity.

It made being around him exhausting, yet exhilarating at the same time. It was easy to see why people were drawn to him.

When he laughed or spoke, people watched. They hung on. They coveted every tiny bit of him.

He had the potential to decimate everything around him.

Me included.

Maxx pulled me to a stop outside the local movie theater, a building built in the 1940s. I had been inside only a handful of times and had been obsessed about possible mold spores in the bathroom. It had a dank, musty smell that no amount of popcorn and air freshener could get rid of.

Looking up at the marquee, I was both delighted and surprised. They were advertising their Cult Hit Saturday. They were playing a series of lesser-known movies for a fraction of the usual admission price, and one particular movie that was listed had me especially excited.

“You want to go see this?” I asked, jerking my thumb toward the poster of one of my all-time favorite movies, The Doom Generation.

“I’ve been waiting to get you in the dark,” Maxx teased, purposefully closing the distance between us. I took an involuntary step back, creating some necessary space.

“If bullshit were music, you’d be a big brass band,” I quoted. Maxx let out a deep laugh.

“I should have known you’d be a fan,” he stated, looking at me with appreciation.

“I love obscure movies. My sister and I went through a phase where we watched Doom Generation every weekend,” I answered, smiling at the memory of us sitting around quoting dialogue and laughing until we couldn’t breathe.

Maxx grinned down at me, and I found myself smiling back at him. And then he did the most peculiar thing. As though without thinking, he lifted his hand and cupped my cheek. His thumb swept up the curve of my face, his blue eyes intense and serious.

“You’re beautiful, Aubrey. But when you smile, you’re breathtaking,” he said softly.

Well, damn. His words were designed to make me melt, and they did, even as I fought hard to resist them. Who was I kidding? What girl wouldn’t dissolve into a puddle of girlie drool after a comment like that?

Cleanup on aisle twelve!

He was looking at me with the sort of tender expression that men generally reserve for proms and marriage proposals. It made my insides flutter.

And then he dropped his hand and moved away from me. I stood there, bewildered, my body and heart still buzzing.

Maxx’s personality changed so quickly it was hard to keep up. But there were flashes of sincerity, like just now, that made it easy to overlook the times when it was obvious he was trying to be someone else.

Maxx held his hand out for me to take, but I just stared at it dumbly.

“We need to head inside if we don’t want to miss the start of the movie,” he said, waggling his fingers.

“Okay,” I agreed finally, tentatively putting my hand into his outstretched palm. Our fingers laced together, and he gave my hand a small squeeze.

He bought our tickets and popcorn, ignoring my pleas to let me pay my own way. This was beginning to feel too much like a date.

And deep down in the farthest recesses of my heart, I hoped it was. Stupid, stupid Aubrey!

When we were seated in the theater, we still had ten minutes to spare before the movie began. We sat in an easy silence, and I was amazed at how I was able to sit beside him and not feel awkward.

It was actually kind of . . . nice.

Maxx ate his gummy bears, shooting a smile my way every so often. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he bit the head off a red gummy bear before popping it in his mouth. He repeated this act of decapitation over and over again as he polished off the box of candy.

“What did those gummy bears ever do to you?” I quipped around a mouthful of popcorn.

Maxx grinned right before ripping the head off the last bear in the box. “They should know better than to be so damned delicious,” he answered, licking his lips after swallowing.

I couldn’t help but blush at his words.

“I don’t know anything about you,” I announced without preamble, again shocking myself with how readily I dropped my guard around him, how quickly I began scouting for information.

Maxx cocked his eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware you were looking for information.”

“Why the mystery, Maxx? You got something to hide?” I asked with a bit more vehemence than I had intended, our relaxed companionship over.

Maxx’s eyes darkened. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, Aubrey. All you have to do is ask,” he said firmly. The theater was almost empty. Only a handful of people occupied the seats. But I still worried about being overheard.

I cleared my throat, trying to regain some control over the situation.

“Well, what’s your major? Clearly it’s not medicine, and it has something to do with corporate finance,” I asked like an idiot. Maxx barked out a laugh.

“That’s your question? What’s my major? Do you want my star sign too?” he joked, and I smacked his arm, giving myself permission to touch him in that casual way.

“Let’s start with the small stuff and see where we end up,” I volleyed back.

Maxx reached over and stole a handful of my popcorn, tossing a few kernels into his mouth. After he polished off his pilfered snack, he wiped his greasy fingers on his jeans. I tried not to be grossed out by that.

“I’m a business major with a concentration in economics,” he said.

“A business major? Really?” I asked in disbelief.

Maxx frowned, clearly annoyed by my incredulity. “Yes, a business major. Why is that so hard to believe? I’m not some dumb-ass coasting through school,” he remarked defensively, his mood turning on a dime once again.

“It’s just you’re . . . well . . . you . . .”

“Got busted for drugs? Or is it that I’m on probation and have to sit in that fucking room every week talking about my goddamned feelings?” he asked angrily. Great, I had pissed him off—royally, to judge from the way his jaw was ticking.

“I’m not judging,” I started to say, but Maxx cut me off.

“The hell you’re not,” he bit out.

“Look, I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to sort yourself out. You’re in group. You’re doing your community service. I’m not belittling any of that.” I tried to backpedal. But if anything, my words seemed to make him even angrier.

“You don’t know shit about me or my choices. Or why I’ve done the things I’ve done. You don’t know me, Aubrey,” he hissed, his eyes boring holes into mine.

As if possessed by something I didn’t entirely understand, I reached out a hand and wrapped it around his clenched fist on the armrest. I leaned in until his face was within an inch of mine.

“But I want to, Maxx,” I said softly. And I realized how true that statement was. There was something about Maxx Demelo that made me want to dig, to find out all the good and the bad. But I reminded myself that this probing was overstepping all sorts of boundaries

Maxx’s nostrils flared, and he took in a deep breath as though my words were painful for him to hear. He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing. “Please, Aubrey,” he murmured.

Though I wasn’t sure what his plea was for.

Please, Aubrey, drop it?

Please, Aubrey, I want you to know me?

Please, Aubrey, this is the most mind-numbing conversation of my entire life, so shut up already?

Before I could push for more, the lights went down, and Maxx turned his hand palm up, folding his fingers around mine in the dark.

The heat of his skin enveloped mine, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted to pull away or not.

But I didn’t. I opened my fist, which had clenched tightly after his initial touch, and threaded my fingers through his. We held hands like high schoolers on our first date. It was innocent and surprisingly sweet.

Soon the intensity gave way to something even more bewildering—contentment, comfort—again with that strange easiness that unfolded like it had always been there. For a girl who didn’t get close to people, here I was, tiptoeing into whatever this was without hesitation.

We were laughing and reciting dialogue. Maxx continued to steal my popcorn, and I playfully smacked his hand away. His fingers tightened in mine periodically, as though to remind me that we were still touching.

Please, as if I could forget.

Despite my eyes being trained on the screen, all I could feel, all I could think about, was his skin against mine.

During one of the particularly violent scenes, I turned away, never having been able to stomach it. I trained my eyes on Maxx’s shoulder and waited for it to be over. I felt his eyes on me and looked up through my lashes. His mouth was quirked up in a small smile.

“Such a delicate little flower, aren’t you?” he teased, his breath stirring the hairs by my ear. I gave a snort and shook my head, our cheeks touching.

Maxx’s fingers brushed my hair out of my face, and he leaned in to brush his nose along mine, his lips the barest whisper away. His eyes held mine in the glow of the screen. His hand slid down the side of my neck until he stopped and cupped the back of my head in his strong grip. His other hand came up to cradle the other side of my face, his thumb caressing my jaw.

I licked my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. I should stop this. I should say something. I should back the hell away and put some necessary distance between me and this thing building toward a definite climax.

But there was no acting. No thinking. Just the anticipation.

“I’m going to kiss you, Aubrey,” he said softly against my lips. I swallowed around the lump that had formed in my throat.

But I didn’t pull away.

I couldn’t pull away from him.

The moment his mouth met mine, I tensed up. It was as though the last semblance of rational thought was battling my overworked hormones for supremacy. My brain was trying desperately to stop the rest of me from doing something I couldn’t take back.

But then Maxx’s tongue skimmed the crease of my mouth, and my lips parted to let him inside.

I had gone under.

He tasted like popcorn, cherry gummy bears, and every decadent, forbidden thing. He tasted like bad choices.

I couldn’t stop the groan that bubbled up from the back of my throat as he plundered my mouth. He took and he claimed and he made me his. I couldn’t help but feel a sudden panic as the need to shut down and pull away tried to take over.

But my body ached for this. I wanted him even as I recoiled at the intimacy. My lips slowly began to respond under the pressure of his mouth as my brain was quieted by the sensation of being kissed by Maxx.

This was new to me. The wanting. Under the expert ministrations of Maxx’s hands and tongue, I felt any residual hesitation melt away. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. It was life-altering.

My arms came up, and my fingers wound themselves in the thickness of his curls. His hands continued to hold my face firmly as our mouths slanted again and again.

Our tongues tangled, our teeth knocked together, and I could barely breathe. I could feel the day-old scruff on his face rubbing against my cheeks and chin. I’d have a serious case of beard burn when this was over.

Maxx moaned deep and low, and it rumbled around in my belly, causing me to throb. I leaned farther into him, our chests smashed together over the obstructing armrest. Maxx broke away and glared down at the offending piece of plastic that separated us. Then, without a word, he pulled me over the seat, my legs scraping against it roughly, but I found that I didn’t care. I’d worry about bruises later.

I landed haphazardly in his lap, my back digging painfully into the other armrest. My legs were sprawled inelegantly along the row of seats.

Wow, this is so not hot, I thought, trying not to be embarrassed over the days of the week underwear now on display beneath my disheveled skirt. I felt my awkward tension resurface and threaten to ruin the moment. Tiny, anxious voices in the back of my head started questioning exactly what I was doing.

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 fucking 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.