Page 7 of Invisible String (The Underground #1)

Selfishly, I want to be the one to see him laugh, smile, and joke—let loose. Then, I started to think maybe he never felt the static between us. When I think of our first kiss, I remember his hand placement behind my neck, how he pressed into my lips, eager for a taste.

Listening to the lyrics when the artist sings, I wonder if I had told him how much our friendship meant to me. Would he have been mine? Does running into Max mean something? It could be a sign.

“Sorry I took so long, but here’s your tea. I’ll be back with your burger,” the waitress says, out of breath.

“Thank you.”

A girl’s annoying giggle has me twisting. A woman sits at the same table as Max. She explains about her polished nails. Jealousy pulls on the strings of my heart. Does he have a girlfriend? It never crossed my mind.

The waitress leaves my food on the table. I turn back to find Max staring at me. Rolling my eyes at him, I dig into my food. My mom always used to say that eating when angry causes an upset stomach. After seven years of not seeing him, he still makes me feel this way.

“Why is a pretty lady like you sitting alone?” a smooth-talking voice says, scooting to the stool next to me. The man is handsome with a light skin tone and a smile that could make women drool. It does nothing to me.

“The right person hasn’t come to warm the seat next to me.” It sounds flirty, but it’s not toward him, although he takes it that way.

He winks. “Glad to come to your service.”

Service?

Over where Max is sitting, the woman is still running her motor mouth, but Max’s piercing gaze is on me. By the tightness in his sharp jaw, it seems as if he’s pissed by the company beside me. But that would be crazy for him to be jealous.

“Can I buy you a drink, darling?” He leans in closer, and his spicy cologne lingers in the air.

“I have a drink, thank you,” I say, sipping my tea.

“How about a beer, or anything you’d like?”

“No, I’m good. Besides, I don’t take drinks from strangers.” The little desperate fucker licks his lips.

“Mason. My name is Mason.”

“Well, Mason, you’re cute and all, but I have a drink.”

“How about dinner, babe, then we can get to know one another?” Mason’s bluish eyes trace the shape of my body.

“Take the hint, dickhead. She wants nothing to do with you. Fuck off,” a gruff voice thunders like a night sky beside me. Max’s gaze could slice a brick of ice.

Mason’s eyes widen when he sees Max. Hell, even I’d flinch if he stared me down. Mason turns to me.

“Don’t look at her. She said no.”

Mason nods, then runs off.

The woman is still sitting at the table, waiting.

“Thank you.”

Max simply nods.

The waitress drops the plate in front of me, and once she’s out of sight, I look at Max. “Sit.” It comes out as a demand, pointing at the stool where Mason had sat.

He does.

“Will your girl get pissed?” The words “your girl” slide out like a bad case of diarrhea.

“Nah, I don’t know who she is. She just came to sit at my table.”

I want to sigh in relief, and it’s wickedly crazy—no, batshit crazy, that I care. This man imprinted on my soul at such a young age, and he’s clueless.

“Oh.” Eating my burger when he’s not eating would be awkward. He only has a drink. “Well, you could have just walked away. And where’s your food?”

“Not hungry, just came to get a drink.” He sounds robotic.

Ignoring him, I slice my burger in half and set it on a napkin. Then, slide it to him.

“I said I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t want to eat alone. Since the burger is huge, we might as well split it.”

“Nah, I’m not eating your food.”

“I don’t eat that much, Max. Help a girl out.”

He devours the burger in three big bites. I toss him some of my fries. It seems he’s hungry. A big, muscular guy like him probably consumes a lot of food.

We stay silent while eating. Although I don’t really know Max, I feel like I do. I would like to get to know him personally.

“So, what have you been up to all these years? How long have you lived here?” I ask, taking a sip of iced tea. I’m curious as to why I haven’t run into him. He gazes at the busy streets.

“I live in Vegas. I’m just visiting for a few weeks.”

I frown, and his forehead creases in response to my expression.

Disappointment sinks into the pit of my gut. “Oh, okay. So, is that your parents’ cabin? I know it gets rented out, but I’ve never seen you around. Not that I come often.”

“Yeah.” He stands and pulls out a wallet. “I better go.” A low mumble vibrates out of him as he tosses a fifty-dollar bill on the table.

“Here.” I take the money and wave it at him. “This is my lunch. You’re not paying.”

“It’s cool. I better go. Drive safe going home.” He’s gone.

My gaze follows his every move. His answers were bland. Maybe I asked the wrong questions, or I was talking too much, or the disappointed look on my face scared him off.

The waitress comes with the bill, and I hand her my debit card instead.

Walking to the parking lot, the noise of the busy street and people fades.

So, he’s lived in Vegas all this time. Pressing the key fob, I unlock the car.

I had hoped he lived here. I’m unsure why I feel so drawn to him, yearn to be in his space, breathe the air he breathes.

Jeez, Rainey, you sound like a creep. No wonder he ran off.

It’s only been three days, and I’m acting as if we are lovers.

My heart does somersaults when I see his car parked in our shared parking space. I take out the three bags of sweaters I bought. I’m addicted to sweaters. It’s hot, but I’m the girl who cranks the AC up and puts a sweater on.

The house has five bedrooms. My parents made sure we each had our own room when we came to the cabin. It’s beautiful, with wide windows. You can see the lake from here. I fold my sweaters and put them in the drawer.

My phone rings, and Daddy lights up the screen. My father has called, texted, and left voicemails, all of which I have ignored.

“Hello.”

“Hey, honey. Can we talk?”

“No, Dad, we can’t talk. I’m busy.”

He sighs. “I’m sorry, Rainey.”

“Say that to your wife. You brought that woman into our home and still kept her as your secretary.” My voice cracks.

“I’m sorry I ruined our family. I’m trying to piece us together?—”

“Then you need to understand Mom’s hurting!” I hold the phone down while taking out a paper plate from the cabinet, and then lay a napkin on it.

“I understand. I’m giving her space while trying.”

“Okay, I better go.”

“Okay, I—” I hang up the line without letting him finish.

Under the napkin, I slip the fifty-dollar bill, then add six cookies on top and red velvet cupcakes. Swallowing the pain that lives in my chest, I walk out and knock on Max’s door.

The palms of my hands sweat underneath the plate. I have never been so nervous in my life. Max, what are you doing to me? The door swings open, leaving me gulping for air.