Page 41 of Joey

“Tell me what’s wrong, baby girl,” he says, dusting his fingertips over my cheek. “Why were you crying if it’s nothing to do with Toby?”

I shake my head. “I’m an idiot, is all.”

A deep sigh rumbles through his body and we stay like that for a few beats until he breaks the silence. “You want to come for a ride with me?”

No! I want to never see you or go for a ride with you again, Max, because this is too fucking hard. “Yes,” I whisper instead.

He hands me the spare helmet, and I climb onto the back of his motorcycle and wrap my arms around his waist. The familiarity of his body against mine makes me smile and want to cry again at the same time. He taps my knee, letting me know that we’re about to take off and making sure I’m holding on tight. It’s one of the many small ways he takes care of me. We both know I hold on to him too tightly—in every sense of the word.

And I need to let him go.

Max drives us out of the city to the woods and stops in a small clearing surrounded by trees. He kills the engine and pulls his helmet off. When he turns, I get lost in his beautiful dark eyes. He gives a jerk of his head, and I take that as my cue to climb off the back of the bike. I pull my helmet off too and he takes it from me, placing it on the ground beside his. Shaking my long hair loose, I wonder why he brought us to this spot near the woods.

“Tell me what happened with Toby,” he commands in a low tone.

“After you tell me why you turned up at his house instead of Ash.”

“Ash called me.” He rubs a hand over his jaw. “He said you sounded upset.”

I frown. “But why did he call you?”

“Because I asked him to.”

“Why?”

“I’ve answered your question, Joey. Now tell me what happened.”

“He didn’t do anything wrong. It was me.” I go to cross my arms over my chest, not wanting to go into this with him, but he catches my wrists and stops me.

“Come here,” he says, scooting back on the seat of his bike and patting the space in front of him.

I roll my eyes, but I do what he says. Because despite everything, I yearn to be close to him. To have any part of him touching me sets my soul on fire, and like a desperate fool—and as much as I’d hate myself for it—I’d do anything for him. I straddle the bike, but he’s so huge that I’m practically straddling him too.

“What happened?” he says again, his voice cutting through me like a hot blade.

I stare into his eyes. I can’t help it. He has some kind of hold over me that I can’t explain. I shouldn’t talk to him, of all people, about this, but he’s my best friend. My real best friend.

“Things were okay,” I mumble. “Then we were on the sofa. We were kissing…” I swear every single muscle in his body tenses at those words. “He wanted to fool around, I guess…”

He narrows his eyes at me. “But you didn’t?”

“I did. At least I thought I did. But then he put his hand under my top…and…”

“And what, Joey?” he snaps. “Did he do something to you?”

“No, Max. He was a perfect gentleman. I told him to stop, and he did. Straight away.”

“Then why were you so upset?”

“Because I wanted to enjoy it. Toby is a nice guy. He’s cute. He’s into me. He’s emotionally available. I wanted to want him, but he…”

His hands ball into fists, knuckles turning white. “He what?”

“He wasn’t you.” The words burst out of my mouth, and I can’t call them back, no matter how badly I wish I could. It’s too late.

His eyes darken as he draws a deep breath through his nose.

“We kissed for almost ten minutes, and I felt nothing. When I’m with you, I feel—” My throat tightens, and I swallow before I say too much.