Page 40

T he little band venue—The Pig Pen—was packed, considering it was Christmas Eve. Max stood at the back of the crowd, his size and red hair made him stick out like a sore thumb amongst the others: a girl with green hair, a guy with a mullet, lots of piercings, and angry-looking tattoos. Max took in all the black clothing and Dr. Martens boots, and for a crowd that liked music that sounded a bit angry at times, everyone was so extremely kind.

“This your first time seeing them?” the pocket-sized girl next to him with dark hair and perfectly straight bangs asked, as he waited alone while Remi went to get them a beer.

“Yes,” he said… because words.

“You’re in for a treat. I’ve seen them six times. They’re the only thing I would ditch my murder documentaries for on the Eve of Christmas,” she said in a monotone voice, slightly bouncing on her toes in anticipation.

“This is my first show,” he managed.

“First show at The Pig Pen?” she asked, needing more information.

“Yeah, and just, like, in general,” Max said.

Remi reappeared, handing him a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. She looked over at the girl Max had been talking to. “Making friends?” she asked, bumping his shoulder.

Max opened the beer and took a long drink. “I was telling her it’s my first time.”

Remi laughed and elaborated for him. “Yeah, it’s his first time at a show. He’s new to the music world.”

The girl, without hesitation, pulled him in for a very sweaty, mildly musky hug. “Welcome to The Pig Pen family, and the music world, and all that jazz.” She looked over and motioned to Remi. “Looks like you found a good one,” she said, and Remi smiled back at her. “Anyone who shares their music with you is a keeper.”

“I was in my boxer briefs, and she was blasting a punk mix…” he said, realizing that too was a story that needed more words—words he didn’t have.

Remi laughed, and elaborated again, “He started as my client. I clean houses— his house—and I barged in on him half-naked one day.” Max turned to show their new friend the back of his shirt, with a Busy-Bee logo on it. “Yeah, that’s my cleaning service, and well, I kinda, sorta fell for him after that.”

Max shrugged, a hint of a smile hid behind his beer can as he took a drink.

The girl smiled back, looking up between the two of them. “Wait, you met him because you were his house cleaner?” she asked.

“Yeah, I don’t usually mix business with pleasure, but there was no going back after seeing him in the little black briefs.”

“I fucking love that story!” their new friend said. “Good thing he didn’t end up being a serial killer, right?” she asked, and Remi agreed. The dark-haired girl stuck out a sweaty hand to introduce herself properly, and Max couldn’t believe how unbelievably hot the small space had gotten as the bodies continued to pack in.

“I’m Mia, and this,” she said, introducing a bigger guy as he came up behind Max and Remi with two beers in hand, “is Chris, the only friend I could convince to come with me tonight.” Chris rolled his eyes and took a long drink of his beer, his face wincing at the taste.

“Well,” he said, pulling the tiny girl to his side in a friendly hug, “it’s not really my scene or drink of choice, but anything for my Mia. And be forewarned, she’s obsessed with murder. I blame Netflix.”

They all began to carry on like old friends as they waited for the band to take the stage. Max watched as Remi took up space so effortlessly, she was easy and cool, and he realized he had never done anything like this. He had never randomly met strangers and made a toast with cheap room-temperature beer to celebrate a holiday he often forgot existed. Hockey crept into the back of his mind and panic threatened to ruin this moment for him, but before it got too bad, Remi’s hand found his and gripped it tight, willing his entire body to loosen up.

He didn’t want to think of hockey.

Not now.

Tonight was about music.

“You okay?” she asked, leaning into him.

“I’m more than okay.”

“Yes to everything?” she asked.

“Yes to everything,” he said.

The band took the stage, and the crowd shifted; a surge of warm bodies moving forward to get closer to the front. The temperature grew hotter still, and Max loved the sweat on his brow and the heat of Remi pressed against him.

The lights dropped.

The stage lit up.

Max blinked.

He blinked again.

His heart raced, and then before he could panic, Remi was wrapping reassuring arms around his massive body, holding him close—she knew. She knew and she responded without him needing to ask for help.

The band’s frontman yelled, “Merry fucking ho-ho-ho, or some bullshit like that!” And the crowd went wild. A beat later the band began to play, and it was the song Remi said was her favorite.

Their bodies swayed as the crowd surged forward. He let all of his senses come alive as he closed his eyes and took in the way the heavy bass line made his bones rattle. Every element of the punk show was crashing into him.

He loved this.

This life with Remi, and music, and the beach, and hummus, and new plants, and cat ears, and closets, and sex, and Remi… full circle. Remi .

The next song began to play and the room around him was a blur, but the vibration of the music brought every inch of his skin alive. Remi bounced on her toes as she shot her hand into the air while the band played a sort of anthem; the whole crowd knew the words. It was like an unspoken understanding that you shouted these lyrics and pumped your fist.

Max wanted more.

He wanted to be a part of this.

He had never been a part of anything outside of hockey.

Hope filled his chest.

He was going to be okay.

This was going to be okay.

“I love this,” he shouted into Remi’s ear right as the music stopped. A few people around them laughed, and the lead singer looked out into the crowd and responded.

“Good. I’m happy you don’t hate it.” The crowd all laughed again, and Max felt his face grow red at the newfound attention he got as the next song started.

Remi turned to face him. “This is my favorite new tradition,” she shouted.

“It’s our only tradition,” he said, leaning in to kiss her mouth that tasted like beer and the mint gum she had gotten from their new friend, Chris.

“For now.” She smiled.

“I want you,” he shouted, only realizing it for himself as the words escaped his mouth.

“You have me,” she said, not grasping what he was asking.

He took her hand and placed it on the crotch of his pants, his want for her very obvious, the music doing something to the entire makeup of his DNA.

“Oh,” she said, her smile turning mischievous. “You want me, want me.”

“Yeah. I want you. Now .”

She scanned the crowd; the band’s set was just taking off. “I have an idea.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

“I didn’t even tell you what I was thinking yet.”

He pulled her in to kiss her. “I said yes.”

She gripped his hand, beginning to move away from the mass of people. “Follow me.”

And he did.

They pushed through the crowd, his hand in Remi’s as the outline of bodies in the dark blurred around him.

She pushed on the bathroom stall door; it was locked.

“A bathroom?” he asked skeptically.

“You said yes,” she said, biting her bottom lip teasingly between her teeth.

Max pushed her up against the wall of the dark hallway, the music and the sound of the crowd singing along carried through the space around them, loud and heavy. He pressed his body against her, his mouth taking hers like he owned it, like it was his to keep. Her hand gripped him through his pants, and he didn’t care that they were only hidden away by the dark hallway, no one here would notice, and if they did, he was certain they wouldn’t care.

“This is becoming a bad habit of ours, ya know?” she said as his mouth sucked at the skin below her ear.

“You mean fucking in public?” he asked.

“Yeah. I hate how much I like it.”

“Let’s call it a tradition then, it sounds worse when you call it a bad habit.”

His leg pushed between hers and she let her body roll against the dark denim of his jeans, her black faux leather skirt hiked up around the fishnets she wore under it.

The bathroom door swung open and a drunk man stumbled out, looked at them, and slurred, “Niiiiiice,” giving them an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Max pulled her away from the wall and tugged her into the graffiti-covered bathroom stall. Band stickers, political posters, and things like “Natalie Jane Rudolph is a dick biter” written on the walls only made the small restroom look even more grungy than Max had anticipated.

“This is not up to my cleanliness standards,” Remi joked.

“It could be worse?” Max asked.

“It could,” she said, pulling him into her, her ass up against the chipped porcelain sink that was hanging on to the wall for dear life.

A small puddle of water under the sink made for dirty footprints that seemed to be etched into the existence of this bathroom—it probably hadn’t been mopped since The Pig Pen opened in the ‘80s.

Max brought his hand between her legs and began to massage her over the fish nets and panties she wore. His mouth crashed against hers in a punishing kiss as her hands tugged at his zipper. The band started a new song on the other side of the wall and the deep bass line rattled the janky mirror that seemed to only be held up with double-sided tape and grime.

Remi worked Max’s jeans down to his knees, pulling his briefs with them, his dick springing free, hard and ready.

Max spun her around and her hands braced the sink in anticipation. The moment arose, and their frantic need to see it through had them both pushing aside all rationale. Remi raised her ass for him in a teasing wiggle as he hiked her skirt up around her waist. Tangling his fingers in the holes of her fishnets Max ripped them open. Pulling her thong to the side he lined up his erection with her entrance, his thick head pressing and teasing against her.

With both hands on her ass, he pulled her cheeks apart, and with one quick motion, he pushed himself deep inside her. Remi gasped at the sudden fullness of him, bottoming out against her.

“This is so fucking hot,” she moaned, locking eyes with him in the battered mirror.

“Hold on,” he warned, preparing her for what came next.

She moved her hands to press against the graffiti-covered wall in front of her, and right as she braced herself, he pulled out to the tip and slammed back into her, gripping her hips as his body crashed against hers, the timeworn sink rattling against the wall.

“Oh fuck,” she said. “So good, so deep.”

He did it again, and again. Finding his footing and holding her tight, Max used her body to hold on to as he began to pound into her from behind. The sound of their bodies smacking together was almost loud enough to drown out the music on the other side of the wall.

Remi moaned, and it was deeper than she had sounded in the past. “Faster,” she encouraged. “I want to feel it tomorrow. Make me remember this in the morning, Max.”

Max lost it. He had never felt so out of control and yet completely in control at the same time. Remi’s head fell back. She was saying his name, over and over, every time he slammed into her again.

“Too much?” he managed, a little worried he was being too rough.

“No, please don’t—” she faltered, a whimper escaping her before she finished. “Don’t stop, just, ohhh, oh shit,” she moaned, and he knew he had her, he knew she was coming.

“I’m going to—” he said, and before he could finish his sentence, she cut him off.

“Do it. Go ahead. I want it.”

Max pulled her body against his with one last smack of skin against skin, as he came, buried deep inside her.

“That was kind of wild,” Remi said, looking back up into the mirror as Max slowly pulled out.

“Kind of wild? We just fucked in a bathroom at a punk show on Christmas Eve.”

“A story for the grandkids,” she teased as Max pulled the last of the paper towels from the dispenser and handed them to her, suddenly feeling guilty that she had to deal with the mess— his mess.

“I ripped your tights,” he said.

She pushed them down and maneuvered them off carefully, slipping one foot out of her checkered Vans at a time so she wouldn’t step on the disgusting floor. “Yeah, you did. You know, you could have just pulled them down.”

Max took the fishnets from her, turning to throw them in the trash as she ran the paper towels under water to clean up the mess between her legs.

“I know. I thought about pulling them down, but the truth is, I had been thinking about ripping them off you since you showed up at my house wearing them today.”

“Did we just unlock a Max Miller fantasy?” she asked, tossing the paper towels in the overflowing trash can.

“I don’t think it actually was one until tonight, but yeah, that was pretty fucking hot,” he said, pulling her in for a kiss.

A loud knock on the bathroom door startled them apart and the person on the other side shouted, “Are you done fucking yet? I gotta piss. I broke the seal.”

Max looked at Remi like a deer in headlights. “He knows,” Max said, a little worried he might get found out. He was still an NHL player, and he did have a certain reputation to uphold, he didn’t need a Roman Graves situation right before he announced his retirement.

“It’s fine. We’re not the first, and we won’t be the last to fuck in the bathroom of The Pig Pen,” she said, taking his hand and pulling the door open to find the same guy as before, standing in front of them doing the pee-pee dance.

They walked by him, and again, he gave Max a thumbs up and said, “Niiiice.”

Max gave him a smile, because it was nice, doing whatever he wanted, knowing that his life was his, all his. Even if he lost hockey, and in the end, his vision too, he could see it being a pretty good life with Remi.

“Should we finish the show?” she asked, as the lead singer announced, “ We h ave a few more songs and then you can get the fuck out of this shithole to go do whatever it is people do on Merry Ho-ho-ho night . ”

“Yes, let’s stay for the last few songs,” he agreed.

“For tradition’s sake?” she asked.

“Yes. And because I think I really like this.”