Page 84 of Whiskey Sour

Okay. Well. Maybe?

“Do you want to hear my ‘DON’T’list?” Max asks.

Butch wrinkles his nose. “Your what?”

“While Skylar had his list, I had mine,” he explains, pulling out his phone. “I actually worked really hard on it, little dude.”

I nod. “Go ahead.”

He clears his throat. “Well, I started with ‘don’t settle for anything else than you deserve,’ because you’re a great guy who deserves to be treated that way. Then I figured ‘don’t run away from what’s meant to be.’ And, finally, ‘don’t let yourself be talked down by anyone,’ and I’m starting to think that includes yourself.”

“That was…surprisingly insightful,” Butch mumbles, quizzical, as he stares at Max.

“It was,” I agree.

I’ve never considered therapy, but they could have a point. I’m not someone who doesn’t believe in it. It’s not that. It’s just that I never really thought it applied to me. However, nowthat I see myself through their eyes, I understand why they’re suggesting it.

Because, at the end of the day, I deserve to be happy, don’t I? Isn’t that what this whole ‘build a boyfriend’ thing was about? Finding the love of my life so I could live my happily ever after like the rest of my friends?

“I…” I swallow audibly. “Okay, I think I’ll give it a try.”

“No pressure,” Everest rushes out. “I don’t want to be preachy or anything.”

I shake my head and reach out to wrap my hand around his wrist. “You’re not. You’re just being a good friend.” I look around the table. “All of you are.”

“We’re here for you, little dude.” Max smiles. “I get where you’re coming from too. When I?—”

“Why thefuckhaven’t you been answering your texts?”

All our heads whip over to the edge of the booth. Davis, of all people, stands there, looking positively fucking pissed. His normally robotic face is beet red, an angry vein in his forehead throbbing as he glares at the right side of the booth.

Butch’s eyes widen as he reaches for his phone. “Sorry, boss. I didn’t realize you?—”

“Get out of the fucking booth, Max.”

It’s so dramatic that I gasp. Fuck, it sucks that I ate all my hash browns already. I need something for this prime entertainment.

Max stutters for a response. “I-I…” He steels himself and juts his chin up. “No.”

“Maximilian,” Davis growls, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Don’t make me drag you out.”

“Holy shit,” I breathe out, fanning myself. “Why is this so hot?”

Max hesitates, warring with himself before his breath hitches. With a mixture of eagerness and reluctance, he slides out of the booth.

And he’s hard.

Damn, things just got interesting.

Davis wraps a possessive hand on the back of Max’s neck as he walks them out of the diner. Everest turns to Butch with a questioning brow. “Um, what’s going on there?”

Butch clenches his jaw and there’s a tense line to his lips. “I don’t fucking know.”

I get the feeling Butch doesn’t appreciate being left out in the cold by a man he’s worked with for over ten years, but it’s not my place?—

Well, I mean, I’m curious as fuck, but I have enough going on.

So, as we eat the rest of our breakfast in silence, I agree to head over to Everest’s place to hang out for a bit while Butch does whatever it is Butch does during the day. We talk a bit more about therapy, and he recommends some good people that I definitely can’t afford, but I appreciate it, nonetheless.