Page 71 of Off Court Fix
“What’s wrong with you?”
I shake my head, opening my seltzer. “Nothing,” I tell her. “I was just curious.”
Maxine burns into me as her eyes narrow. “About Hunter?” When I nod, she pushes her plate away, wiping her hands on a napkin. “What about Hunter?”
“Nothing.” I bite into a garlic knot and burn my tongue, cursing under my breath. “I was just curious about what you two were talking about, that’s all.”
“Is that it? Or were you jealous I was talking to him in the first place?”
The notion that Maxine might be interested in Hunter is the only thing that pulls me out of this hole. I let out a laugh. It’s weak but still a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. He isn’t even forty yet. He’s too young for you.”
Maxine pinches my side, and I shift on the barstool so my knees bump into her firm thighs. I try to avoid making eye contact.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on or keep pretending you burned your tongue?”
Now, I know I’ve made mistakes, but I’ve made them with good reason. And I’m not saying I deserve applause, nor do I want it. I just want the theme of my past to remain in my past and not have any supporting role in my present—with Maxine.
“Keep pretending,” I mutter under my breath.
Groaning, Maxine folds her arms over her chest. “Crosby—”
“Alright, alright,” I cut in, taking a deep breath. “But you have to let me explain everything and not start asking questions right off the bat, alright?”
“Why?”
Placing my elbows on the counter, I groan into my hands. “Great start.”
“Okay, fine, fine. I’ll be quiet. But spill. Now.”
I fist one of my hands, running a knuckle across my mouth before taking a deep breath. “I need you to steer clear of Hunter Wembly.”
“Why?”
“Maxine—”
“You know there’s no one else. And Hunter”—she pauses, grimacing—“he’s not my type, not just because—”
“I know he’s not your type,” I cut in. “And give me a break. I’m too old to be doing this with someone I believe is playing games. It’s not you. But Hunter... he’s dangerous.” Maxine furrows her brow, and I know she won’t let me stop there even though I want to. “I just, I need you to trust me on this. He’s a bad guy. If he comes up to you, I don’t care if it’s at the club on the court or—”
Maxine places her hand on my forearm. “What kind of dangerous are we talking about exactly?” she asks, her voice lowering.
Do I think Maxine’s physical safety is at threat? No. But danger isn’t always about bumps and bruises. Quiet, unsuspecting danger is almost worse, and that’s who Hunter is. He’s a snake in the grass who will strike you at your ankle and bring your whole body tumbling down if it means getting what he wants.
I know, given the chance, he could ruin Maxine.
“He’s just not a good guy. Can we leave it at that?”
“No.”
I tsk. “Can you just trust me on this?”
“If you want trust,” Maxine tells me, “You need to tell me the truth. How dangerous is he, andhowdo you even know that?”
I don’t want to.
Pressing my lips together, I shift them back and forth. “That night we met at St. Patrick’s, I told you it was my birthday.”
“And it wasn’t,” Maxine reminds me.
