The Consequence of Loving Colton
Page 22“Jason wouldn’t do that.”
Max rolled his eyes. “Um, he would, he’d even ask for my help to dispose of the body. You’re a no-fly zone, get it? Trust me on this. Oh, and P.S. Colton thinks you have a nice ass.”
“He said that?” Nerves exploded in my stomach.
“No.” Max’s grin grew. “I did and then he punched me.”
“I’m confused.”
“If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have punched me.”
“Maybe he was defending my honor.”
“Honor my ass. He wants to plow into said honor and make little babies and name his firstborn Max.”
“Huh?”
Max got to his feet and winced, his fingers grazing his jaw. “Good right hook, though, I’ll admit. It hurt like hell too. The things I do for my friends.”
“Best friend.”
“Best friend.” Max gripped my hand in his. “Trust me on this, Milo. I know what we’re doing is working. We have the rest of the day to get him to drop his pants.”
“Um.” I raised my hand.
“Question?”
I nodded.
“You may ask.”
“Can he keep his pants on?”
“Max.” I tugged him toward the door. “Pants stay on.”
“Off.”
“On!”
“Pants off!” he roared, pushing open the door.
Jason stood there, his hand raised as if to knock, a look of complete embarrassment washing over his features. “I, er, uh, Mom’s back and, I think, um . . .” His eyes darted between us. “Continue.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and shuffled down the hall.
“Yeah.” Max nodded. “Pretty sure your family thinks you’re a whore now.”
“Thanks.” I snapped my teeth together.
Max put his arm around my shoulder. “Stop being so argumentative and I’ll stop raising my voice.”
“No deal.”
He sighed. “Well, can’t say I didn’t try. Now, listen to me very carefully.”
We stopped right before the kitchen. Max turned me to face him and cupped my face with his hands. “Eye of the Tiger.”
“The song?”
“The focus comes from the song.” He snapped his fingers. “Now, who’s the tiger?”
“Colton?”
“Good!” He patted my cheek. “Now, I want you to envision a doughnut.”
“What—”
“What flavor?”
“Does it matter?” He sounded irritated.
“To me it does!”
“Chocolate. You’re a chocolate doughnut.”
“Got it.”
“Now,” Max whispered. “Become the doughnut.”
“Huh?”
“Speaking English here. Become the doughnut.”
“I’m a . . . chocolate doughnut . . . I taste . . . good?”
“Sell it!”
“I taste awesome!”
“There you go!” He slapped my butt. “Now when you walk in there, be the delicious chocolate doughnut, all right? You taste good to him, you smell good, you look good. Be. The. Doughnut.”
We walked into the kitchen hand in hand.
Mom was eating a doughnut and talking animatedly with my dad. Jason had both a chocolate and a vanilla doughnut stacked on top of one another, and Colt was sitting at the end of the table reaching for a vanilla one. He looked up, our eyes locked.
Colton lifted his vanilla one to his lips and bit in. Yeah, I was so-o-o-o that doughnut, my entire body tingled.
Max smirked and slapped my butt again and whispered low in my ear. “Like I said, be the doughnut, feel those teeth, get your man, bitch.”
MILO
“Now.” Mom dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin and made eye contact with each and every one of us before setting her napkin back down and clearing her throat. “The rest of the decorating crew should be here any minute and—”
“No!” A shrill scream erupted from the front room.
Max started choking on his doughnut. I hit his back and gasped as Jayne stomped into the kitchen, murder in her eyes. “It’s all wrong!”
“What is?” Dad asked, calmly setting his cup on the saucer and sending her a bland glance.
“The colors!” She stomped her foot.
Colton made eye contact with me and Max and shook his head.
“Honey, you said you wanted red.” Aw, poor Mom. The situation was like trying to calm a hippo. It was going to charge you regardless of how nice your words were. It would charge you, and then either drown you or sit on you.
“I said,” Jayne screamed, angry crimson blotches staining her cheeks, “watermelon red!”
“Red’s red,” Max muttered.
“What?” Jayne glared at him. “What did you just say?”
All color drained from Max’s face. “Jason’s dead, he’s going to be dead, because it’s always the groom’s fault, right? Ha, ha.” He forced a smile while Jason glared at him from the opposite end of the table.
“I can’t believe this!” Jayne started pacing. “The wedding’s tomorrow! Everything has to be perfect! It’s not going to match!” She stopped pacing. Yeah, any second now, the hippo would charge. “What are you going to do about it?” And there it was. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">