The Consequence of Revenge

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

BECCA

I regretted it the minute the word left my mouth. It wasn’t so much the fact that I’d chosen money over Max. It was the fact that I’d turned away from him. He’d reached out to me, offered me his hand, and I’d ignored him. Unwilling to trust him just a little bit. The crappy part? Now I had no idea what would have happened, because that one little decision changed everything.

How bad did I suck?

Really bad.

But what if Max and I wouldn’t have worked out? It was a fear-driven choice. I needed the money. I needed to finish school. The thought of going back to Starbucks and working there for the rest of my life made me sick to my stomach.

Everything had been going fine that day. I’d decided to choose Max, and then the stupid confessional had happened and I, like the rest of the girls, got to see the edited clips of what was going to be airing on TV.

Max looked happy—with every girl.

He was polite, sweet, sexy.

What did I have that was any different from what those girls had? I mean, yeah, I giggled less, but in the long run I had nothing, no words from him proving that what we shared was more than a fling, or that it was more than the show. He said I was different—I’d needed more words, more reassurance. I should have asked him, but instead I’d chickened out and chosen money, the great dollar over the chance at happiness.

Eventually I just went to Milo’s house, you know, after stalking the entire family on Facebook, and begged for his contact info. And when begging didn’t work, I burst into tears.

Two episodes had aired on national television.

I spent both evenings glued to the TV watching Max’s smiles. His confessionals had me laughing my ass off, but the thing that had me ready to swim in a tub of ice cream? He liked me. Really liked me. You could see it in the way he talked about me, the way he talked to me. I’d let the man of my dreams go, and it was all my fault.

The gang, as I now referred to them, said that Max wasn’t ready to see me. I’d gotten a text earlier that afternoon from Milo saying they were going to fix everything. I wasn’t sure how confident that made me. When that group got together it seemed like more of them ended up in the hospital than actually hanging out.

I drummed my fingertips against the table. Milo had said they all wanted to meet at a local bar. The music was hell on my ears. It was open mic night so I’d had the misfortune of hearing Taylor Swift cover songs for the past hour while people drank and clapped around me.

I checked my phone again just as someone plopped into the seat across from me.

I looked up. “Reid?”

“What up, gorgeous?”

“My weight,” I answered truthfully.

He sighed and reached across the table. “What was it this time?”

“Rocky road.” I sighed. “I promised myself only one scoop, but it turned into three, then four, then . . .” My voice cracked.

“It always turns into more.” Reid squeezed my hand. “Would it make you feel better to know that Max has been wearing the same pair of ugly pajama pants for the past week?”

“I’d feel better if he was happy.” I slouched in my chair.

“Yeah?” Reid leaned back, releasing my hand. “So, say you got a do-over? What would your answer be?”

I grinned sadly and shook my head. “Max. Every. Time. It would be Max.”

“Thought so.” His smile matched mine.

“But”—I held my hand up—“he hates me.”

“Does he?” A deep voice said from behind my chair. I froze, unable to move. I felt the air shift as the person moved from behind me to right across from me, taking Reid’s seat.

“Max?” I breathed.

“Damn, you were expecting Hades, weren’t you? I’ll bring him later, swear on my life. But he’s been puking up popcorn all night, so yeah . . .”

“Popcorn?”

“Sensitive stomach for a goat.” Max shrugged. “Who knew?”

He looked good. Too good. I didn’t deserve him. I’d shattered whatever trust we both had in each other the minute I chose the money.

“I like you fatter.” Max eyed me up and down.

“Excuse me?”

“Ice cream, just like milk, does the body good.”

“What?”

“Sorry.” Max sighed. “They gave me half a pill on account I refused to calm down after Reid punched me in the jaw.”

“Oh, my word!” I covered my mouth with my hands. “Are you okay?”

“Well, it’s no picnic but I’m pretty sure I’d rather get punched in the face than have the girl I like stomp all over my still-beating heart, throw sand on it, stomp again, then spit in my face and walk away.” His face fell. “Not that that’s happened a lot in my lifetime. Once, only once.”

“What if the girl”—my voice quivered as tears welled in my eyes—“was really sorry? And has spent the last seven days hating herself, and missing the guy, and the goat, and the stupid gecko, and even did a zombie marathon to prove her affection?”

“Then”—Max leaned forward—“the guy may be listening.”

“What if”—my heart hammered against my chest—“the girl misses the biting, the teasing, even the orgasmic climbing? What if she just wants life to be an adventure with this guy, what if she was given a second chance to say yes to Max?” 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">