Luckily everyone believed him when he’d tell them he was tired or wanted to watch some show on TV. Truth was, sleep was hard to come by, always had been, and as for watching TV, well, he tried but sometimes all those people laughing and loving on there just made Max feel more alone.
“Well, guess I’m in the mood for a big ol’ pity party,” Max muttered as he stepped into his bedroom. Lord, I don’t even want to be in my own company if I’m gonna be a whiny bastard.
Max snorted and started undressing, nearly landing on his butt as he tried to pull off his boot. Rolling his eyes at himself, he hobbled to the bed and plopped down on the edge.
Bending over sent dull streaks of pain across his lower back, but he needed the boot jack.
Once he found it, Max dragged it out from under the frame and shoved his boot heel in the u-shaped slot. That little piece of wood made getting his boots off so much easier.
After a quick shower, Max dried off and put on his boxers. Jeans and a ratty cotton shirt were next. He decided to forgo socks, which could be slippery on the wooden floors, and he didn’t feel like putting his boots back on. It hadn’t been too cold of a winter yet, just a few nippy days and some chilly nights. Max would have loved to have sat around in his boxers, but with Annabelle living on the ranch now, he never knew when it was safe to just let it all hang out. That girl tended to blow in like a blonde-headed tornado, not caring if Max might be stark-ass naked.
Not that he ever was, other than when he got cleaned up, but even then he wouldn’t have put it past Annabelle to just throw open the bathroom door if she wanted to talk to him.
MILES TO GO
Bailey Bradford
8
Thinking about the possibility made Max’s skin so hot he bet he fairly glowed, and not in a good way. He’d flat-out die of embarrassment if something like that happened; Max couldn’t imagine someone seeing him in the buff. Even when Rory had lived here, Max had been careful to keep his stuff covered, and not because Rory was gay. Max didn’t care about that.
He was just…shy, which was probably stupid considering he was well over forty.
Max realised his mind was jumpy tonight, bouncing all over like a toddler who’d
sucked down a bag of sugar and capped it off with a quart of caffeinated soft drink. He needed to settle down, and he needed to eat. His stomach was gnawing right through his backbone. He headed into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, rubbing his rumbling stomach as he looked over his options for dinner.
Eggs seemed the easiest; if he was cooking for a full crew he’d have put more effort into it, but it was only him. Max reached in and grabbed the carton. He added a stick of butter, some shredded cheese that he’d have to examine closely before using, and a pathetic looking green pepper. He’d just set the food down on the counter by the stove and was fixing to go back and check the expiration date on the milk when the phone rang.
Figuring it was Rory or Annabelle, or maybe even Chance calling to nag at him to join them, Max muttered as he walked over to pick up the phone. Before he could even get a word out, a light tenor came through the line.
“Hey Max! How’s it going?”
Max frowned and pulled the phone away from his ear an inch or so. Someone was
awful perky. The man’s voice sounded vaguely familiar, and like a smack to the head, it jostled his brain into gear. He kind of knew that voice.
“Bo?” Max knew it had to be the blond haired man he’d met up at the big house a while back. Bo Daughtry, Chance’s former fuck buddy.
“Who else? You expecting someone—another man, maybe, to be calling you?”
“Uh.” Well that sounds smart. Max tried to make sense of the questions but they just weren’t registering. He’d only met the man the one time, and yeah, they’d got on, playing cards in the bunkhouse when things had heated up between Chance and Rory at their place.
To be truthful, Bo had made an impression on Max—he just wasn’t sure what kind of impression that was.
A soft snicker came through the line. Max’s right eyebrow started twitching as he wondered if Bo was laughing at him.
MILES TO GO
Bailey Bradford
9
“Max? You there?”
Max debated hanging up in mid-answer—he remembered someone saying a long time
ago if you wanted off the phone with someone and couldn’t figure out how to do it nicely just to hang up while you were talking. Supposed to seem like an accident that way since most people wouldn’t cut themselves off. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to get off the phone just yet. At least Bo was someone to talk to.
“Yeah, just…” Max turned, his gaze darting around the room before settling on the makings for dinner. “Just about to start cooking, s’all. Got a little distracted.”
“Oh, hey, you haven’t started yet, have you?”
Max thought Bo sounded almost wistful, which didn’t help Max feel any less confused.
The twitch sped up. “N-not yet, no, why?” What was Bo up to? Did he want to get together again or something? And what would Max say if he did? Last time, he’d been awful friendly, touching Max’s arm a lot and smiling almost constantly. Max guessed Bo was just one of those happy, touchy-feely types.
Bo huffed then cleared his throat. “Well, I’m about to pass through
