“Ada,” Max says, coming over to me until he’s a foot away.
I crane my neck to stare up at him.
“This is a good thing,” he says, peering down at me, his green eyes seeming to glow emerald. “It gives me something to do for a while. I can’t promise I’ll be any good either, so I reckon you’re the one stuck with me. Now come on. Let’s get drunk. I think Jacob sobered us up a little too much.”
He reaches out and takes my elbow, leading me out of the library and back into the rest of the house where the booze is flowing and the music is blaring.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur, but it’s fun. Eventually my dad says he’s going home, not making it till midnight. Jacob escorts him over, which was nice of him since my dad is pretty drunk, but I’m still a bit pissed at him for earlier, being totally ungrateful to me for getting Max out of that house when he couldn’t.
“Five minutes!” Sage bellows, running into the living room with a bottle of champagne raised in the air. “We officially have five minutes ‘til ball drop.”
He comes around and fills up everyone’s glasses. I’ve been standing by the stereo with Max as he flips through Sage’s vinyl collection and oohing and aahing over all these bands I’ve never heard of.
“She hasn’t even heard of King Crimson,” Max says to Sage as he fills my glass with champagne.
“Hey, I’ve been trying to educate her,” Sage says, giving me a mock disappointed look.
I roll my eyes. “It’s not my fault everyone in this room is old as shit.”
Max bursts out laughing. Sage quickly elbows him. “Right, Max, like you’re a spring chicken.”
“You’re a mean drunk, Ada!” Dawn yells at us from the bar, which makes Jacob chuckle.
I give her an exaggerated shrug. “What can I say, I’m by far the youngest here.” I look at Max. “And you’re like what, thirty?”
Max gives me a dry look. “Thirty? I’ll go with that.”
“Well, what does it say on your driver’s license?”
“Don’t have one, darlin’,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. “Remember?”
“So, your clothes survived Hell, but your wallet didn’t?”
“Got a passport and birth certificate in New Orleans.”
“What do they say?”
He shrugs. “I don’t remember. Maybe I’m thirty. Thirty-three?”
I lean in close to him. He smells like something spicy and woodsy, cinnamon and pine needles. Or maybe that’s the Christmas tree in the corner.
“So, how old are you really?” I ask him, voice lowered.
“Way too old for you,” he says.
I scrunch up my face and slap him across his chest. Ow. My hand.
“Shut up, no one is asking,” I say with a scoff.
Another smirk slides across his face. I’d slap him again if only my hand wasn’t still stinging.
“It’s starting!” Dawn yells, turning up the TV.
I look to see Times Square on the screen and the ball going down, the crowd chanting down from ten. We start chanting too.
“Ten.”
“Nine.”
“Eight.”
“Seven.”
“Six.”
“Five!”
“Four!”
“Three!”
“Two!”
“One!”
“Happy New Year!” everyone yells.
“Happy New Year!” I yell, noticing Dawn and Sage kiss.
I turn to face Max, who’s been standing behind me.
I stare at him, at his lips. Those are a dangerous pair of lips and I’m pretty sure he knows how to use them to his advantage. A New Year’s kiss would seem innocent enough, wouldn’t it?
“Don’t you dare,” I warn him, jabbing my finger in his face.
“What, kiss you?” He smirks at me. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Blondie.”
Then he puts his big hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze as he leans in close to my ear. “Happy New Year, by the way.”
Then he pulls away and saunters over to the kitchen, and I feel oddly disappointed. Yup. This is why it sucks to be single on New Year’s Eve. No one to kiss at midnight. I mean, I guess it wouldn’t have hurt if I kissed Max, but it’s a little too late for that.
I catch Jacob looking at me intensely. He raises his glass of champagne and nods. I do the same, wondering what’s going on in that head of his.
Then I decide I don’t want to know.
I go about getting more champagne.
I plan on starting the new year with a hangover.
Five
“You’re solid gold, I’ll see you in Hell.”
– You Can’t Quit Me Baby
I’ve been training with Max for a few weeks now, and if you’ve seen the opening sequence of Silence of the Lambs, then you’ll know what I’ve been going through. I mean, before school, before it even gets light out, he has me jogging with him around our neighborhood for forty-five minutes, through rain, sleet, it doesn’t matter. He got his old apartment back downtown, somehow, but he’s been living at the Knightly’s for now, I guess so he can be cracking the whip before sunrise.
Then, after school, it’s like I’m in some slayer boot camp, where he has me working out in the park, in the dark. I’m doing burpees and jumping jacks, and then doing the jungle gym, hanging from the monkey bars, climbing rope, doing a million things that make my muscles burn.
Then he has me in the Knightly’s backyard, which is super private, meaning no other house can look in on it, including my own. Which is good because my dad doesn’t need to see me running and jumping all over the place, fighting both imaginary opponents and Max.
That’s right. Unlike Jacob or Jay, Max has me try to fight him. As if he’s the demon and I have to take him out. Which means there’s been a lot of me running across the grass and then leaping onto Max, getting up on his shoulders like I’m climbing a tree, trying to twist his head off.
At first, I was a bit wary about hurting him, especially when he tells me to really let loose. After all, I
