“As if. You were on my side of the bed. There are Russian hitmen who would pay big money to spoon this.” I slapped my ass with a teasing grin and yanked the covers off him. “Come on, get up.”
He immediately grabbed a pillow, going for basic crotch camo. “Are you kidding?”
“Oh. You already are. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I have to pee,” he mumbled.
“Take your time. If you need me to step out, so you can—”
“So help me, Kaufman, if you don’t stop talking, right now, I’ll make you.”
Smirking, I did a taunting little dance, hip swivel and half turn. “Sure you will. What, you gonna kiss me? Now, that’s original. Besides, I’m way too good at it, remember? Pretty soon you’ll be dry humping me and then come all over yourself. Let’s not go down that road.”
He scrubbed a palm across his face. “It’s too early for this.”
“Exactly my point.”
Max slammed the bathroom door after stomping past me. He was in there long enough with the water running for me to consider teasing him, but honestly, what a guy did in the shower stall of a crappy motel bathroom was between him and the tiny soap. So I didn’t say anything as we packed up and headed out to the bike. But I was thinking about it, wondering a little, when I swung on behind him and nestled close.
I could get used to this.
Of course, introducing my mother to Max might trigger the coronary she was always threatening to have, whenever I did something worthy of parental disapproval. Which was pretty much my entire life to date. She claimed she was in danger of a stroke when I came out as bisexual. In fact, my dad argued with me on the subject; he said that wasn’t even a thing and that I probably just wasn’t ready to admit I was gay yet—not that he wanted me to. So if I could just go quietly back into the closet and confine my sexual identity questions to watching interesting internet porn, that would be great. He didn’t say that, of course, but over the years, I’d gotten great at reading between the lines. Conversations with my family were pretty much always frustrating for various reasons.
“You good to go?” Max asked, starting the engine.
“Yep, let’s do this.”
Like the previous day, we rode in two-hour increments, stopping to rest so my muscles didn’t lock up. Max grew progressively tenser the closer we got to Rhode Island, and when we crossed the state line, his back felt like a brick beneath my cheek. Since I could only touch his abs, it seemed weird to rub his belly as if he was a spaniel and I was trying to make his back leg kick. As we rolled into Providence, he pulled into a gas station parking lot. The area didn’t look awesome, but I didn’t protest. I figured he needed a minute. Max disappeared inside for over ten minutes, and when he came out, he had on dress slacks, a wrinkled button-up and the ugliest tie I’d ever seen in my life.
“The wake’s already started,” he said.
“Then I should go change.” I hadn’t realized we were going straight to the funeral home.
Without another word, I took my backpack and did my best to look respectable in my black dress and ballet flats. Short of dyeing my hair and removing all my piercings, I figured I’d done the best I could, then I had to get back on the bike in a skirt. I hadn’t thought of that when I was packing. There was no way to ride sidesaddle, so I tucked the fabric.
Max took off, gunning the throttle, and I could practically sense his tension. Fifteen minutes later, we stopped outside a run-down-looking funeral parlor called Cavanaugh and Sons. The building had clearly seen better days, pitted with wind and rain, and grass grew up through cracks in the sidewalk. Most of the businesses nearby had bars across the windows; the rest were vacant buildings.
“It’s worse than I remembered,” he said, pulling off his helmet.
Max took a couple of deep breaths, and I put my hand over his heart, feeling the way it raced at the idea of facing his family. As I stared up at him, his gaze locked on my face. I metered my breathing to his, willing him to calm down. You can’t start this way. It’ll go up in flames sooner rather than later.
“Whatever happens in there, I’m on your side. You know that, right?”
“My dad would punch me in the face for bringing you to fight my battles.”
“He sounds like a catch. Has he remarried? I’m thinking I might have a shot.”
“Don’t even joke,” he snapped.
“Sorry. The more nervous I get, the closer I come to doing standup. You should’ve been at my bat mitzvah.”
“Did you wear a frilly dress?”
“And combat boots.”
Smiling, Max pulled my hand off his chest and pressed it to his cheek for one beat, two. “You make me feel like this might be okay. Somehow. Come on. Let’s go meet the family.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Inside, the funeral home was cramped.
We stepped first into a small foyer with worn red carpeting, dusty silk floral arrangements set on tables to either side. I fought a sneeze as Max took my hand and led me into the chapel. A few white folding chairs were set up, but not too many, as most people were standing around in clusters, wearing their Sunday best and talking in low voices. Before, I’d only attended Jewish services, so this should be interesting from a cultural perspective.
There was a clear pathway with a runner leading up to the casket, arrayed with pictures, flowers and mementos to one side. Wearing a determined look, Max pulled me along, not stopping until we reached the coffin with the old man inside. From the look of him, he’d definitely lived a full life, complete with alcohol abuse, judging by the veins in his nose, poorly covered by the morbid makeup artist who worked for Cavanaugh and Sons. There were also plenty of wrinkles and liver spots. Reflexively, I took a step back, ostensibly to give Max room, but really I was getting away from the weirdness of staring at a dead person I’d never met.
Granting him some privacy, I turned away, taking stock of the crowd. There were middle-aged women in polyester dresses, bored men talking sports in low tones. Nobody seemed particularly broken up; I didn’t see an elderly woman weeping like a bereaved widow. But across the room, I spotted a young man in a wheelchair, and he looked uncannily like Max, except for the upper-body strength. Max was lean, and he definitely wouldn’t win at a gun show. This guy might compete in the Paralympics or something.
I put a hand on Max’s shoulder. “I think your brother’s watching us.”