Maxed Out by Kim Ross Read Free Book Online Page A

is honestly more insulting
than anything else – if the Clinton administration taught us anything it’s that
a guy caught in this position is hi-fived while the woman is called a slut. Still,
we haven’t been caught yet. I throw Jeremy’s jacket over his crotch and adjust
my blouse before getting up to answer the door.
    It’s Max.
    I slip outside and close the door behind me. “What are you
doing here?” I ask. I try not to let my anger slip out.
    “I could ask you the same,” he says. “Aren’t you supposed to
be at work?”
    “Something came up,” I say. Granted, I had to do a bit of
coaxing to get it up, but I’m not technically lying.
    He looks at me intensely for a moment. I’m torn between
having too much to say and too little. There’s a mountain of words – La Mesa de
Herveo, if I had to pick one -- bubbling up inside me but I’m afraid to unleash
even the smallest one lest the resulting mess turn out like the Armero tragedy.
    “I missed you,” he says.
    “So did I,” I say.
    “There’s a guy in there,” he says.
    The unspoken accusation hangs between us, that slight pause
before he spoke just as hurtful as if he had come right out. But, he
meant to say. But there’s a guy in there. You obviously didn’t miss me that much.
    I can’t look at him. I’m going to cry and my mascara’s going
to run everywhere. “You broke up with me,” I say. “What was I supposed to do?”
    It’s easier to act tough when I’m talking to a wall.
    “I brought you flowers,” he says. “I still love you.”
    I let a single sob slip out. Why couldn’t I have waited
another day before stuffing another guy’s cock into my mouth? I don’t deserve
this.
    “I’m cooking dinner tonight,” he continues. “I’d love to
have you over so we can talk. It should be ready around 7.”
    I don’t say anything. I’m still trying to wrap my head
around this.
    “I’m sorry,” he says. “I miss you.”
    I don’t move for at least a minute after he leaves. When we
broke up it was like he flipped my world over. Just when I started to get a lid
on things again he shows up and tells me that he liked things better the way
they were, before he ruined everything. I’m not sure I can take this.
    It’s not like I didn’t have a large hand to play in our
breakup. He basically just parroted back my opinions, ones that I’d drilled
into him from day one of our relationship. Communication, honesty, and
closeness. None of this distance crap, physical or otherwise. When he suggested
we separate, I didn’t so much as hint that I wanted anything else. I could have
told him we could work through it. I could have saved the relationship. But I
didn’t. Because of this, I can’t even blame Max for his actions. It was a joint
failure. I’m far more furious at myself than I am at him.
    Jeremy is still inside, I remind myself. I still need to
deal with him. I haven’t the faintest idea what I want to do here – I don’t
know if I should go back to Max, if I’m even interested in Jeremy at all
anymore – but I don’t want to burn any bridges here if I don’t have to. Thing
is, I haven’t the faintest idea how to let him down gently.
    I blot my eyes as best I can before heading in. Jeremy has
put his clothes back on and he’s sitting on the couch, staring at the opposite
wall. He looks up nervously when he hears the door close, barely making eye
contact before he goes back to intensely studying the space opposite Renee’s
couch.
    “Is he gone?” he asks, weakly.
    “Yes.”
    “I’m sorry for dragging you into this,” he says.
    That’s not exactly the response I was expecting. “I think I
did all the dragging,” I say.
    “It was irresponsible of me to tell you what I did,” he
says. “I just liked you a lot and you were smart and asking all the right
questions and you weren’t an obvious nut like Phil so I decided to slip in a
little more than the cover we agreed on. I’m sorry. I didn’t think they