Chapter 2

Two

S toner

Thank god that crowd is gone.

The school, church and rectory have been closed for more than ten years, so I never understand why these people still try to relive their glory days.

Maybe because none of them experienced what I did.

But I am damn happy to see Maxine sitting across the bar from me again after they leave.

“So, you’re buying the rectory,” she’s saying.

“I actually bought it already. Just working up the nerve to take a sledgehammer to it,” I say.

She seems to stiffen at my words. She doesn’t know. Of course, she doesn’t know.

How would she? I had told none of my peers about it. Some people found out, but I’ve learned to accept that.

“I’m sorry you had such a shitty time in high school, Stoner.”

“Yeah. Someday I’ll explain more about it,” I say.

We lock eyes for a few seconds, and I try to communicate without words. A look of sudden shock and understanding comes over her face, without words.

“I…”

I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, so I change the subject.

“You do remember I have a real name? It’s Talbot.”

She smiles. “Talbot?”

I shrug. “Yeah, it’s terrible.”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s a great name! But I’ll keep calling you Stoner if you want.”

She can call me Dudley Do-right for all I care. As long as she’s talking to me, all is right in my world. “Whatever you want. But you should know I don’t do drugs anymore,” I say.

She smiles. “That’s pretty clear to me already. Well, look at it this way; now you’ve earned the name ‘Stoner’ because of that rock-hard body.”

“Oh my god!” Joy interjects. “Can we go now?”

Max shoots me an apologetic look. “I should probably get her home.”

“Yeah. Damn, I really want to keep talking to you,” I say.

“Me too,” she says, a slight pink flushing her cheeks and lips.

“How long are you home for?” I ask.

“Until Sunday. On Monday I have to give my decision to Green Wave,” she says.

“What’s that?”

“It’s this global company that wants to buy my ad agency.”

“You gonna sell?” I ask. I can’t believe I haven’t asked her anything about her life this entire time. She must think I’m a heel. This is probably why my relationships never last long; I have trouble getting out of my own head sometimes.

She replies, “I might. I’ve busted my ass for 20 years and now I kind of want to have some fun.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” I say. “But listen. Those idiots cleaned me out of beer, so I’m gonna close up early. Let me take you guys home.”

“But my car’s here,” Joy says.

“And I’ll drive you home with your car and then Max and I can take a walk,” I say, assertively enough to give Max another blush to her cheeks.

Emmett agrees to close up the bar, and we leave quickly.

First, we drop off Joy, and I’m having flashbacks of grad night. Except this time, she’s not leaving town in the morning. And, she’s not drunk.

We walk the short three blocks down toward the Novak house, and I smile to myself. If the Universe ever gave someone a second chance, it’s now.

Suddenly, Max stops and turns to me.

Her blue eyes pierce me to my core under the streetlight. She wants to say something to me, but she’s building up her courage.

“What is it, Max?”

She shakes her head like she doesn’t know what it is herself. “I don’t want to go inside. I want to keep walking with you.”

Her breath is like clouds floating in the cold air and her nose is sniffly and red.

“But you’re freezing,” I say.

“You don’t want to hang out some more?” she says with a look that’s somewhere between a smirk and a pout.

I am done for.

I brush a soft blonde tendril away from her eyes that the cold November breeze has pushed over them. It’s all I can do to bury all my fingers into her lush mane of hair and get completely lost in her.

“I absolutely do. Let’s go,” I say.

I offer her the crook of my arm and she takes it. We start walking east. I know exactly where to take her.

It is a gorgeous feeling, having my beautiful high school obsession grip my arm while we walk. It feels like we’re an old couple walking arm in arm after a lifetime of love and commitment and babies and mortgages. The only difference is I’m not 95 years old, and I’m as horny as a 17-year-old kid.

In fact, I’m feeling about as aroused as I was the night I brought her and Joy home on grad night.

It was too late to tell her how I felt then, but it’s not too late now.

First, I have to clear the air.

“I know a coffee place up here on the right. Want some?”