Chapter Eleven

MAX MIGHT’VE PUT ON A FEW POUNDS, well, more than a few, but he was still as handsome as ever. He had only gotten his suit taken out a couple days before, but I worried the buttons were going to pop off his jacket.

“You didn’t tell me this was at a museum,” I said as we walked up the stone steps.

He smiled as we entered the large building. “Oh, yeah, natural history at its best.”

“Well, that is super cool. The dinosaurs are my favorite.” When I arrived in DC, one of the first things I did was hit up all the museums and monuments.

“You sound like you’re five.”

“I never let my inner child die.” The place was full of people in suits and evening gowns, all mingling and drinking. But I didn’t care much about them—I just stared at the giant elephant that stood in the middle of the rotunda.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had one,” Max said.

I nudged him with my elbow. “I think you have an inner crotchety old dude.”

“That sounds accurate. My dad’s over there.” He told me his other dad moved away when he was young and never saw him again after that. He barely remembered him.

I smoothed down the front of my suit and pulled my shoulders back, trying to look like the mature man I was but feeling like a small child in trouble inside.

“Hey, Dad,” Max said as we approached his father, a tall, broad-shouldered man with salt and pepper hair and a perfectly fitted three-piece suit.

“Maximus, good to see you,” he said with a nod.

“This is my friend, Bauer.”

His dad huffed, but that was about it.

Max made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Well, really nice talking to you.”

“Make sure your face is seen,” his dad said, already turning to walk away, so eager to dismiss his son.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Max said, practically deflating.

“I mean it, Maximus,” he said sternly, snapping back in our direction.

“Yeah, gotcha.”

As we walked away from his dad, I so badly wanted to squeeze Max’s hand, hold him, something, because his dad was a prick.

“Hey, forget your dad,” I whispered.

“It’s hard to because he loves to remind me it was my trust fund, which he created, that bought me my farm.”

“What a jackass. When did you buy your farm?” I asked as someone held out a tray of hors d’oeuvres to us. I plucked up a couple.

“Last year.”

“Who buys a farm at eighteen?” I asked, handing Max what looked like shrimp wrapped in a little croissant.

He took my offering. “Me.”

“I mean, it’s awesome. You have so much drive and initiative. I’m just now trying to figure out what I really want to do in my life, and you’re already thriving.” I popped the hors d’oeuvre into my mouth. “Oh, Jesus, this thing is delicious.”

“If only he saw it that way,” he said, handing me back the little shrimp wrap.

I took it from him and ate it, looking for the waiter again. “I don’t care what he thinks. You need to learn that you’re awesome, and it doesn’t matter what he thinks.”

“You gonna start giving me lessons?” he asked.

“Yes, starting right now.” I took his elbow and led him across the rotunda, around the swarms of people, and to another waiter.

“What’s the first lesson?” he asked as I snagged the snack from the waiter’s tray. The waiter caught me sneaking his goods and turned, offering us the tray of deliciousness.

I took a couple and handed them to Max and then took a couple for myself. “You’re the sexiest damn farmer around.”

“That’s not a lesson.” He popped one of the hors d’oeuvres into his mouth, and his eyes widened.

“Good, right? But your sexiness is the truth.”

“An opinion,” he said, swallowing and taking a bite of the next one.

“Nope, I’m a model. I know hotness.”

“Well, strut your stuff because here comes a photographer.”

We posed for a few different photographers, and he introduced me to several people. Most were high-profile political types, and it was the bougiest I had ever felt.

“Maximus Vespone and his man-friend Bauer Ridge,” he said later in the evening.

“You know people are going to put two and two together.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure that’s why my dad was so darn pleasant to you.”

“Yeah, he’s a real sweetie,” I said, recalling his dad’s dour expression.