I glance between the two women, debating how long I should keep the mystery going. "Found them. I’m Max, by the way, since Sadie here hasn’t bothered to introduce me." I set my beer on their table, reaching my hand out to the blonde.
"Mallory Hayes." Her dainty one pushes into my palm, giving me a firmer than expected handshake. "But my friends call me Mal. I’m Sadie’s sister—older and funnier."
I laugh. She is witty. I’ll give her that. "Hayes? Like Seb Hayes?"
"Guilty." She holds up her left hand, flashing a diamond ring toward me. "That’s why we’re out on a Monday. He goes back on shift tomorrow."
I’ve known Sebastian Hayes since I was a kid. He was in Sam’s class and is an all-around good guy. He works at the fire department and has helped rescue Mr. Pickles from a tree at least three times that I know of.
"Nice, you’ll have to tell him I said hello—"
"Alright, Mr. Small Talk… my keys? Where did you supposedly find them? Tell me what’s going on." Sadie crosses her arms, huffing a little.
I smirk at her, motioning for her to scoot over in the booth. When she does, I slide in right next to her, my fist still clutching the thing she covets.
"Tell me, Mal, is your sister always this bossy?"
nine
Sadie
Stolen Property
Max O’Reilly has my keys. That was a turn of events I didn’t see coming. The man of the hour slides into the booth next to me, taking up nearly all the legroom while saying something cheeky to my sister. I’ve never quite understood why men feel the need to spread their legs so far—obviously a little is needed, but I could fit a stuffed full Ikea bag between his knees, and there’s not a man alive packing that much heat.
"Can you…" I wave my hand toward his lap, trying to get him to give me some space. But Max… he couldnevermake this easy on me. I’m starting to think he takes pleasure in making me squirm. He scooches even closer, pinning me between the wall and his muscular thigh—the one I don’t want to admire but physically can’t help from noticing.
"I guess you could say that yes, she’s always been a little bossy, but we prefer the term confident in our house." My sister winks back at Max after rightfully putting him in his place, and I want to shout in glee. Mal may give me more grief than anyone else in the world, but she’s also the first to defend me.
"Touché. Tough crowd." Max takes a swig from his beer, and in this close proximity I try not to stare at the way his throat works when he swallows. Actually, it’s hard not to notice every little detail about him with only inches between us. He smells of linen laundry soap and something more manly. His eyes are crystal blue from this angle—the bluish-purple shiners he’s sporting highlighting their color—and his hair curls up a little over his ears in all its unruly glory. Objectively, he’s hot. I’ve always known it, everyone in town knows it, and worst of all—he knows it.
Reaching for my wine, my elbow bumps into his bicep. "Sorry," I mutter as my eyes meet his. "Actually, no. I’m not sorry. You’re here, invading my space after stealing my car."
"I didn’t steal it, not really anyway." Max finishes his beer, still twirling my keys around with his fingers, while I'm momentarily transfixed by the motion.
Of course, he just has to have attractive hands. While some women love a man with a nice ass or perfectly straight teeth, I have always had an obsession with hands. Too many men have either short, stubby sausage fingers, or too long, oddly gangly ones. But Max’s are the perfect size, proportionate with veins weaving their way across the back of his hand, calloused palms, and neatly trimmed nails. They are working hands, ones that you know could get you out of a jam but would also feel good jammed into you.
Jesus, I need to slow down on the red.
"You okay, Sade? Looking a little flushed." My sister, the asshole, takes this moment to call attention to my staring. Sheknows about my little obsession, so naturally she has to exploit it, it’s some sort of older sibling law.
"Yeah. I’m great. Just wondering when, if ever, you’re going to answer my questions." My eyes lift, connecting across the tavern to my cousin. Howie ducks his head and pretends he didn’t see me. "Actually… I think I just got all the answers I needed."
Max lifts his hand in the air toward the server, then points at his drink. She nods her head, smiling shyly at him—because of course she would. "Is that so, slugger?"
"Hilarious." I purse my lips into a tight, sarcastic smile. "Howie asked you to get my car and fix it. Now you’re here to return it because if you had brought it to my house like a normal person, there wouldn’t have been an audience to see what a selfless guy you are."
"Sadie!" Mallory scolds.
Max puts a hand on his chest and acts like I’ve stabbed him. "And here I thought your head was the most dangerous thing about you." He takes a deep breath. "That mouth—that shit cuts deep."
I cross my arms over my chest, bumping into him yet again from the lack of space. "Tell me I’m wrong then? Did you steal my car from Sid for some other reason I'm not aware of?"
Max drops the keys on the table between us, slides out of the booth, and begins to walk away. Mal stares at me, eyes wide, horror present on her face. When he’s three or four steps away, Max turns back.
"Sadie, I know it’s been a while since you’ve lived in Mage Hollow, but people around here try to help each other out. Your cousin is one of my best friends, so when he called in a favor, I jumped at the opportunity to assistyou." He turns back toward the bar and really walks away this time, pushing out the front door of the tavern.
"You should be ashamed of yourself." My sister's words echo in my mind, but I almost can’t hear it over my now guilty conscience shouting at me.I was rude, shit. I hate being a jerk to people, most of all when they don’t deserve it. The whole thing is just too much, though. I’ve had too many boxes checked in the loss column lately, and his taking control of my auto repair without telling me—the very definition of too much.