Taking Chances: Tangled Up Part 11

She looked puzzled. "Because I didn't want to be anywhere else for a long period of time."

He nodded. "Exactly."

But her frown deepened. "Because I was only taking those jobs to get a taste of living somewhere else for a little while," she went on. "I just wanted to see some places that were really different from here."

"Your heart has never stayed on anything for good, Bree. You're always looking for the next thing."

Her eyes were less angry now and more wary. And maybe a little confused.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do know what I'm talking about," he told her, his voice quieter. He wouldn't look away from her. He had to see her eyes when he said this. "You've never fallen so in love with something that you stayed with it for any real amount of time. Not a hobby, not a job, not a place, not a . . . guy."

Her arms dropped to her sides, and she stared at him. It was several long seconds before she spoke. "So you think I'm waiting to fall in love with . . . something. Or someplace. Or someone," she said, her voice a little scratchy.

Max pulled in a breath. They'd always been honest with each other. That was the hallmark of a long-term friendship. But they'd never talked about this.

"No, I don't think you're waiting," he said. "I think you're living the life you think you're supposed to live, a life that keeps you jumping around and trying new things. And that means never settling . . . in a town or a job or a relationship."

She frowned, then took a breath, then wet her lips. Finally, she said, "Excuse me?"

"I think you know that you're not looking to fall in love with anything."

"Are we talking about hobbies or jobs right now?" she asked.

There was a slight wobble in her voice, and Max gritted his teeth. He didn't want to hurt her. But if her best friend couldn't help her see this, who could?

"I'm talking about all of it, Bree," he said. He realized he sounded tired as he said it.

Or maybe it was sad. Because he wanted her to be . . . not restless, not always looking for more, not discontented. He wanted her to be happy. She might love flying down a hill or falling through the air or climbing to a summit, but that wasn't doing it for her long term. If it were, she wouldn't keep looking for more things to fly down, jump off, or climb up.

"Are you saying that I don't want to fall in love?" she asked, actually looking slightly hurt.

"I think that if you wanted to, you would have done it by now," he told her, the words completely honest. "If you had fallen in love with flying, you would be flying every weekend instead of here and there in between other stuff. If you had fallen in love with the Grand Canyon, you'd be going back there every year instead of finding someplace new every time. If you'd actually fallen in love with Snickerdoodle Delight, you'd still be eating it instead of onto . . . whatever flavor you're onto now."

She blinked at him. "Snickerdoodle Delight?"

"Your favorite ice cream two months ago. The kind that you had three containers of in your freezer."

She frowned. "Yes, I'm aware of what it is, Max. I don't get your point. It's ice cream."

"That you said you loved."

"I did."

"And how much of it is in your freezer now?"

She took a breath. "None."

"What's in there now?"

She clearly didn't want to answer. "Cherry Chocolate Chunk."

"And you love it, right?"

She didn't answer that time.

Max sighed. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I'm explaining my Of course you have' comment. Got a little long-winded. Sorry."

"But you think I can't commit to things."

He had thought that, for a long time. Now he thought it was just that she wasn't made to stick with one thing for long.

Or something.

It was frustrating as h.e.l.l, and he wished it were different sometimes, but at the same time-how could he really say that? It was who she was. Like her green eyes or blonde hair or that she thought Amy Schumer was funny-it was just a part of her, how she was put together.

This was Bree. She was his best friend. In spite of the fact that she changed her mind often and was easily bored. She was still the best time he'd ever had.

"I think instead of settling down on one thing or one place or one person . . ." That one always hurt a little. It wasn't just ice cream flavors she didn't want long term. "You're meant to have lots of adventures and do a lot of interesting things and keep the rest of us on our toes," he finally said.

She gave him a look that said, You're totally full of s.h.i.t.

"Not everyone is wired for long term," he said.

The look intensified.

"Come on, Bree. It's just . . . who you are. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"I'm not wired for long term?" she said, her feelings obviously hurt, anyway.

How was this his fault? Like him stating the sky was blue, it wasn't his fault the sky was blue. He was just pointing out a fact.

"Well, how do you explain it?" he asked. "You used to hate bacon on your burgers, now you love it. You used to love Melissa McCarthy, now you don't. You used to-"

"Hey!" she said, putting her finger nearly in his nose. "I still love Melissa McCarthy. It was one movie."

Max looked down at her finger, then back up to her eyes.

"You used to love Sweet Cream Dream. You haven't eaten it in more than a year."

She let her finger drop. "What is it with you and my ice cream choices?"

"Sweet Cream Dream is the best ice cream ever made," Max said. "If you can get over that, you can get over anything."

"And so I must not be wired for long term?" she asked, glowering at him again. "Because I don't eat the same ice cream over and over and over?"

"What do you think long term' means?" he asked. "It means the same thing over and over and over."

It was an a.n.a.logy, but it was easier on both of them than talking about her not being willing to settle down and do the every-day-over-and-over thing with him.

She chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully and nodded. "Got it. I totally see what you mean. Ice cream's easy, right? It's always good, never argues, always understands. And I can't even be happy with the same ice cream all the time. So . . . there's no hope for anything else lasting."

Yeah, well, that wasn't exactly what he'd said, but he suddenly really wanted out of this conversation.

"I'll talk you through some of this stuff if you want to learn, but we need to get to work," he said, turning away and focusing back on the job at hand.

Why had all that come pouring out now? None of those thoughts were really new for him. He'd been keeping it all to himself for years. Why did he feel the need to dump it all out there now?

Was it her use-her overuse-of the word bored?

Maybe.

Was it because he was tired and stressed and p.i.s.sed off about this job?

Probably.

Was it because he'd now had a taste of something he'd thought he'd stopped wanting?

Yes.

He'd told himself at age seventeen that he and Bree weren't going to be anything more than adrenaline-junkie friends. He'd repeated that to himself at age twenty-seven when she chose going out for shots and karaoke with strangers over making love in front of the fireplace with him. He'd convinced himself that she was giving him what she could and that it was enough. He'd told himself he was happy, f.u.c.king content, with how things were between them.

But that had all been a h.e.l.l of a lot easier before he'd kissed her, seen her naked breast, sucked on her nipple, and felt her come on his fingers.

f.u.c.k.

And she'd kissed him, by the f.u.c.king way.

He stomped to the spot below the most concerning area of roof and looked up, making himself focus on the overhead beams, the discolored portion, the . . . Dammit, what was he looking at?

"You're wrong."

He sighed.

So much for being done with the conversation.

That might be nice, actually. To be wrong about any of the stuff he'd said. To think that Bree had at least a little long term in her, to think that she was at least a little satisfied.

"About what?" he asked, making notes on his clipboard without really thinking about what he was writing. Just noting the discoloration on the ceiling wasn't as helpful as getting up there and describing the spot more fully. It was likely water, but he'd rather be right up there . . .

"You."

He glanced over at her with a frown. "Me?"

"You're something I've loved for a long time. I've never found another you. Never even looked."

Max couldn't have named the emotion that knifed through him beyond Ouch.

He knew what she meant. She loved him as a friend, her best one. But he also knew what she didn't mean. And it took his heart a second to catch up with what his brain was already painfully aware of.

Bree had moved closer while he went through the usual "Don't be a dumba.s.s" stuff.

"I've had a long-term relationship with you, Max," she said. "I always love to see you."

That was enough of that. "I know you do, Bree." Max shoved a hand through his hair. "I have a lot of work to do. You helping or not?"

She was still studying him, and Max worked on not shifting uncomfortably or telling her to knock it the f.u.c.k off.

"Bree?"

"Yeah, I'm helping," she said with a nod. "Don't I look ready for anything?" She spread her arms wide.

Max gritted his teeth, working to keep his gaze above her collarbone. He'd had plenty of opportunities to appreciate Bree's body in the past. And he had appreciated it. Best friend or not, Bree McDermott was a gorgeous woman. But that had been before he'd touched her. At least before he'd really touched her. Right now every single detail from the day before was. .h.i.tting him like bullets to the chest. How her mouth tasted, how her hands felt gliding over his back, how she felt squirming underneath him, how hot and wet and- He breathed out and turned away. "Fine." His voice sounded choked even to him.

"You don't think I know how to use this thing?"

He glanced back. She had her thumbs hooked in the top of her tool belt, her hip jutting to one side, one eyebrow up, looking completely c.o.c.ky. Bree had been a tomboy growing up, and she was tough and resourceful. She could do anything athletic, didn't scare easily, and could use almost any weapon. But she barely knew which end of a hammer to hold on to.

In spite of everything, he laughed lightly. "No, I don't think you know how to use that thing."

"I'll have you know, I can use every single thing in this belt."

"Somebody been giving you lessons when I'm not around?"

h.e.l.l no. Not only did he not like the idea of her learning things from someone else, period, these were tools. This was Max's domain. No one knew construction better than he did. If anyone was going to teach Bree how to screw something . . .

He lost his train of thought there.

And then it further derailed when she pulled a juice box out of one of the pockets in the belt.

He felt his lips twitch. Now this . . . yeah, this made sense. He knew one of those pockets had gummy bears in it. He didn't know if she enjoyed high-energy activities in part so she could get away with eating all the c.r.a.p she loved, or if she was just lucky that she liked to burn all the calories she took in. The woman was trim and toned, and she ate like a fourteen-year-old boy.

"So, gummy bears and licorice, too, right?" he asked, feeling the tight band of want and regret around his chest loosen slightly.

"Hey, and raisins. It's not all junk."

"You were worried about being stuck out here for days without being able to get to food or water?" he asked. "You had to stock up just in case?"

Bree frowned. "What are you talking about? These are bare minimums to get through an eight-hour workday. If I were afraid of actual meals for days, I'd be pulling my rolling cooler along behind me."

He couldn't fight the grin that time.

d.a.m.n. How could he not love her?

He couldn't help it. He'd known that since he was seventeen. But he sure as h.e.l.l could hide it and deny it and ignore it.

Practice made perfect.