I didn’t believe he would.
“It happened,” Donnelly said with a tight shrug. “It was just one time. She asked me.” He tried to gauge my reaction. “Are we good?” I could feel his worry.
“Yeah, we’re good.” They’re both adults, but I definitely felt bad for reassuring Maximoff that nothing would happen between them when something clearly did.
I thought I knew Donnelly better than that.
Maximoff had a talk with Luna once we were all back in Philly too. Apparently, she just kept reassuring him that the hook-up was a “one-time” thing.
In the garage, I close the tabloid and stick up for my friend. “Donnelly would treat her better than three mystery guys in a Manhattan club.”
Maximoff tucks his phone in his back pocket. “He’s twenty-seven. My dad will murder him, Farrow.”
I toss the magazine on the stack. “True.”
“And Luna prefers one-night stands. She might not even want to hook up with Donnelly again.”
“Yeah,” I say, but I feel for Donnelly. If he risked our friendship to be with Luna, there’s a good chance he really likes her.
Another five minutes tick by before we find sheetrock mud and joint compound, and we return to the kitchen. But we’re not alone anymore.
“Have you been making another collage for me and Farrow?” Maximoff asks his sixteen-year-old brother. He wastes no time being a hardass. Xander hasn’t even popped his head out of the freezer yet.
I set the materials from the garage on a barstool and rest my foot on the rung.
“What?” Xander has a hand on the freezer door, his amber eyes pinging from me to his older brother. “No, we aren’t.” He frowns. “Why did Luna and Kinney say they were going to?”
“No.” Maximoff ties the bagged loaf of bread that he left opened. “So you haven’t been collecting tabloids recently.”
Xander shakes his head. “I threw them all away in January.”
It’s April. If they’re not doing arts and crafts, then this is more serious.
Maximoff is now officially in full-on take-charge mode that I won’t stop or steamroll. He’s texting, and I can only guess that he’s asking Kinney if they’re her tabloids. She’s at school right now.
Xander grabs a Hot Pocket and shuts the freezer. “You punched the wall?” He’s staring at his older brother.
I smile into a bite of apple.
Maximoff looks thoroughly irritated. Job well done. “It was Farrow.”
“It was my elbow,” I clarify. “And an accident.”
“We were wrestling,” Maximoff explains further and motions to his brother’s frozen hockey puck. “We already have all this food out if you want a sandwich, Summers.”
“Thanks, but this is ten times better.” He pops the Hot Pocket in the microwave, punches the cook time, then leans against the counter and picks at his thumbnail. “So…can I ask you two something?”
I’m a little bit surprised he’s not just speaking to Maximoff.
Sure, I’ve been teaching Xander how to box and some basic MMA technique, but he hasn’t exactly sought me out for “advice” before.
Whatever’s on his mind could revolve around the wedding. That’d make more sense. Especially since we haven’t formally picked groomsmen and groomswomen yet. But most have a good idea they’re in the wedding party.
If Xander backs out of the ceremony, it’ll really hurt Maximoff. I’m hoping that’s not what this is about.
“Yeah, of course, Summers.” Maximoff abandons the bread. “You can ask us anything.”
He tucks his longish brown hair behind his ears. “So like, if I’ve been watching porn for an hour every week is that too much?”
I try really hard not to smile in amusement. This is not the road I thought he was driving down.
“I don’t think so.” Maximoff glances to me, tagging me in because he didn’t recreationally watch porn growing up.
“Thank God for my normal adolescent behavior,” I tell him before telling his brother. “You’re not over-killing the porn game. An hour a week is basically tame.”
“What’s too much?” he asks me, not his brother.
Maximoff is smiling this soft smile at the wall. I’m guessing he’s happy his teenage brother is seeking me out for this shit, and I am too.
“You don’t need to worry about the amount right now,” I tell Xander. “Just ask yourself a set of questions.” I motion to him with my apple. “Is watching porn an hour a week impeding your life?”
“No.”
“Why are you watching it?”
He shrugs. “I was curious, and I liked how it…you know. Made me feel.” His neck reddens.
“Are you using porn to avoid something?” I ask one last question.
“No.”
“There you go. Your porn usage is healthy.” I bite into my apple.
He nods in thanks, the microwave beeps, but he waits to collect his Hot Pocket. “Also, I can’t go to that thing tomorrow.”
I chew slowly. “You mean my birthday party?” I invited Maximoff’s siblings and some other people to Superheroes & Scones tomorrow. I just wanted something low-key. No hassle or big deal.
“Yeah, that. I can’t go.”
Maximoff frowns at Xander. “Why not?”
He lets out a long sigh. “Uh, because I’ve gained way too much muscle working out with you two and boxing, and I’m so over the fucking paparazzi hounding me about it.” He weighs options on his hands, miming scales. “Either I don’t workout anymore or I don’t go out in public tomorrow, and you should be happy I’m choosing the second option.”
Maximoff gestures to his brother. “Temporary solution: you could wear baggier clothes.”
Xander grabs his Hot Pocket and slams the microwave. “No, I’m over it, Moffy. They can suck my dick.” He exits, and I force down a laugh.
Maximoff stares hard at the door his brother went through. “I can’t tell if he’s giving a middle finger to the media or if he’s hermit-ing.”
“The former,” I say. “And hermit-ing isn’t a word.”
He glares at the ceiling, then digs in his pocket. Someone texted him. He goes rigid. “They’re not Luna or Kinney’s tabloids.”
Shit.
Our eyes collide with the same realization. They have to belong to either his mom or his dad, and after their fight this morning, this isn’t adding up to anything good.
“It’ll blow by,” Maximoff assures me. “It always does. They can handle whatever’s happening.”
“Yeah.” My brows lift. “But what’s happening?”
He shakes his head, then freezes.
“What is it?”
“I bet they’re upset about the whole Luna-being-a-sex-addict rumors. That has to be it.”
We could ask, but I don’t like prying unless it’s needed. Their private business is their private business. Not mine.
“It’ll blow by,” Maximoff repeats with tough resilience.
3