The Rampage MC #4: Max and Briony

Chapter 21 (Briony): A Really Good Kiss

Copyright © 2024 by GroveltoHEA

I woke up the morning after the festival and, as I stretched, I felt every minute I'd been on the motorcycle the previous day. Looked like another Epsom salt bath was on the day's agenda. Walking to the bathroom, I immediately went to fill up the tub, pouring in the rest of the salts.

Five minutes later, I slipped into the hot-as-I-could-take-it water, enjoying the faint scent of lavender, letting my mind wander. I'd never seen so many tulips in my life and it had been glorious. And Max...had been a good friend. It was the kind of day I'd always dreamed of spending, easy and fun, a day so perfect it would live in my memory so I could enjoy it many times over in the years to come. Maybe I'd skip over the memory of  all of that fried carnival food, but the other ninety-nine percent had been perfect. And I'd learned a life lesson about so many fried foods in one day, so there was that.

After an hour of soaking and adding hot water whenever the bathwater cooled, I got out, dried myself off, added lotion, then got dressed. My normal Saturday errands had been pushed to today, so I had those to run, some papers to grade and a long walk to take.

While I enjoyed my cup of coffee, I made my errand and grocery list. Grabbing my wallet, I shoved it into my pocket, took my keys off the hook and headed out. It took my mind a minute to register what greeted me. Hundreds and hundreds of yellow and white tulips, still unopened, were planted in the previously bare flower beds on either side of the porch steps. On the very bottom step was a clear vase filled with pink and orange and pale purple tulips. I picked up the vase and saw a tan notecard, no envelope, just a hand-printed note.

Some tulips since you wouldn't let me buy you any at the festival. 

Beard said yellow tulips mean friendship. White tulips mean I'm sorry.

If you don't like them, I'll pull them up tonight.

My eyes once again took in the beds of yellow and white  tulips, swaying gently on their tall stems, thinking of how long it must have taken Max to plant them. How tired he must have been after the long day we'd had yesterday.

I debated calling him or texting, and settled for texting. It was the easy way out, and my complicated, mixed-up feelings for Max were at the surface right now, nothing simple about them, a complex combination of love, hate, longing, loss, frustration and pain.

I love them. I can't imagine how long it took, but thank you. 

Then I added: P. S. And if you try to dig them up, I'll key your bike.

His reply was almost instant: Glad you like them Bri and friends don't key friends' bikes

Friends. When I'd first met Max, we'd talked because there wasn't much else to do at his house every night. We'd watch TV, and make a few general comments about the show or movie, then gradually we began in-depth discussions about what we'd been watching after it was over. I found out Max wasn't much of a reader, so I'd laughingly challenged him to read a series I liked.

"They're always outgunned, outmanned and outmaneuvered, but they always come out on top," I told him. "It's a great series, lots of action, lots of technology, twisty plots. You should try it."

After giving him the title, I dropped the subject. And the man who didn't like to read...read it. I discovered it strictly by accident. I came to get a drink of water in the middle of the night and in the single light over the island, Max was sitting on one of the bar stools, shirtless, wearing thin, black sweats and black rimmed glasses.

Holy hormone happiness. Hello. Hi. Hey, there.

Since day one, I'd always found Max extremely attractive, but seeing him reading like that, his broad chest on display, dark hair slightly mussed, veins in his forearms and hands on display...and those damn fucking glasses...I had to remind myself that I was a job and he didn't see me like that.