This story belongs to and was written entirely by keepdreaming93.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to James Patterson.

MAX POV:

"If I had a strange resemblance to a ceiling fan, Fang, would you still love me?"

Fang moaned, curling his hand around my waist and bringing me to his side so that he could see the television. I plopped onto the couch beside him, leaving my leg over his lap, and I kissed his neck.

"Would you?"

He shoved me down into the soft pillows of the couch. "Aaaannnndddd, he's gonna...no...yes...no, goddamnit! Just fucking throw the damn ball—"

Fang is very passionate about his sports.

"Ffffaannnng..."

"Max. Shut up," he said, leaning forward onto his elbows.

"Let's go out on a date," I said, glancing at the clock. "It's only six."

He said, "I'm busy."

I began to cry softly, and he flipped out. "Damn it, and now you have to cry! Max, baby, you know that when the game comes on it's the one time I can't pay attention to you."

"One time!" I shrieked. I mean, sure, I was faking the tears, but I was still pissed. "You go to work, then school, then when you get home it's the game, and then we go to bed, and—"

"Shit!" he said. "Throw it to an open player, stupid ass, not to the opposing team." He noticed my glare then. "Okay, sorry, baby, it's just..." He motioned to the TV. "He shouldn't have passed it there."

I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Max, really. Don't pout about this."

"Fine," I said, getting off of the couch and going into our shared bedroom. I stripped of my slinky pajamas and changed into a slutty, black, strapless cocktail dress, with a coat over it. I let my hair fall from my bun into long waves down my back, threw on dark makeup and peep toe pumps, grabbed my wallet, and went toward the door.

Fang was up in an instant. "Maximum, where are you going?"

"Out," I answered, throwing the door open, pulling my cell phone from my bag. I pressed Macy's speed dial, then held the phone to my ear. Fang took the phone, folding it closed and slipping into the back pocket of his jeans. Macy, a girl that goes to Fang's school that I met when they were doing a project together, lived just down the street. I began walking toward the exit.

"Where is out?" he asked sternly.

I looked back into our apartment. "Your game, Fang. It looks lonely. Maybe you should sleep with football. Oh, wait, can't stick your dick into that, can you?"

He smirked. "I'm sure I can find a way."

Disgusted, I turned on my heel and walked more briskly. Then Fang's hand closed over the back of my coat and I was reeled backward.

"What?" I snapped, slapping at his hand.

He untied my jacket and watched it fall open, then his eyes scanned my body. His fingers fell to the end of my dress and skimmed my thigh.

"Your dress," he said, "is seventeen thousand times too short."

"Dad," I said, "your game is missing you dearly."

Fang rolled his eyes and his eyes fell to my chest. "And the neckline is far too low. If you're going out, then you have to change."

He was serious, too, like after ignoring me when we hadn't spent time together in days, he could order me around.

"Nope," I said, and tucked my hair behind my ear.

"Then get back inside," he told me.

"Nope," I repeated.

"Max." He slipped his arm around my waist. "I'm not going to let you go out and have a million men hit on you, you being their only attention. It's not going to happen."

"Really? I think that sounds great. At least someone would be paying attention to me, since my own boyfriend can't." I threw his arm off of my body.

I expected him to say something, but instead he just looked at me, eyes too pretty, face too handsome.

"All we do is fight," he said.

"No, actually, always is the wrong word. We weren't fighting ten minutes ago, when I wanted to go out on a date. A date. And my boyfriend wanted to watch the game instead." I cupped his face in my hands. "Fang, we don't spend enough time together. We are busy. I think that we should take advantage of the limited time."

He turned his head to kiss my wrist. "Are you mad?"

"Yeah," I said. "Of course I am. You were a dickhead. And you didn't even answer when I asked if you would still love me, even if I looked like a fan."

He laughed softly. "I'll love you no matter what."

"Then tell me, why did you only notice I was there when I got on this slutty dress?"

"Because, Max," Fang said, moving closer so that his arms slipped around me, "I'm the only man who gets to love you. Okay?"

I rolled my eyes. "And you think that they wouldn't if I weren't dressed like a whore?"

He kissed the tip of my nose. "I think that they would, and that's why I'm keeping you close, in the safety of our home, so that I'm the only man who is able to kiss, touch, or look at your hot body. Or your beautiful face and eyes. Or get to know your heart."

Oh.

He began to pull me back into the apartment but I held my ground. "No, Fang, I'm not coming and watching the game with you. I'm going out."

"But I thought we made up," he said.

"We didn't even fight, Fang, so shut up. Come with me."

His fingers moved over my body as he considered this. "But, the game..."

"Okay, bye," I said, starting toward the exit. "And I'm taking your car."

"You are not taking my car."

"I am so taking your car."

I squealed as Fang wrapped his arms around me from behind, his lips attached to my neck, pulling me back into the room. I tried to fight for a moment, but then his tongue came out and touched the sensitive skin, and my eyes rolled back into my head.

Damn him and his fucking tongue.

He chuckled and pulled me inside, flipping me around and pinning me to the door. He kissed me, then lifted me into his arms and brought me into our bedroom, lying me down. Our mouths moved together, our bodies moved together, our hips.

But really, we were one far before that. Since we were five years old, our hearts have been beating together, our thoughts, our entire beings.

FANG POV:

"Maaaaaaax, psssssttttttttttt...Maximum, oh Maaaaaaxxxximuuummmmm."

"Shut up!" she screamed, hitting me over the head with the pillow and turning, pressing her face into the pillow. "God, Fang, you're so fucking annoying."

I pouted and pulled open an eyelid of hers. She slapped me. "So are you. It's Saturday. Let's go out."

She moved my hand away so she could close her eye. "Isn't there football on, or something you'd rather be doing?"

I pounced on her and pinned her arms to the side. "Really? You're still mad after a whole night of mind blowing sex, after I gave you four, yes, four—"

"I would forgive you, but you never said sorry."

"That was my sorry."

"Tell me how awesome I am," she said. I rolled my eyes. "I'm serious."

"You're cool and hot and pretty and funny," I said dryly.

She said, "I hate you."

I dipped down with a smile and dropped a kiss on the crown of her head. "You, Maximum Ride, are beautiful. And the greatest girlfriend ever."

Max squinted up at me, studying my face to see if I was bluffing or not. Finally, she said, "I know I am. But you, on the other hand, are not a good boyfriend."

"Why!" I said, sitting down on her hips.

"Ow! That's why! You're heavy and you just sat on me! You're inconsiderate." I smiled and got on my knees, leaning down and kissing the side of her neck.

"Sorry," I murmured. "I'm not letting you up until you say I'm a good boyfriend."

"But you're not—"

I slapped my hand over her mouth. She licked it. I released her.

"Fang. You rock my socks."

I released my hand. "Really?"

She rolled her eyes, lifted up her legs, and kicked me in the stomach. I flew off of her and onto the floor.

She squealed and ran over to me, leaning down. "Oh, my god, are you okay?" She asked between giggles. "I didn't think you were that light."

"I am not light! I'm lean."

She snorted and walked right out of the room.

MAX POV:

He goes to work, I cook and clean. It's like we're married already.

Except hopefully when that happens he won't be such an ass.

"It smells good, hon," he told me, wrapping his arms around my waist and leaning over me to snag a biscuit. I elbowed him in the stomach and snatched it back, placing it back on the plate. He came closer and spun me around, leaning me over the counter.

"Mr. and Mrs. Fang Martinez," he breathed, trying it out on his tongue. "Mrs. Maximum Ride Martinez."

"Fang," I said. "Fang, you're only nineteen."

He ignored me. "Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas James Ryan. Mrs. Ryan-Martinez. Mr. Nicholas Ryan-Martinez."

I stared at him.

"I want you to be my wife."

I stroked the side of his face with my palm. "We're far too young."

He stared into my soul. "So if I were to drop down on one knee right now and promise you forever, you'd say no?"

I looked away, but he pulled my face back to him. "We're too young."

He brushed his lips over my forehead. "I wasn't going to ask you, anyway." I kissed his mouth quickly. "But I am going to. And you're going to say yes because we're soul mates."

"Soul mates. Really."

He nodded, kissing me sweetly. "Maximum Ride Ryan Martinez. It's too long."

"Maximum Ryan. Maximum Ride Ryan. No, that doesn't work because they start with the same letter. Maximum Ride-Martinez."

He cocked his head to the side. "I don't remember my parents or anything, but, you know, it's my last name still..."

"Fang," I said, wrapping my arms around him, "I don't care if your last name was cocksucker, I'd still marry you and take it. Names mean nothing. I just want you."

"Cocksucker," he breathed, mixed in with the beginnings of a chuckle. "That would be awesome."

I smiled, touching my hand to his forehead, then his cheek, and next to his chest. "Hey, Fang, guess what?"

"What?" he asked, leaning his forehead against mine.

I was gonna tell him that he's a stupid motherfucker, but the look he gave me changed my mind.

"I love you. A lot."

He said, "Really. Because saying you would marry me even if my last name was cocksucker didn't give it away."

I frowned. "That was hypothetical. And now I take it back."

He laughed. "You can't. Now I'm going down to the offices and changing my name. Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Cocksucker."

"Fang, I hate you," I said, pushing on his chest. He pulled me back into him.

He swayed me back in forth in his arms, cooing, "You loooovvveeeee meeeeeee, Max loooovvvveesssss meeeeeeeeeeeeee..."

I turned around. "So what! You love me, too, so there!"

"And who in the world convinced you of that?" he asked, a grin on his beautiful mouth.

"Oh, just this one douchebag who nearly proposed to me, eh," I glanced at my imaginary watch, "five minutes ago."

He just laughed. Inside of us, children were trapped. And I think they broke free, as he picked me up and threw me on the couch, and we proceeded to wrestle around, like in my bed at the foster home, where at the end, we would be so exhausted that we would fall asleep right there, tangled.

He was right. We were soul mates.

The next Monday, Fang returned home from work in the evening. I was in the dining room, working at the table, shuffling through pictures of us at all different ages. Him kissing my cheek at five, both of us blushing. Iggy shoving his face into the dirt. The next one of Fang socking Iggy in the jaw. Swinging. Wrestling. Laughing. Swimming. Smiling. Loving.

He came in, and I was crying over the pictures, crushed by memories so sweet, and he came over to me and looked at the pictures. We both looked at them for a bit, hands locked together, and I finally looked up at his face.

Over his lips, and partially on his cheek, was hot red lipstick.