Two weeks.
That's how long it had been. Two weeks of seeing him flirt with every new woman who walked into Crash. It made her miserable.
Max sulked into her beer, if that was even possible, as yet another woman approached the lean-muscled back at the bar. She was sure she'd seen the floozy lick her lips before she even took one step.
And of course he turned toward the bimbo with that devilishly handsome grin on his face, and had invited her to sit, and bought her a drink.
And of course she would lean in, inviting him to either look down her top a little or smell her scent a little, or both, and whisper to him so he'd have to lean in close to her, too.
It was killing her, and it was so unlike her. Max tipped her beer sideways, and when that wasn't enough, she tipped it upside down, chugging the alcohol as if she might be able to get drunk and stay drunk and forget all about how he was probably going to take the woman home and ravage her senselessly into oblivion.
Original Cindy watched her girl bore into him fully, her eyes burning from across the bar. She needed to find out what was wrong. She knew the instant she questioned Max that the transgenic woman would deny and deflect and get the hell out of there, because she most definitely could be a female fog bank, so she changed her approach and decided to ask the object of Max's sorrowful stare.
As she approached, she heard the brainless girl at the bar offer up how drunk she was, and the man respond, "I'm really not interested."
Before the woman could stand up, presumably to leave, Original Cindy stepped between them and asked, "Hey, shugga, what's wrong witcha girl?"
With a sudden alertness in his eyes, he trained his stare on Max, without even looking around for her – as if he knew exactly where she was, and saw a saddened pair of brown eyes look away. She stood up, slid on her jacket, and climbed the stairs to leave.
"I don't know," came his deep, gravelly reply.
"Boy, you better figure it out," OC seemed to scold, "Because it is definitely about you."
With no further probing, he grabbed his leather coat and shrugged into it as he took the stairs by twos. As he swung the door open and stepped into the chilly Seattle air, he saw her a short ways ahead, her back to him, walking slowly in the direction of Crash's parking lot.
"Max! Hold up!" he called after her. He hustled to catch up and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
When she turned to face him, she couldn't look him in the eyes. She'd started crying and could only look down. "What?" she asked dejectedly.
"What's wrong?" he asked, almost as if he was teetering on being angry.
Max took a big breath and met his stare. "I just – can't do this anymore."
"Can't do what, Max?" he asked.
"I can't hang out with you anymore. I can't come to Crash every night and watch you with all those girls."
He finally nodded in understanding, his brows scrunching together in concern. She seemed to be really hurt by it all. "This is because of two weeks ago?"
She nodded.
"I told you how I feel," he said. "And you said you didn't feel the same."
More tears welled in her eyes and she looked down again. "I know. I know, but…" she trailed, her breath coming out in plumes.
"But what?" he prodded, waiting for her to say it.
Tears streamed down. "But now it's too late, isn't it?" She looked up to him.
His face seemed to be frozen in that confused but concerned stare. He couldn't speak.
She nodded in despair and accepted his silence as his answer. She turned back to the parking lot.
"No," he called after her.
She turned to face him again. "No, it's not?"
"No, it's not," he said lowly, closing the distance between them. He saw a hint of her smile and hesitated for what seemed to her like forever before he raised his palms to tilt her face toward him, licked his own lips, and leaned down to kiss her. His kiss was forgiving, and hers, apologetic. When they separated, he said, "It's never too late, Maxie."
Max's eyes fluttered open. "You sure? What about those girls in there?"
He smirked again. "I'm not in love with them."
She was going to tell him. She was going to say the words out loud, and he was going to reciprocate. His face has softened and he was alive with the newfound knowledge.
"Wait, you knew?" she asked.
"Of course I knew," he said confidently, staring at her lips again.
"Well, why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you didn't know yet," he answered, nudging her upper lip with his lower, and holding her to him. "And ever since that day in your cell, I knew you were never gonna let anyone profess your love except you."