lie
noun
an intentionally false statement
The morning light woke her.
Max turns her head to see a tussled mop of curls, and the bare back of a man, rising and falling the way one does in deep sleep.
His face is turned upward slightly, over his shoulder.
Her eyes trace his face, from his sharp jaw line, full lips, to his closed eyes, the usual dark circles have faded to a light pink.
His skin glows in the light from the window.
She remembers telling him last night, after he peeled himself off of her, "don't go anywhere."
She left him to use the restroom.
When she returned he was fast asleep, face up with one arm behind his head, and the other sprayed out across her bed.
She supposed this is where she was meant to go, against him in that space.
She had smiled at the sight of her neighbor in her bed and slid against him...
Now, she reaches for her phone on the other side of her, noting the time:
7:30 am.
She carefully removes herself from the bed, pulls on a nearby oversized T-shirt, and passes the trail of clothing they made last night.
Each piece a bread crumb allowing her to relive what happened in reverse.
A pair of men's shoes
A pile of emerald green, and a strappy black heel...
She smiles as she reaches the dark colored pants on the floor, remembering how at one point he had said, "We seem to have different definitions of slow."
"Shut up" she had answered before pulling him in to another kiss...
A black tie
A matching men's button up.
Another strappy black heel.
A black men's blazer.
She places her phone on her kitchen island, and starts to make coffee, thankful for left over grounds so she can simply dump them in her French press, and turn on the electric kettle with minimal noise.
She carefully checks her fridge, and then her freezer for some sort of food, then settles for a pair of frozen breakfast burritos.
The kettle reaches a boil and she pours the hot water on top of the grounds, taking out two mugs.
She hears a groan and rustling in the bedroom.
Spencer emerges wearing only boxers and a dazed look, fingers digging into the front of his hair.
"Hey" he says in a croaky voice, he's chewing at the inside of his cheek, with a look of mild embarrassment on his face.
She waves the frozen burritos at him and he obliges, crossing the room to sit on the barstool across from her.
She slides an empty coffee cup to him and then turns to pop the burritos in the microwave, trying to control the grin appearing on her face.
"I think that was the best sleep I've gotten in years," He says.
She is reaching in her cabinets now, words failing her, but she hears him speak again.
"Uh, Max—- you're getting a call."
Her phone was on silent, but sure enough when she turns to look, the screen is aglow with the words:
Bay County Department of Corrections
She presses the decline button quickly, and places the phone back on the counter, face down.
Her eyes shoot to Spencer, who was chewing on the inside of his cheek again as he gave all of his focus to slowly pressing down the handle of the French press.
He watches the grinds being forced down with what seems like a deliberate preoccupation.
Maybe he didn't see it. She thinks, and says out loud, "I keep getting these crazy spam calls" attempting to laugh it off.
She instinctively reaches for the collar of her tee and rubs the fabric between her finger and thumb.
It was a lie, she knew exactly who was calling.
His eyes fluttered up to hers, then to her collar after taking way too long to pour that damn coffee.
Oh he definitely saw it she thought.
And he knows I'm lying.
Just then then the microwave chimed averting his attention, but Max is frozen for a beat, unsure what to do next.
His eye brows scrunch up slightly as if he is thinking, his hand raises and he scratches his neck in thought.
"When do you have to leave to be at the office on time?" She asks intent on throwing a wrench is his spinning gears, but acting like she is distracted with pouring her own coffee.
He notes the time on the microwave and looks back at her as if snapping out of a trance, "I should have been in the shower 15 minutes ago." He says with a groan, rolling off the stool and retracing his steps last night to gather his clothes.
"And I can't go like this." He says with a laugh, holding up his pants.
Good, he's being normal. Maybe he didn't see, she thinks again.
He starts putting things on, both of them silent, now wearing his pants and shirt, barely buttoned, from the night before, arranging his shoes and coat in his hands, before clumsily throwing his tie over his shoulder.
She meets him by the door and hands him the burrito as a peace offering.
Burritos make up for lies, right?
"Sorry I have to rush out." He says, softly, not meeting her eyes.
Fuck she thinks.
He definitely saw it.
He lets her kiss him on the cheek before taking the burrito.
He then peeks out of her door, making sure the hallway is clear, and quickly disappears through his own door across the hall.
Fuck.
She called Michelle as she walked down the street to the subway.
She half expected to see Spencer running to the subway as well, but she didn't.
"I fucked it up" she said when Michelle finally answers the phone, not letting her get a word in.
"Hell yeah you did baby!!" Michelle jeers, but Max continues.
"No Michelle, ——this morning I got a call from the damn prison."
Michelle groans in response.
"Yeah, and Spencer definitely saw it on my screen before I could decline it."
"What did you tell him."
"I told him it was a spam call."
"Did he believe you?"
"He's a fucking FBI profiler Michelle, what do you think?"
Michelle is silent for the first time in her life.
"I'm pretty sure he saw it," Max back tracks, "and I'm pretty sure he knew I was lying." Her voice choked a little, "what the hell was I thinking?"
"Sweety. Calm down ok? Even if he did see, it doesn't mean he's going to be able to read your mind and know everything. He's a genius, not a psychic. You gotta relax and not be so paranoid."
"Sure, until he mentions it to the blond from last night who's apparently an expert hacker... Or Rossi who very well could have worked the case, or at least knows someone who did." Max looked around to make sure no one could hear her, and lowers her voice before continuing, "They'll be passing around my file and choking on their doughnuts by lunch time today."
Michelle's voice grew harsh, "you don't know if that will happen, but even if it does, I don't care if Garcia and Rossi are the fucking filing cabinets that store all the FBI's evidence, if Spencer or any of them even imply to you that they've looked you up I'll hit them all with a suit."
Max is silent this time.
"You have nothing to be afraid of. Your identity was sealed and protected by a federal judge. Any implications or connections someone makes about you to that case without you specifically revealing that information is grossly violating a court order."
"I know," Max says.
"And nobody has any business to that information unless you want them to have it," Michelle is in full defense attorney mode now.
"I know," Max repeats.
"You don't have to tell him anything, and if he has a problem with that, he can suck my——" Max zones out for a minute, listening to the familiar diatribe Michelle has spouted over the years.
The one she screamed at several hearings meant to implicate her with the rest of them, the one she rants at her any time Max is afraid.
Max knows she is just being protective and trying to make her feel better.
But she also knows it's not that black and white.
Max notices a shift in Michelle's tone and she comes back to the conversation.
"Look," Michelle says, "this thing you got with golden boy, do you think it's just... physical, or do you think... something...more could be there? Is that what this is about? Are you afraid he's not going to like you any more?" her voice was softer now, like a big sister.
"That or it's all some elaborate sting operation." Max says, then continues "and no—-I don't think it's just physical, Michelle."
"Shit." Michelle says with a sigh.
"I lie to myself all the time." S.E. Hinton
So... any guesses about Max's big secret?
