Текст книги "Lead Me Not"

Автор книги: A. Meredith Walters

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His entire demeanor seemed more than a little off. He was a bit too perky for an addiction support group. I continued to frown in his direction, trying to get a read on him. There was something undeniably mesmerizing about him, but there was also something else there that I couldn’t quite put my finger on, and it was driving me nuts.

He turned his head and looked at me, and he blinked as though in surprise. His brows furrowed as he studied me as intently as I studied him.

“Okay, then. Everyone, I’m Kristie Hinkle, director of support services at the Community Services Board. And this is Aubrey Duncan. She’s a student here at Longwood and will be my co-facilitator for the next twelve weeks.” I lifted my hand in an awkward wave.

I was met by twelve pairs of eyes whose owners seemed to take me in and judge me in the span of thirty seconds. Crap, this wasn’t going to be easy. Blue Eyes across from me still hadn’t looked away from my face, and I was feeling more than a little uncomfortable.

Kristie smiled and gave me a slight nod, letting me know it was my turn to talk. I took a deep breath and looked around the group. “Hi. I’m really excited to be a part of this group. I’m working on my degree in counseling, and I hope my experience can . . . I don’t know . . . help you in some way,” I said. I wanted to cringe at how pretentious I sounded. They were going to hate me. I just knew it.

Several of the girls rolled their eyes, and their body language immediately told me that I was right; they totally hated me. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this after all.

Kristie recognized my floundering and jumped in. “Some of your faces I know; the rest of you are new. I’d like to take a moment to go around the circle and have you introduce yourselves. Say something about yourself. Why you’re here. What you hope to get out of the next twelve weeks. The important thing to remember is that this is a safe place to talk. Anything you say in this room stays in this room. We are all bound by that confidentiality. It is important that you trust each and every person here; otherwise this can’t work.”

Kristie nodded her head toward a girl I recognized from the front desk of the university’s library. The girl looked down at her name tag and pointed at it with a shy smile. “I’m Marissa. I’m a sophomore, and I’ve struggled with an addiction to Ritalin for almost two years,” she said quickly, as though she couldn’t get the words out of her mouth fast enough.

Kristie smiled. “We’re glad you’re here, Marissa,” she said sincerely. It continued like that around the circle. There was Kyle, the frat guy. I was surprised to hear that he had been busted for cocaine possession twice and was worried about losing his football scholarship. Looking at him, you’d see an athletic jock who lived for a good time. I would never have suspected he struggled with something like that.

Then there were Lisa and Twyla, the sorority girls, who were best friends but also found themselves addicted to methamphetamines to stay awake so they could get their homework done. There was Josh, who smoked pot so often he was failing most of his classes. Gigi, who liked to dabble in ecstasy on the weekends. Grant and Vince, who liked painkillers. And Lynette, who found herself addicted to Percocet after her knee surgery last year.

Then Kristie turned to the hostile couple, who had become more and more agitated as everyone introduced themselves.

“What about you two? What do the two of you hope to get out of the group?” Kristie asked kindly. The girl looked at her hand, which was still smothered by her boyfriend’s larger grasp. She didn’t look up, her bright pink hair covering her eyes.

The guy’s lips thinned, and he was silent for so long I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to say anything. Then finally he gritted his teeth and said in a barely audible voice, “I’m Evan, and this is April. We just want to put the hours in and get this shit over with.”

I looked over at Kristie. Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly, but I noticed it all the same. These two were going to be hard to deal with. Kristie looked at April, who seemed to shrink in on herself. The dynamic between the pair was downright disturbing.

“Do you agree, April? Are you only here to put in the required hours? Or is there something more you’re hoping to learn?” The pink-haired girl shook her head. After a few moments, Kristie realized she wasn’t going to get anything out of an obviously mute April.

Which left the blond and blue-eyed boy whose name tag on the front of his shirt read “Maxx.” Kristie seemed relieved to turn her focus to him. He had sat quietly during the introductions, playing the role of the model group member. He made sure to act interested while the others talked, but I couldn’t shake the sense that he really didn’t give a shit, that for him this was all a game and he knew what part he had to play.

“Finally, the last member of the group. Why don’t you tell us a little bit about why you’re here,” Kristie said. His grin was deceptively benign, but his eyes revealed a different story altogether. I just wished I knew what that story was.

The other girls in the group were completely transfixed by him. I had read a book once about cult leaders who were able to control a room with a smile or a gesture. They had a charisma about them that made people lay down their lives for them. I had always thought that was ridiculous; no one could be so magnetic that people would happily follow them off the edge of the world if they were asked to.

Looking at Maxx and the way the entire room gravitated toward him, I finally understood it. And the scary thing was that it was obvious he knew the power he had. And he enjoyed it.

Despite my less-than-friendly feelings toward the mysterious boy, I couldn’t help my more primal reaction to him. It was easy to fantasize about how his body would feel against mine. He seemed like the type who craved control, and it made me shiver to imagine relinquishing control of my body to him.

My contradictory feelings were also unethical and completely unprofessional. I was here as a facilitator. I was in a position of authority, however tentative, and I shouldn’t be lusting after a guy who was here for treatment.

What was wrong with me? This was so out of character that it shocked me.

Maxx looked around the room in a leisurely way, taking his time to make the circle until his gaze finally settled on me. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and I couldn’t help that my eyes fell to his mouth. Fucking hell . . .

A flash of some unidentifiable emotion heated his face. Just as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone, as though it had never been there. His tongue disappeared behind his teeth as he grinned at me, making me wonder if he could read the inappropriate thoughts I was having.

And that pissed me off. He pissed me off. Which was irrational. I didn’t even know him.

My neck flushed bright red under his scrutiny. The strange familiarity I had felt when he arrived only increased the longer he looked at me. When his attention finally shifted away, my breath came out in a noisy rush that embarrassed me.

Kristie gave me a strange look before turning back to Maxx. His lips quirked as though something about all of this amused him. But then, as if he’d flicked a switch, his face smoothed and his eyes became serious. It was like watching someone put on a mask. It was seamless and complete.

“I’m Maxx Demelo,” he began, his voice soft and rich. I swallowed around the thick lump in my throat.

That voice. I knew it. But from where?

Maxx lifted his hands in the air, his broad shoulders heaving in a shrug as though he was about to reveal the secrets of his soul. His eyes flicked to me again, and he said with absolute sincerity, “And I came here to be saved.”

Was this guy for real?

I looked at the other group members and quickly realized they had all swallowed his Kool-Aid. Kristie seemed to think seriously about his statement as she leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

“That seems like a pretty tall order, don’t you think?” she asked him, and I could tell she was as fascinated by Maxx as the rest of us. Everyone, even Evan and April, was fixated on the blond-haired, blue-eyed boy who wore his vulnerability like a badge of honor. It was so at odds with the cocksure, mocking guy who had walked in only fifteen minutes earlier. It was as though he were playing dress-up, trying to decide which character to be.

Maxx crossed his legs at the ankle and rested his hands in his lap. “I don’t think so,” he said. His eyes drifted my way again, and I felt like a mouse in a snare. I really wished he would stop looking at me.

“I’ve found my way into hell, and wanting salvation is the only thing that keeps me going.” His words were quiet and controlled, and I couldn’t tell if he was feeding us all a line or if he meant it.

“I’m ready to be saved. I need it, Kristie. So I will do whatever I have to do to get it.” He sounded almost angry. Everyone was quiet for a few minutes as if his words had struck a chord deep inside them.

Finally, Kristie blinked as she smiled at the group, shaking off the spell Maxx had created. “Well . . . ,” she began, and cleared her throat. “Let’s hope you find it,” Kristie said, a little too brightly. I watched Maxx and knew without a doubt that he was something dangerous.

He was something primal and unfettered—a force that could take everything and everyone down with him, burning it all in a violent flame. And then afterward he would dance on the ashes.

He was terrifying.

chapter
four

maxx

the group was a joke. But if I didn’t want to end up in the slammer, I’d have to suck it up and spend the next twelve weeks of my life talking about my fucking feelings. I had been to enough therapy in my twenty-one years to know the score. I knew how to play the part to get me through it.

Share a sob story. Act like you believed the line of bullshit they threw at you. Then get your ass so far on the other side that you never had to think about it again.

But I had been stupid, a little too cocky, and I had gotten myself busted, though I had been lucky and had just sold most of what I had on me that night, leaving only a couple of pills. Possession, not intent to distribute, meant the difference between community service and mandatory counseling as opposed to sitting in a jail cell worrying about getting ass-raped after I dropped the soap in the showers.

So I would become the Maxx who felt guilt and shame, a guy who regretted his decisions, even as I planned how I would do it all over again.

Because choice had been taken from me a long time ago, and there was no place for guilt in the world I lived in.

I had walked into the room on Tuesday evening, expecting it to be the fucking mockery that it was.

What I hadn’t been expecting was to see a girl with long blond hair and eyes that had the power to cut through me like a knife. She had knocked me sideways, leaving me scrambling to find my footing.

I was drawn to her. I couldn’t help it. Some things were impossible to ignore—and the way my dick twitched in my pants as I stared at her long legs was one of them.

I laid it on thick. I knew how to say and do what was necessary to get what I wanted.

Except I got the distinct impression she wasn’t buying what I was selling. And I wasn’t sure what the hell I was supposed to do with that. It messed with my head, and it pissed me off.

But it also made me determined.

And whether she realized it or not, her dismissal was all the motivation I needed.

So I watched her watching me, and I figured that maybe this support group thing wouldn’t be half bad.

chapter
five

aubrey

“are you going to answer that?” Brooks asked from my couch, where he was doing a damned good impersonation of a deadbeat beer guzzler.

My phone vibrated on an endless loop as it danced across my coffee table. We were three hours into our weekly cram session. I was trying to study for my Developmental Psychology quiz, while Brooks made a good show of writing his paper for Behavioral Genetics.

Brooks and I were both pretty intense when it came to our course work, though perhaps at times I put a little more emphasis on the work part than Brooks did.

I had barely registered the fact that my phone had been going off for the past ten minutes. Brooks leaned across the coffee table and snapped his fingers an inch from my nose.

I scowled and batted his hand away. “Stop it!” I grumbled, flipping the page in my textbook, already immersed in language acquisition in children. Riveting stuff.

“Pick it up or turn it off, Aubrey, before I chuck it out the window,” Brooks threatened. I gave him an amused smirk, knowing the sound of his bark all too well. Brooks looked fried. His hair stood on end, and his eyes gave him more than a little bit of a harried look.

“Okay, okay. Settle down, boy,” I teased, grabbing my phone just before it fell onto the floor.

“Hello?” I said, without bothering to check the caller ID. Stupid Aubrey! I should have known by now to always check the caller ID.

“Bre. Finally! I’ve been trying to call you for over an hour!” my mother chastised into the phone. I instantly cringed. Not only at the sound of my mother’s disapproving voice but at her insistence in using that nickname.

It was a nickname that should have been buried with the person who had given it to me. But my mom continued to use it, and I knew that had everything to do with the pain it inflicted every time it was uttered.

“Sorry, Mom. My ringer was off. What can I do for you?” I asked, abandoning any semblance of civil small talk and opting for straight to the point.

I hadn’t spoken to my parents in four months. We had an understanding to leave each other alone, communicating only when necessary.

I hadn’t returned home to North Carolina in over two years. It had stopped being home for me after Jayme died.

“That’s ridiculous. What if something had happened? No one would have been able to reach you!” my mother reprimanded, digging that knife just a little deeper. She sounded concerned, but appearances were deceiving.

“Sorry, Mom,” I repeated. But an apology would never undo the damage of the last three years.

My mother gave a huff, obviously feeling righteous in her indignation. My mother wore martyrdom well. She was the self-sacrificing matriarch of an ungrateful family.

The whole thing made me sick.

“You need to come home,” my mother said without further preamble.

My chest squeezed, and I clenched the phone so tightly in my hand that I started to cut off circulation to my fingers.

I stayed quiet, not trusting myself to speak. I breathed in deeply through my nose. I didn’t dare look at Brooks, who I knew was watching me curiously. He had no idea of the emotional land mine I had walked into just by answering the phone. He wasn’t privy to the side of my life that I worked hard to hide from.

“Bre! Did you hear me? This is important. I wouldn’t bother calling otherwise,” she said harshly, cutting me open with the truth of her words.

“Why?” I finally asked, clearing my throat around the huge lump that had formed there.

My mother’s annoyed snort was loud in my ear. “Are you serious? Do I really need to remind you of what next weekend is?” she declared hatefully.

The lump dissolved around the flood of my anger. Fuck, no, I hadn’t forgotten! Forgetting would never be an option for me. She wasn’t the only person who had lost Jayme. But my parents acted as though they alone grieved the loss of the fifteen-year-old girl who had disappeared from our lives too soon.

“No, Mom. I didn’t forget,” I replied through gritted teeth. I wanted to yell and rage at her cold disregard for my feelings. But Aubrey Duncan was a master at containing emotion. I had to be. It was the only way I got by.

“The local teen center is doing a memorial in Jayme Marie’s memory, and they want us there. Your father is planning to say something. The newspaper will be there, as well as a local TV crew. The entire family should be present for it.” My mom’s words were final, not allowing any argument.

I was expected to obey, no questions asked.

But I wouldn’t.

I couldn’t.

As much as a part of me wanted to repair the gaping hole in my family, I couldn’t return to Marshall Creek. I couldn’t go back to the two-story brick house where I had grown up. I couldn’t walk past the closed door that would never open again.

No way.

“I can’t make it,” I said quietly, already bracing myself for the fallout.

“You can’t make it?” my mother asked angrily.

I shook my head, even though my mother couldn’t see me.

“You’re telling me that you won’t come home for a memorial in memory of your baby sister? You can’t take a couple of days out of your life to honor your sister? You of all people should understand how important this is! You owe this to her!” My mother’s voice cracked as it rose to a shrill screech.

I closed my eyes and tried not to let the hatred overtake me. Hatred for my mother, who would never allow me to forget how I had failed Jayme. Hatred for the drugs that had taken my sister before her time. Hatred for the fucking asshole who had given them to her.

And most of all, hatred for myself.

That hatred was a ferocious thing that smoldered in my belly. It was always there. It never went away. And my mother knew just how to stoke it into a full-blown forest fire.

“I have to go, Mom,” I said, not bothering to try to explain myself to her, to tell her that returning to Marshall Creek was like ripping a bandage off a wound that was only now starting to heal. There was no point. My mother wouldn’t have listened.

And maybe I was being selfish. Maybe I should make myself go home. But I just knew it would never accomplish what I would want it to. I wouldn’t be able to go there and honor Jayme the way she deserved. Because that memorial was about my parents and their refusal to let go, not the reality of the person my sister had been.

“I can’t believe how selfish you are, Bre,” my mother spat out. The mechanical click indicated she had ended the call.

I dropped the phone back on the coffee table and gathered up my textbooks and notes, shoving them into my backpack.

“What was that about, Aubrey?” Brooks asked, concerned.

“Nothing,” I replied shortly, grabbing handfuls of pencils and highlighters and throwing them into the bag.

Brooks’s hand gripped my wrist, stilling me. “That didn’t seem like nothing. You look like you’re about to go throw yourself off a bridge. What the fuck was that about?” he asked firmly.

I gave a humorless laugh. “Sheesh, Brooks, let’s hope I never need you to talk me off a ledge. Your suicidal de-escalation techniques suck.”

I slung my backpack up on my shoulder and grabbed my keys.

“And you’re seriously evading. You’re going to be a counselor, Aubrey. You know how important it is to talk about stuff and not bottle it up. That’s what leads someone to take an Uzi into a McDonald’s. Friends don’t let friends become mass shooters,” Brooks remarked drolly.

I rolled my eyes. “Why don’t you try out the free psychotherapy on someone who needs it,” I barked, trying really hard not to take my frustrated bitterness out on him. But he was there, and my hostility was about to go thermonuclear.

“Okay, so a heart-to-heart is out of the question. Just tell me where the hell you’re going. You’re freaking me out a little here,” Brooks said.

I leaned down and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Stop being such a worrywart. I’m fine. I just forgot that I need to grab a book from the library for my Social Psychology paper that’s due in a few weeks. I’ll only be an hour or so. You can hang if you want. Renee won’t be back until later,” I told him, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.

I just needed to get out of there. I needed to walk, clear my head. My mother’s accusations bounced around in my mind and threatened to pry the lid off my carefully contained memories.

I had to move. I had to keep busy. My equilibrium demanded it. And sitting and studying with Brooks wouldn’t cut it. I required a change of scenery. I had developed carefully constructed coping mechanisms over the years for combating the nastiness that swirled in my head.

“Fine, whatever,” Brooks said, grabbing his stuff. I knew he was pissed at me. This wasn’t the first time he had tried to climb over my wall. It had been a frequent source of conflict when we were dating. He just didn’t understand that no one could get over that massive barrier I had created. He needed to stop trying.

“I’ll call you later. Maybe we can grab some dinner,” I suggested, offering the only olive branch I could give him. I didn’t want him to be upset with me. He was one of my best friends, one of my only friends, and even though I couldn’t let him in the way he wanted, he was still important to me. And I needed him to know that.

Brooks stiffened, and he turned away from me. “I’ll probably be busy,” he answered brusquely, heading for the door.

I grabbed his hand before he could leave my apartment. “Brooks, I am who I am. You know that. Don’t get angry because I can’t be the person you want me to be,” I pleaded tiredly.

His shoulders drooped, and he covered my hand with his and gave me a squeeze before leaving.

The emotional exhaustion threatened to undo me. So without another thought to Brooks or my mother, I hurried out of my building and onto the sidewalk. The routine movements of walking the familiar path toward campus did exactly what I needed them to do. I felt the tangled knots loosen and the aching in my heart lessen.

I went to the library, found the book I needed. I purposefully fit all my displaced pieces back to where they were supposed to be. I went into the bathroom and smoothed my hair and fixed my makeup.

Leaving the library, I cut across campus toward the commons. I noticed a couple of guys with buckets of white paint by the wall with the graffiti. I slowed my steps and watched as they took giant rollers and started covering the vibrant colors, drowning them with muting neutrality.

I walked closer, feeling sort of sad to see the Compulsion picture disappear. I stopped and stared at the men as they slowly and systematically erased all signs that the artwork had ever been there.

“Hey, Maxx! Where are those drop cloths? I’m getting paint everywhere,” one of the guys called out.

I froze. Maxx? What were the chances?

One of the painters turned to the speaker, and I could see clearly that it was indeed Maxx Demelo. And just because my day couldn’t get any worse, I noticed the pile of cloth by my feet.

I thought seriously about running, because that couldn’t be any more embarrassing than getting caught standing there staring at him like a moron.

Come on, feet, move!

But some masochistic part of me seemed to enjoy the sense of impending mortification.

Maxx turned around and started to walk in my direction. It was obvious he hadn’t noticed me yet. I still had a chance to get away if I wanted to.

But I didn’t. Because I sucked like that.

He was dressed in worn jeans and an old gray Longwood University sweatshirt. His blond hair was sweaty and matted to the sides of his face. He had white paint smeared across his forehead.

He looked gorgeous, and he walked like he knew it.

His arrogance was obvious in his every movement, and it annoyed me. I hated his confidence. I hated that he clearly didn’t give a shit what anyone thought. I hated that he seemed to possess every characteristic that I wished for myself.

And then he looked up and met my eyes. His lips quirked up into a self-satisfied grin as though my being there fit into some great plan of his.

“Hi, Aubrey,” he said, stooping down to pick up the pile of drop cloths.

I thought about ignoring him. But that would be rude. And he was in the support group I was co-facilitating. I was supposed to create rapport—which was difficult when he seemed to bring out this primal instinct to scream at him.

“Hi,” I replied shortly. The wind whipped my hair into my face, and I spit strands out of my mouth. Awesome. Way to look cool and collected, Aubrey!

Maxx cocked an eyebrow and regarded me steadily. He didn’t say anything. And neither did I. I started to feel uncomfortable under the weight of his scrutiny. Again I was bothered by a niggling sense of déjà vu. I felt like I should know him, though from where, I had no idea.

Maxx’s lips were curved in a teasing smile, as though my discomfort amused him. And still he said nothing. He acted as though he had all the time in the world to stand there and make me feel awkward.

Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. “So you’re painting the wall, huh?” I asked. Just call me Captain Obvious.

Maxx looked over his shoulder. “Yeah, it’s part of my community service,” he said dismissively.

“Community service?” I asked dumbly. Maxx moved to stand next to me. He pulled out a cigarette and put it between his lips. I tried not to stare as he took a drag and blew out the lungful of smoke.

I hated smoking. I thought it was a disgusting habit. So why did I find it sexy to see Max curl his lips around the end of the cigarette? Ugh!

Maxx flicked ash on the ground and then unleashed a weapon most women would have a hard time resisting.

He smiled.

A full-mouthed curve of his lips lit up his face and made his eyes sparkle. I think I may have forgotten to breathe.

Because damn, he was dazzling.

“You know, being ordered by the court to pick up other people’s shit, paint walls, and otherwise make the world a better place,” he replied dryly, giving me a wink.

“Well, it’s good to know you’re taking it seriously,” I remarked, watching him as he took another drag from his cigarette before dropping it on the ground and stomping it out.

Maxx shrugged. “It’s just I can think of a lot of other things I’d rather be doing,” he said.

Was I supposed to find a hidden meaning in his seemingly innocent statement? And why was I second-guessing every nuance in our conversation? It wasn’t like me to be so unsure.

“Really,” I muttered dryly.

Maxx chuckled and then sobered, his eyes heated and smoldering.

“Definitely,” he said quietly, raising an eyebrow, a smirk dancing across his lips.

He looked at me in a way that was both warm and intense, the kind of look that stripped you to the bone and left you shivering.

His eyes were piercing in their directness, and I knew he wasn’t fooled by my attempts at sarcasm and nonchalance. My uncomfortable attraction to him, which had begun only a few days before, practically oozed from my pores. It was mortifying.

And I knew I needed to shut this down—for both our sakes. It wasn’t appropriate. And he was making me feel . . . disconcerted.

“Well, I think the group is going to be really helpful. I’m sure you’ll get a lot out of it,” I said lamely, hoping he got the point. It seemed extremely important to remind us both of who I was and what my role was in his life. I needed to reinforce where I belonged. I was a counselor in training, someone whose role was to guide him on a difficult journey.

Nothing more.

Maxx gave me a look that was hard to decipher. “I hope you’re right,” he said, running a dirty hand across his face, leaving a smudge along the bridge of his nose.

I had to clench my hand into a fist in order to resist the urge to wipe the smudge away. And I knew there was more than my OCD at work here.

His words unsettled me. Was I perceiving a subtext that wasn’t there? Or was he purposefully communicating something that I had yet to figure out?

My guess was the latter.

He suddenly dropped his eyes, and I was surprised by the vulnerability that danced across his face.

“I really hope you’re right,” he said softly, and I didn’t know whether the comment was for him or for me.

I tilted my head at him, looking at him closely. He seemed lost in thought, and I wondered what had him so consumed.

I couldn’t help but be curious about him. He made it impossible not to be. He was obviously a complicated man with a complicated past. I was simultaneously intrigued and annoyed that I was intrigued.

There was a definite line I shouldn’t cross. So why after meeting this man once was that boundary so hard for me to remember?

Maxx frowned and opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then he looked at me, and I watched as his face smoothed over and any sign of openness was lost.

“At least I’ll like the view.” His gaze purposefully raked up and down my body as he raised his eyebrows mockingly. His smile, while trying to be seductive, was hard and brittle. Any softening I had felt was trampled by the overwhelming urge to scream in his face.

His need to fuel my unease seemed forced. As though he were firmly putting us back on ground he was more comfortable with.

“That’s not really appropriate,” I managed, annoyed by how let down I felt. Because I already missed the elusive, unguarded Maxx that I had glimpsed only seconds ago.

Because that Maxx seemed real.

This Maxx was something else entirely.

But who really knew which persona was authentic?

Hell, maybe neither was, and the real Maxx was someone I hadn’t met yet.

But one thing was for sure: I couldn’t allow myself to want to get involved with any side of him. He was in a group I was helping to facilitate. Any relationship we had would need to be strictly professional. I was required to uphold a code of conduct that was as essential as it was required. There wasn’t room for gray areas. There was only black and white. Right and wrong.

In-betweens couldn’t exist, particularly between me and a man I knew instinctively was trouble—a man who brought with him a whole mess of problems, a man I could only imagine to be the worst kind of disaster.

I hefted my book bag up on my shoulder and shifted on my feet. “I’d better let you get back to painting. Nice seeing you,” I said, lying through my teeth. Our encounter had been anything but nice.

Confusing was probably more accurate.

Maxx smiled again, and this one was much more natural. He crouched down to the ground and picked a pale purple aster flower from the campus landscaping. He got to his feet and handed it to me. I took it hesitantly, meeting his eyes as I tried to understand his motivation.