“Fine, look,” Elliot said, sitting forward, “you know where I am if you want to talk more. We’re all here to help you through this. You’re not alone, okay?”
Max scoffed inwardly, holding his eye roll. Sure, he was surrounded by people who had his “very best interests at heart,” people who wanted to “help him get clean,” wanted to “talk it all out together,” wanted to make sure that he was “comfortable,” “at ease,” and not frantic with the need to bust out of the fucking place and find the nearest junkie stash.
Yeah, he was well and truly surrounded by well-meaning folk.
And he’d never felt more alone.
Seven years ago . . .
The party, as they always did, had descended into chaos. It was nearly midnight and Riley Moore, flanked by three of his friends, was—using only his teeth to lift the glasses—shooting vodka shots off the naked breasts of two unnamed girls. Max smiled as the guys cheered and whooped, high-fived and chest-bumped with each shot that spilled gloriously over the skin of the girls, chased by Riley’s eager tongue.
Max laughed at the enthusiastic cleanup job. Meeting through mutual friends, Max had only known Riley for a couple of years. Nevertheless, Max had learned pretty quickly that, despite not knowing too much about the man’s background, Riley was always the life and soul of any shindig and was a monster when it came to drinking. He drank damned near anything as long as it was alcoholic, yet always seemed to stay resolutely sober no matter how many bottles sat around him. He was crazy, but he never touched anything else. Not even weed. Riley always turned it down, saying it never interested him. Max had always been silently in awe of his self-restraint.
No, Riley’s vices were cars and women. Lots of women.
Max’s elbow was bumped hard. He turned to see his best friend, Carter, high and drunk, with his arm wrapped around a cute brunette who was wearing very little.
“Cheer up, man,” Carter said with a wide smile. “Come on. It’s a party.”
Max nodded and lifted his beer bottle, tipping the neck toward his friend. “I’m all good,” he replied, draining his beer, knowing that the line he’d done not an hour before was losing its edge. “Can you hit me up?”
Carter nodded and fumbled in his jeans pocket, pulling out a small Baggie. “Have at it, my friend, and then get drunk, get laid, get something to put a smile on your fucking face!”
Max laughed as he watched Carter stumble over to one of the couches, where he collapsed with his new friend and began sucking face. Bastard was right, though. Max was almost twenty-two years old. He needed to cut loose, have some real fun, and snap out of the grief that still hung around his neck after the loss of his father a year and a half before. He just didn’t know how to do it without a couple of lines and a beer. He knew his partying was teetering on the very edge of dangerous, but, ironically enough, that thrill alone kept Max’s nose in the powder and a drink in his hand.
“You came!” The squealing sound of one of the half-naked vodka shots girls brought Max’s head up from the bag in his hand. The skinny redhead scrambled from the table, pulling on her T-shirt—much to the annoyance of the men in the immediate vicinity—and hurried across the apartment to the open doorway.
Max watched her with a small smile that immediately dropped when he saw the girl she was greeting. Jesus. She was . . . tall and blonde. Very blonde. And natural blonde, too. That shit wasn’t out of a bottle. It was honey and ash and sat on petite shoulders dressed in a red short-sleeved top. The jeans she wore were black and clung to her legs like a second skin. She was . . . Christ, she was lovely.
“Come and meet Riley! We’ve been doing naked shots!” Redhead bounced on the balls of her feet, dragging the intriguing new addition back toward the kitchen.
From Blonde’s expression, as she looked around the mayhem, Max could tell she wasn’t the type of girl who would disrobe and allow random men to shoot drinks off her tits. Bizarrely, that thought comforted an unfamiliar spot in Max’s chest. She was lithe and elegant as she crossed the room, and Max found himself craning his neck to watch her over and around the other people at the party. People he’d forgotten about, didn’t give a shit about.
“Riley, this is my best friend, Lizzie. Lizzie, meet Riley.” Redhead draped herself over Riley’s arm while Lizzie smiled.
And what a fucking smile it was.
All white teeth, sparkle, and fucking rainbows.
“Hey, Liz.” Riley grinned. “You want a drink?”
“It’s Lizzie, and, no, I don’t drink and drive,” she remarked. Max chuckled at her sass and the surprised look on Riley’s face.
Riley’s laughter exploded out of him. “Well, shit, Lizzie, let me get you a Sprite at the very least.”