Free DirtyInterludes by Jodie Becker Page A

before
flushing it down. A flash of panic skated over his face, but he quickly covered
it with a smirk. Making a show of dusting his hands, Bryce held them out for
inspection.
    Nothing but the swish of the toilet filled the room. Max
noticed the tremble in his friend’s hands. “It doesn’t prove anything. Don’t
use at all. For a month, and then I’ll concede.”
    Bryce licked his white lips, shock giving way to fury.
“Easy. Piece of piss.”
    Max shrugged. “All right then.”
    Bryce glanced almost forlornly at the toilet before he
shouldered by Max. He paused. “Thanks for a fucked evening.”
    He pounded down the stairs and the door slammed, making Max
sigh. Had he pushed his friend too much? Only time would tell.

Chapter Five
     
    Bridget picked up her cello, blinking back the blur of
weariness in her eyes as she trudged down the stairs. Last night she practiced
her piece, but with each stroke, Max still haunted her. Snatching up an apple
by the table, she walked out the door toward her car and paused. Her car seemed
lower than usual. She rested her cello against the side and crouched at one
tire. The rims touched the driveway. Shock tightened her chest, quickly obliterated
by the anger that fired in her veins.
    Max.
    It was Monday morning and she was going to be late for work
all because he wanted to get back at her. That was low. She stormed across the
lawn and banged on his door. Never letting up until the door swung open. She
gulped back the momentary heat at the sight of his naked chest and the way the
dragon seemed to move as he rubbed the heel of his palm against his eye.
    Max sighed. “Should’ve known.”
    “Of course. You mightn’t have a job that holds proper hours,
but I do. I’m going to be late because of you.”
    Max glowered. “Wait? What? How is you being late my fault?”
    Bridget scoffed. “As if you don’t know. Look what you did to
my car.”
    He leaned out of the door and squinted. “Seems fine to me.”
    Bridget’s hands fisted with the urge to slap him. “Don’t act
as if you don’t know. You let the air out of my tires.”
    Max straightened. “That wasn’t me.”
    “Oh don’t pretend! I know it was you.”
    Max shook his head once in ferocious denial. “Why would I
deflate your tires? It’d mean you’d be here and not elsewhere playing that
instrument of yours.”
    “If it wasn’t you, then…” Gillian.
    “Who knows how many enemies you make? How many people have
you thrown gnomes at lately?”
    Now she wished she’d packed a gnome and thrown it at
Gillian. She briefly relished the image of Gillian going down from a knock to
the head by a gnome.
    Max looked at her expectantly and she realized he’d asked
her something.
    “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
    “I have an air compressor. I could pump your tires for you.”
    Surprise made her lips part. “You’d help me?”
    He rubbed the back of his head, a wry twist to his lips. “It
seems like a neighborly thing to do.”
    The irony of the situation brought a burst of laughter to
her mouth. “Yes. It would. I would appreciate that.”
    He shut the door and Bridget returned to
her car, packing her cello into the back. Max came across the lawn, still
shirtless and lugging an air compressor behind him. Drool gathered in her mouth
at the sight of his finely tuned muscles. It was wrong for a man to walk around
with just track pants. He put the compressor down and crouched by a tire to
attach the hose. The compressor flicked on with a loud burr and Max stood, hand
on the hood.
    Close enough to catch his woodsy scent, she tried to ignore
the arousal that flared to life. Goose bumps prickled and it wasn’t because of
the cold. Wrapping her arms around herself, she took a step back, resenting his
gorgeous body.
    “Aren’t you cold?” she asked.
    Max perched his hip on her car. “Nope.”
    “But I can see goose bumps on you.”
    He looked down at his arm then shrugged. “I grew up in
Michigan. That’s cold.