I start to say, “No problem,” automatically, then stop when I realize she thinks Max and I are going to sleep together. Ewww. “I’m his sister,” I say. I don’t want her to imagine us that way. Ever.
“Oh. Well, definitely sorry.” She leaves us alone.
He sighs when the door closes, then sticks his key card into the slot and hits one of the buttons for the top floors.
“Does this happen a lot?”
He shifts his weight. “What?”
“You know, women and Devlin.”
“He’s like a bus station, Bean.”
“A bus station.” Is this some slang I don’t know? Or maybe Max is trying to make an analogy about something really gross. I’ve been to bus stations before. They aren’t that nice or clean.
My brother has no problem reading my confusion. “It’s like… He doesn’t stop women when they arrive. He doesn’t stop them when they depart, either. He has a pretty face, so women want to put him on their route, even when they know he’s the wrong stop for them. And because a lot of them don’t want to leave him, things can get congested.” He looks at me. “Know what I’m saying?”
Sort of, but I nod slowly like I know exactly what he means because I don’t want him to break something trying to come up with another analogy to paint Devlin as the devil. Max doesn’t write songs for the band, and for good reason. Words simply aren’t his forte.
He takes me into his suite and shuts the door. I sit down on a couch and cross my legs.
He’s back to pacing and running his fingers through his hair.
Probably wondering how he’s going to put into words what he needs to say.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I know what I’m doing.”
He stops and spins around to face me. “But… Dev?”
“He’s a nice enough guy. He rescued me from a creep who kept putting his hands on me in New York.” Although Devlin ended up putting his hands and more all over me afterward…but Max probably doesn’t need to be reminded of that. “And it’s only until I get the house from Grandma.”
“It’s my fault,” Max says heavily.
“No, it’s not. It’s hers for being difficult.”
“I hate it that I’m not going to be in Drover.” He curses under his breath. “I should cancel my trip.”
“Don’t you dare!” Being in Drover is stressful for Max, and we usually meet in a more pleasant location, like a Florida beach, when we both have some free time. He’s just done with a long world tour, and he shouldn’t have to be around Grandma and Sylvie just for me. “Really. I’m going to be fine, and I’m going to be really upset if you change your plans to hang out in town. You need to relax and refill your creative well.”
Max growls deep in his throat. “At least he has BPS, so you’re safe.”
“What’s BPS?” I ask.
“Broken pe…” He clears his throat. “Uh…ED.”
“You mean erectile—?”
“Yeah.”
Devlin’s penis was working fine just weeks ago. And why would he insist on sex if he couldn’t get it up? “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“And how would you know?”
“He was talking about it, all right? And it’s not something a guy would make up about himself.”
Well, that’s true enough. So was Devlin trying to scare me away or something?