Falling for Fangs - Page 47

Maxwell

WhenMaxwelldroppedoff the stalagmite to Tilly, she assured him she would soon discover the final ritual ingredient to save both himself and Chloe from poisonous spines. So Maxwell turned his attention to the other most pressing matter in his life; poker.

Or, more specifically, his next poker night. After what had happened in the cave, Chloe seemed to have accepted that maybe, just maybe, he had a point about taking the time to relax and enjoy herself. Because Chloe, against all odds, had promised to come. He hadn’t even had to break out his best cajoling or turn on the charm.

It was technically possible that she just wanted to spend more time with him. But Maxwell wasn’t going to let himself believe that, much as he wanted to. After all, Chloe had lost that bet, and she seemed like the kind of woman who didn’t drag her feet when paying debts.

Whatever the reason, Maxwell was buoyant with anticipation as he put the finishing touches to the poker set-up in the library. He had several decks of his favourite cards – Tally-Ho Circle Backs with the blue seal – and had ordered plenty of Chloe’s preferred drink. Strangely, Chloe’s tipple of choice was Yellowglen; a cheap sparkling wine. He would ensure Chloe had a good night if it killed him. Again.

There was a knock at the door, too early for the regular crowd, and Maxwell entertained the brief hope that it might be Chloe. But as he made for the door, he caught Sean’s scent and tried to mask his disappointment. Apparently, he was unsuccessful.

“Hoping for someone else?” Sean raised his eyebrows.

“No, no,” Maxwell said quickly. “Great to see you! Can I get you a drink? A wee dram of whiskey, perhaps?” He thought his approximation of Sean’s accent was commendable. Sean, it seemed, did not.

“I’ll have a cider if you’ve got White Wolf,” Sean said, rolling his eyes. “There’s this local guy who makes it, Noah Fitzgerald. Wolf shifter.”

“I haven’t met him,” Maxwell said, but he opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of the preferred cider.

“He hangs out at the Three Bears’ Inn, so you wouldn’t have,” Sean said, flipping the cap off the bottle and taking a long swallow. “Nice bloke. He makes a damn good cider.”

Curious, Maxwell helped himself to a bottle. He wasn’t particularly partial to cider, but the aroma was fresh and clean without the cloying sweetness he usually associated with the drink. He took a cautious sip. “That is good.”

“Told you,” Sean shrugged.

“I should get to know this guy,” Maxwell decided. “Reckon he’d offer me a mate’s rates discount?”

“You hardly need a discount,” Sean said, waving a hand to indicate the admittedly luxurious interior of the Sanguis Estate.

“Probably not,” Maxwell agreed, taking a longer sip of cider. Goddamn, it was good. It tasted almost like Crowley Lake itself; clean, crisp, and surprisingly enjoyable.

“So, I take it your friend is coming tonight,” Sean said, nodding towards the array of chilling Yellowglen in the fridge. “Because you certainly wouldn’t buy that for yourself.”

“Chloe said she’d come,” Maxwell said. “But she’s always so caught up with work, so she might be late or—”

“Not that you’re anxious about it or anything,” Sean said, with another raise of those very expressive eyebrows. “Not that you were hoping it was her and not me at your door.”

Maxwell let out a sigh and looked down at the cider in his hand. “Am I really that obvious?”

“To me, yes,” Sean said. “To others, probably not.”

“Good,” Maxwell took another drink.

“Why good?” Sean pushed. “What’s stopping you from making a move on this girl? I mean, she’s still speaking to you after you cursed her. I’d say that’s a sign she likes you.”

“I didn’t curse her!” Maxwell interjected. “Well, not exactly, anyway.”

“Not the point,” Sean said. “You shook her hand, she got cursed. And she still seems to like you.”

“We’re becoming friends,” Maxwell said. “Men and women can be friends, right?”

“Sure,” Sean said. “Provided at least one of them is gay.”

Maxwell rolled his eyes. “I’ve got plenty of female friends back in the States.”

“Have you ever looked at them with lustful desire in your heart?”

“I regret telling you that,” Maxwell muttered. “Look, even if I did like her, it’s not… She’s focused on her career. I mean, she’s a workaholic. And the closest thing I have to a job is organising this poker night. Besides, it’s not like I’m going to be in Crowley Lake long term once this curse business is sorted out. So there’s no future in it, even if I did like her.”

“Which you do,” Sean retorted. “Why are you in such a hurry to leave Crowley Lake, anyway?”

“I like it more than I thought I would,” Maxwell said cautiously. “But it’s not home. I can’t imagine giving up the life I had with my friends. I mean, we’d been in New York for years, and we still hadn’t tried out even half the bars.”

“There’s more to life than a dazzling array of drinking venues,” Sean said drily. “And those friends you talk about, they dropped you like a sad sack of shit once they found out about the curse.”

“They just wanted to protect themselves,” Maxwell said. “I don’t blame them.”

“Shitty friends, if you ask me,” Sean said. “Speaking of which, Tobias seemed a bit eager the other week.”

“I noticed that,” Maxwell said with a frown. “Wanted to keep betting for higher stakes.”

“Think he might have a problem with it?”

“I’m not sure,” Maxwell was thoughtful. “Could just be that there’s not been a decent game around here in decades. But I’ll keep an eye on him. This is for fun; I don’t want anyone getting themselves into trouble.”

“Good,” Sean nodded. “Very responsible of you. I bet Chloe would like that.”

Maxwell grunted but knew Sean was probably right.

Tags: Rhiannon Hartley Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net
readsnovelonline.net Copyright 2016 - 2024