Becoming His by Mariah Dietz Page B

dipping!”
    Kendall breaks into a run, and Jameson follows close behind catching her before she reaches the fence. He throws her over his shoulder making her squeal in delight.
    “I take it you’re not interested in joining them?”
    I feel the skin between my eyebrows cinch as I look at him. “That may have sounded like an open invitation, but it wasn’t. I think I’ll be avoiding the backyard for a while.”
    “Come on, my mom’s at the same event your parents are.” The prospect of hanging out with Max alone zaps whatever’s left of my buzz. We don’t seem capable of fluent communication with each other.
    He takes a few steps toward the back door before looking back at me and raising a single eyebrow as his bright blue eyes focus on me. Looking over his shoulder, the gesture pronounces the curve of his jaw in what is quite possibly the most beautiful expression I’ve ever seen. My joints slowly move, and I follow behind him.
    I take a seat at the kitchen table and watch as he opens the fridge door and scrounges around.
    “Do you want ice?” He looks over his shoulder at me and I simply nod, not certain what he’s planning to fix.
    After placing a plate in the microwave, he grabs two glasses from a cupboard, fills them both with ice water and deposits them on the table, sliding one to me. He then travels to the microwave as it beeps and takes out a plate of pizza.
    Rather than sit down, Max disappears down the hall and returns with a docking station and his phone.
    “Sorry, I don’t have your type of music on here.”
    “My type ?”
    He looks at me with raised eyebrows. “Country.”
    “Country isn’t my type .”
    Max’s eyebrows draw together. “All I ever hear from your backyard is country music.”
    “My mom.”
    “Not you?”
    I shake my head. “No, country music is always about either love, or love ending, and I like music that talks about life.”
    “A lot of people would argue that love is life.”
    “Maybe.” I watch my finger draw a star in the condensation on my glass.
    “Maybe?”
    “Maybe,” I confirm.
    “You’ve never been in love?”
    I look up feeling Max’s eyes on me and shake my head. “I’m only nineteen.”
    “Love has age requirements now? I’m pretty sure I was like eight when I fell in love with Pamela Anderson.”
    My head tips back as I laugh. “I’ve been in like plenty of times; I’ve even been in love with the idea of being in love. But big gesture, life-sacrificing, stalking, jealous, craving, crazy kind of love … no.”
    “That’s a lot of adjectives. Sounds like you’ve put some thought into it.”
    I shrug nonchalantly and take another drink of water.
    “You’re definitely dating the wrong type if you’ve never felt jealousy.”
    “Do you feel jealousy?” I’m not sure if Max is aware my question is laced with the question of whether he’s dating the right type or not.
    “I have before,” he admits, glancing at me. “Each time Pamela had to go save another idiot I felt a little jealous.” I laugh again and watch as Max smiles in response. He clears his throat and looks over to his phone. “Do you know this band?”
    “Sure, they’re one of my favorites.”
    “Why do you like them?”
    “Good music is like poetry. The lyrics are more than just words, they’re a story of emotions.”
    “Do you think love does that?”
    He’s looking at me with uncertainty making me wonder if it’s the subject at hand, or my answer that he isn’t sure he wants to hear. “I hope so.”
    There’s a long pause as I try to recall how exactly we got to discussing love in the first place when Max breaks the silence, a cocky grin across his face. “You really plan to stalk the person that you’re in love with?”
    I softly chuckle, thinking of the many hours of stalking experience I’ve gained recruited by my sisters or friends. Just the time devoted to Max alone is fairly substantial, but if guys are anything like us, he already knows.
    “I