Power Play

Max put his fork down. “This is a relationship. Right? This thing we’ve got. Because I’m here a lot, and we have a lot of sex, and you make me chicken even though you don’t eat it. And you let me use your laundry machine.”

“Come to my house,” he said as he idly smoothed his tie. “Tonight. I will make you dinner.”

Max reached out and poked him lightly on the shoulder. “I think it’s going to be a problem if this is what happens when Belsey makes you mad. ’Cause I’m gonna want him to do it all the time.”

Misha smiled at him. With teeth. “Seven o’clock. Ask your Google Maps how to get there so you’re not late.”

Oh God. He was going to get shamed and disowned. And grounded. Somehow.

When they ordered pizza, Misha would stoically pick off all the meat instead of just ordering it half-and-half because Max might want more than half.

Misha smiled at him. With teeth. “Seven o’clock. Ask your Google Maps how to get there so you’re not late.”

Misha stood quietly and tried not to wince at Max’s forwardness and his clear lack of knowledge when it came to world geography.

The vending machine was looking a little too pricey. Shit.

Max said, and Misha did the only thing he could think of, the one thing that he knew would make Max angry and would finally make him punish Misha like he deserved.

He leaned forward and kissed him.

“What’s keeping us from winning?” Belsey demanded.

“Losing,” said Misha.

“Look at it this way,” Max said to Misha after the fourth game. “At least no one was here to see it.”