37| Truth hurts

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Alyssa
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The moment we enter the house, it feels like I can't breathe. The air is thick with smoke and sweat, and sweaty bodies brush against my arms as Max pulls me through the crowd. I'm suddenly nervous, but having him here, his fingers tightly wrapped around mine, makes any doubt or reservations fade away.

He drops his voice so that only I can hear. "Do me a favor. Don't tell anyone you're from the Palisades, all right?"

"I won't."

We barely make it to the living room before several people walk up to Max and jovially hit him on the back. He laughs along with them, briefly catching up and introducing me before someone else comes along and we repeat the whole process. I don't know why, but I've always imagined Max as somewhat of a loner, someone who keeps to himself, but obviously I was wrong; Max is more popular than I am.

"Sorry," Max says when we're finally alone, "I didn't realize tonight would be so busy."

"It's fine," I say. "It's kind of nice to see you out in the wild."

He laughs a little and pulls me in closer. "Out in the wild?"

"Yeah," I say. "I never really see you around other people. Who knew you were so popular?"

He rolls his eyes, but I can see all over his face that he's nervous about me being here, nervous that I'll hate it or won't have a good time. I squeeze his hand tighter as he pulls me toward the kitchen, where several people are crowded around a table filled with alcohol.

"You came," Khalil shouts across the table. He smiles when he notices me. "Max said you were coming, too, but I still can't believe it. You probably don't remember me, but I'm–"

"Khalil," I say. "Of course I remember you. Why wouldn't I?"

The way his face lights up is so adorably cute. "Lemmie go get you a drink," he says. "You like beer, right?" He grabs a can of beer from the fridge and hands it over. Even though I hate beer, I pop open the lid and take a sip, trying not to wince. 
Max smiles slightly at the way my nose wrinkles; clearly, I am not a good actress.

"Seriously," Khalil says, looking between us. "Can someone explain what's going on here? Are you guys friends? Dating? It's like I'm looking at a weird version of Beauty and the Beast."

I frown. There is no country, continent, or planet where Max O'Connor could be considered a beast. I glance over at him now and see that he's slightly uncomfortable, but not because of the Beauty and the Beast comment. He's uncomfortable because we've never really talked about what we're doing, or even what we are, and now isn't the time nor the place.

"You ask too many questions," Max says coolly.

"Agreed," I reply. I take another sip of beer, hook my arm through Max's, and lead him into the living room to dance. He seems relieved, but the room is so packed with grinding bodies that there's not much room to do anything but stand opposite one another, closer than humanly possible. I wrap my arms around his neck and he does the same around my waist. After a hesitant pause, I pull him in closer and slowly move against him.

It's not exactly the first time I've danced with a boy, but something about doing it with Max makes me nervous. My stomach is filled with fluttering butterflies, all twisting and turning in different directions. My skin feels hot, and every time he lowers his head, the warm tingle of his breath sets my body on fire. I used to wonder if the chemistry between people in romance movies was deeply exaggerated, but now I'm certain it's not. Just the touch of him feels like a current through my body, an electrically charged energy that blocks out everything else.

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