How Do You Like Your Eggs? Pt. 06

Hello, loves! I have returned.

So, I expect you all have some choice words for me. You'll probably have some about this next installment. As previously stated, this installment will have a serious impact on the arc of the relationship between dear Maxie and Nathan.

Things aren't always roses and sunshine!

Thanks for hanging on, and thanks so much for your love and support! *kisses*

Enjoy!

Love always,

~EJ~

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"Want me to get that for you?"

"No! It's fine. I got it!"

I'm watching Maxie stretch her lithe little body over the arm of her recliner in an attempt to get to a pen which is just barely out of her reach. She's turned slightly in the seat, her legs kicking over the arm of the chair and her upper body twisted in a way that looks uncomfortable and awkward.

She's going to fall. I know it. She refuses to let me get the pen for her though.

"Sweetheart, it's no big deal. Lemme get it for you," I say, shifting my laptop out of my lap as I lean forward to grab the pen.

Her eyes snap up to me, glinting sharply behind the lenses of her glasses.

"Don't move," she growls.

I laugh, but do as I'm told, waiting for the inevitable face plant I'm sure is about to occur.

I'll give it to her - she is determined. She stretches further, grunting and puffing, her fingers scrabbling over the shiny wood surface of her coffee table.

The hem of her t-shirt is riding up ,and I catch a glimpse of the smooth, dark flesh of her stomach. For a moment I lose focus on what she's doing and imagine sliding my tongue over that patch of exposed skin. Then, she lets out a high-pitched squeak and her whole body tips to the side. She hits the carpeted floor with a muffled thud and then... silence.

Neither of us moves for a long moment, the ticking of the clock on the mantel marking off the seconds.

"Shit," she finally sighs, and I'm laughing so hard, tears begin to cloud my vision. I clutch at my stomach, barely able to breath.

She pushes to her feet and stares at me, rubbing her hip with the heel of her hand. A smile ticks at the corner of her lips.

"Fuck you very much, Nathan," she says around a giggle. She looks mussed and affronted and incredibly adorable.

I hold my hands out to her, intending to pull her into my lap to soothe her bruised body as well as her bruised ego. But, I can't get a word out through my own laughter.

She scoops the pen up from the table and launches it at me. It hits me square in the chest and makes me laugh even harder.

"Asshole," she says, though there's no heat behind the epithet. She turns and marches off to the kitchen. "I hope you laugh so hard you throw up!"

I stand up and follow behind her.

She's in the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee from the pot she brewed thirty minutes ago. I can see her shoulders shaking as she tries to hide her own amusement.

I sober up some, watching her move around the kitchen, the swell of her ass beneath the soft fabric of her lounge pants, these ones a deep orange, drawing my attention.

I told her I loved her.

Granted it was after the most incredible orgasm I'd ever experienced in my life.

I regret nothing.

Maxie has wormed her way into my heart. When I wasn't paying attention, she set up shop and dug her slim fingers into those dark, stagnant spots inside me.

I hadn't expected it; I definitely hadn't set out to fall for her so quickly. But, she's there, with her bright smile, sharp wit and her delicious warmth.

It was the book that did it, really. It was simple, but so much more thoughtful and meaningful than anything I'd ever received. She'd given me a piece of herself, a memory she probably didn't share with too many people. It meant something to her. It meant so much to me.

I can still recall the look in her eyes - the anxiety and hope. I was aware, suddenly, the depth of her feelings for me. For the possibility of us. This was the type of woman who would willingly give me a slice of her heart if she knew it would make me happy.

And that knowledge hit me at the very center of my being.

I told her I loved her. In the quiet, with her warm little body tucked against my side, with heart beating an echo to mine, and her breath tickling my skin, it hit me and the words tumbled out, new and clear and wrapped in wonder.

I meant it. Every single word. I'm not talking marriage and a white picket fence. No. It's far too soon for all that. If it ever comes. I just know I would do anything for this woman. To keep her happy. To see that beautiful smile on her face. To see the joyful light in her eyes.

Sappy? Probably. I don't care.

Which is why I'm starting a conversation that, for weeks it seems, Maxie has been trying to avoid.

"How's the job search going?"

She sighs, though not in irritation. The sound is tinged with weariness and a hint of frustration.

"It's not," she says. She turns, the coffee mug cradled in both of her small hands.

I step further into the room and stop opposite her, placing my own hands flat on the little island.

"Nothing promising? No leads?" I ask.

She shrugs. Takes a quiet sip of her coffee. Her eyes roam about the kitchen, focusing on nothing in particular.

"I worked at the library for ten years. I had a salary. Everything I'm coming across is barely above minimum wage. That, coupled with what I make at the restaurant, would make life..." She searches for the word. Shrugs again. "It would be livable. Tight. But, livable."

There is a line of tension in her shoulders which hadn't been there before. She sounds tired. Stressed. Worried. All words I would never have used to describe this vibrant little woman. I don't like seeing her like this. Weary. Aching.

"What can I do to help, darlin'?"

Her eyes snap up to me and she stares at me a long moment. She sucks in her lower lip, her thin brow furrowed. "Oh, Nathan. Thank you for saying that, but nothing. I'll keep looking. Something will turn up."

I nod. "Sure thing, honey. In the meantime, if you need anything, don't hesitate to let me know."

She makes a sound. It's small. Strained. So quiet I might have missed it if I weren't paying attention. She sets her mug down heavily and shoves her glasses to the top of her head. "I was just talking, Nathan. I wasn't asking for a handout."

Anger laces her words and I take a step back, uncertain how things changed so quickly just now. "Hey, I didn't say anything like that, Max."

She folds her arms under her breasts and leans back into the counter. Her eyes are hard now, glinting harshly in the bright wash of the overhead light.

"I'm not a charity case, Nathan. And, even if our relationship were more progressed, it's not your obligation to make sure I'm ok. To take care of me. I won't take anything from you. Ever. That's not who I am."

Things have shifted. This whole conversation has gone sideways. Though I'm not one hundred percent certain why, I know I'm walking on thin ice. I take a long, slow breath and speak carefully.

"Maxie, I offered because I care about you. If I can help you, I will do it without hesitation. It wouldn't be charity or a hand-out."

The corners of her mouth grow tight. Her nails are digging into her ribs, as if she's ready to explode and she's trying to hold it all in. I have definitely hit a sore spot with her.

"And, what would you be expecting in return for your 'non-charity'?" I don't like the tone of her voice one bit.

"Nothin', Maxie. What the hell is going on right now?"

I'm getting irritated, if for no reason than I assumed she would know me better than this. She's making me feel like some sort of privileged asshole, and all I'm doing is offering to help the woman I love.

She scrubs her hands down her face, huffing air out harshly through her nose.

"Ok, let's back up," she says. "I'm stressed out. My mood is fucked up. I don't mean to take it out on you." She stretches out her arms and lays her hands flat on the surface of the island. "I'm sorry. I'm just being an asshole. I don't mean it."

I stare at her a long moment. There's something there. Something floating behind her dark eyes she's not letting me see. It's culminated in an argument I neither expected nor planned. And, in spite of everything, is making me aware of just how much, or how little, I know about this woman.

I hit a sore spot, poked at something I hadn't been aware of poking at, and caused her to flinch.

I don't like it.

"Nathan," she sighs, reaching out a hand and laying it over mine. "I told you - I'm not the same woman you met that night. I'm... a complicated mess. I just lost my job, a job I've had for the last ten years, and I'm trying to figure out my next step. Thank you for your offer. I..."

Her eyes drift down to where her hand rests on mine. She curls her fingers and scratches lightly at the flesh of my wrist.

"I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. You were just trying to help and I..." She laughs shortly, though there's no humor in it. "I've got issues. I'm sorry."

The tension is back. It's not the same as before. It's as if she bracing herself. Perhaps, anticipating me turning and walking out. And this, more than our argument, hurts. I have no intention of leaving her and I hate that she's even thinking I could. She's all twisted up inside. I can see it in her eyes. Can hear it in the fine tremor underscoring her words.

I wonder what she's been through to make her expect me to just give up and walk out so easily.

I turn my hand and link my fingers through hers.

"So, I think we've just had our first fight," I say.

She laughs, a light airy sound which loosens some of the tension tightening my chest.

"I guess so."

She allows me to lead her around to me. I pull her in close and settle my hands over the tempting swell of her hips.

"Is it something we can work through," I ask.

When she doesn't respond immediately, my stomach drops just a bit, and I suck in a slow, silent breath.

Her eyes are focused on the center of my chest. She flattens a palm over it and smooths it up and down.

"Yeah. It's no big deal."

But, somehow, it feels like it is.

The rest of the evening is spent in companionable silence. She doesn't protest or pull away when we're in bed and I tuck her in close to me, my arms looped about her small frame. She accepts the soft kisses I trail over her neck and breasts. She opens to me without hesitation and welcomes me inside her body.

Even so, there is something holding her back. She keeps her eyes shut tightly while we make love and, though she holds me the same, makes the same keening, needy sounds for me, I'm aware of the sudden distance which has settled between us.

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"Well, shit."

"I know. Right?"

Anaya and I are sitting together on the swing on her front porch, watching the kids play in the fenced in yard. Their high-pitched laughter and squeals of delight fill the air. Soft evening light casts the world in a hazy orange and yellow glow. The scene is idyllic. Peaceful.

I wish it matched my mood.

I've told Anaya everything. About Nathan's birthday gift, his whispered 'I love you'. About the argument just last week when he offered to help me if I found myself in a tough spot.

Anaya, of all people understands my position - what others may consider stupid and prideful, for me is slowly but surely muddying the waters of my feelings for Nathan. My hopes.

"It was a sweet gesture, Maxie," Anaya says softly ,ever the voice of reason between the two of us. "Very thoughtful."

I don't deny that. It's who Nathan is. Thoughtful. Considerate. Sweet. Regardless of the situation, I could never take anything from Nathan. It's just not who I am. And that, really, is the crux of it.

"It's not a game-changer, Maxie," Anaya says now, effortlessly reading into my silence. She's not looking at me. Her eyes are narrowed at the children. They're wrestling and she's waiting for the inevitable turn of events when things shift from fun and games to bruises and tears.

I'm feeling the same way about my own situation.

"But, it is," I reply. "You know how I am. I can't owe him anything. I don't want that hanging over my head."

Anaya uses a hand to sweep her mass of braids over one shoulder. "You don't owe someone with whom you're in a relationship."

I scoff.

She swats me on the thigh. "Not all relationships. You're not your mother, God rest her soul."

My heart skips inside my chest, and I take a deep breath around the ball of emotion forming in my throat.

My mother was a beautiful woman. An amazing woman. A single woman doing her best to take care of her only child.

She wasn't perfect. Sometimes her decisions weren't always the best.

I learned about relationships very early in life, both the good and the bad parts. When I was 10 ,she dated a man who was pretty well off. For a while, it was good. She was less stressed about things like bills and food and clothes. And, then, she wasn't.

I understood this man helped out with things around the house. He took us places we probably never would have been able to go if it were still just Mom and me. He was pleasant enough.

I remember overhearing their argument when mom decided to break things off with him. He yelled nasty, crude things at her. Spat at her about all the things he'd done for her. For us. He called her a user. Said he hoped she would be happy when we were starving.

I hated that. Hated him. Vowed I would never let any man he able to say such things to me.

Nathan is not that man. He's nothing like him. But, I can't help thinking... What if...?

I can't stomach the thought of it happening to us. Won't allow it.

I sigh, rubbing a fist over my stomach in a useless effort to release some of the stress-filled knots of uncertainty forming there.

"I don't have what he has, Anaya. He already pays for pretty much everything whenever we go out, because I obviously can't afford the things he can."

Uttering the words makes it feel like a noose is slowly tightening around my neck.

"Does he ask you to?"

"No, but-"

Anaya sucks her teeth. "But, nothing. You're already speaking death over your relationship. Start speaking life."

I cut my eyes at her. "No more 'self-help' books for you."

She glares at me, probably thinking of punching me. "Fuck you, ok? I'm serious. Stop focusing on what you don't want to happen. Focus on what you want to happen. In with the good. Out with the bad."

A sharp cry cuts off whatever she's about to say. She's up and marching toward the children. Yvette has decided it'd be fun to sit on her sister's head.

I sit watching the chaos. I know Anaya's right. I can't possibly move forward with Nathan if I'm constantly worried about the 'what if's'. However, I can't help it. The 'what if's' are so bright and blazing.

What if we get a place together and I can't keep up my end of the bills? Will Nathan grow hard and resentful?

What if he wants to take vacation and I can't even afford the fucking plane ticket?

Will I become his burden rather than his blessing?

What if what I am, what I have to offer him simply isn't enough?

What if... What if... What if...

My head is hurting from all the fucking 'what if's'.

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