Quite a Spectacle Read Free

back. Both of Max’s parents were lawyers. The best in their fields. His mother was a criminal prosecutor, and his father owned his own corporate law firm. To say they were intimidating was an understatement.
    He listened to the small talk as Mr. Stewart started the car and pulled out. He was an aggressive driver, very jerky and fast, as he weaved in and out of traffic.
    Michael clutched Max’s hand where it rested on the seat between them. He closed his eyes, feeling his stomach lurch. No, no, no .
    Max said, “Oh no.”
    Michael’s stomach said, “Oh yes.”

Chapter Two
     
     
    T HE DOOR whispered open and then clicked closed. Soft footsteps made their way across the room, and a warm hand came to rest on the small of his back. Michael didn’t look up, keeping his palms firmly over his eyes. A hand rubbed his back, little tiny circles going clockwise.
    After a few minutes, the hand moved to cup the back of his neck, squeezing lightly, just the barest hint of pressure. The body next to his shifted, brushing along his side as the tap was turned with a squeak and the sound of running water filled the restroom.
    Michael’s hands were pried from his eyes, but he kept his lids firmly closed. Cool water splashed his face, fingers running over his forehead in a soft caress. A paper towel was yanked from the holder and patted over his face, soaking up water and sweat. His hair was brushed back from his face, fingers combing through it.
    “How do you feel?” Max finally asked, his voice low and soft.
    Michael just shook his head.
    Hands moved him, pushing him up and back from where he’d been hunched over the sink. He let himself be moved, still keeping his eyes shut tight. He heard shuffling as Max hopped up onto the counter and then he was being pulled back and down, his face coming to rest in the crook of Max’s neck. He nuzzled in, running his nose over Max’s cool skin, inhaling the calming vanilla scent that was Max.
    Arms wrapped around him, holding firm, and Max’s chin rested on the top of Michael’s head, a sharp point digging in.
    “He’s not mad, you know.”
    “I threw up in his luxury car.”
    “It’s not like you did it on purpose.”
    “He’s going to have to upgrade again. He’s going to have to get a million-dollar car to top this one.”
    Max’s legs squeezed him where they bracketed his hips. “Don’t be absurd. You know he sent me in here to ask if you were okay.”
    “No, he didn’t.”
    Max huffed, ruffling Michael’s hair with his breath. His scalp tingled. “He would have if I hadn’t been going to do it anyway.”
    Michael snorted into his neck, and Max wiggled. “Gross,” he said, “I can feel where you just spit on my neck.” Michael kissed his neck. “That’s better.” Michael held tight to him.
    “We can’t hide in here all day,” Max said.
    Michael didn’t say anything to that.
    Max forced Michael’s head back and held his face, framed by both of Max’s hands. He waited ’til Michael reluctantly opened his eyes. Slowly he leaned forward and kissed his forehead, then both his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and his lips, just a quick brush.
    “I love you,” Max said. “I love you, and it’s all okay.” He smiled a bit. “Technically this whole thing is my dad’s fault for driving like an asshole. He knows it; I know it; my mum knows it. Nobody is mad at you.” His grin broadened just the tiniest bit. “And your aim was superb. All on the floor mat. He can just toss it and buy a new one. No damage to the car.”
    Michael groaned.
    “It’s Christmas,” whispered Max. “I want to enjoy it. Where’s the spirit, huh?”
    “I threw the spirit up,” said Michael.
    Max rubbed their noses together, then shoved him back, hopping down from the counter. “Come on, Mr. Mopey. You’re going to go out there, and you’re not going to apologize anymore, and my father isn’t going to behead you. We’re going to go home and sleep, and tomorrow will be a brand