Crush Control Read Online Free PDF Page A

my driveway, and strangely, I felt a little panicked. It was so much easier to type the letters on a keypad than to say things in person. Should I hug him? Is he going to high-five me like a buddy? How will I know if he feels the same way I do? Should I just cut to the chase and take him in my arms and kiss him?
    The door of the black truck swung open and Max climbed out, grinning as he closed the door behind him. His black hair was shorter than I remembered, almost buzzed. But his blue eyes were sparkling and as familiar to me as the day we parted. He walked toward me and I stood there, glued to the front porch with my heart pounding. I tried to smile back, but I could feel my lips shaking. Why was I so nervous? This was Max!
    He climbed the porch steps and stood in front of me. “Are you just going to stand there?” he asked. His mild Southern accent didn’t sound as strong in person.
    I relaxed a little and leaned over to hug him. He pulled me in close and I noted that all his years of karate were doing wonders for his chest and arms.
    He pulled back and looked at me with a teasing expression on his face. “So,” he said, “have you been Photoshopping those pictures on Facebook or what?”
    For an awful minute I wondered if he had figured out my little secret—the one where I kind of portrayed to him that my life in Vegas was filled with endless fun. That Mom’s hypnosis gig was just the tiniest part of the huge awesome life I had. A stone dropped into my gut as I worried that Max was saying, You didn’t Photoshop pictures—you Photoshopped your whole life. He was looking at me—analyzing me, actually; then a whole new fear overtook me. “Do you think I’m not as pretty in person?” My voice caught on the words. It had only been five years since he’d last seen me. Could I have deteriorated that much?
    â€œWhat?” Max reached over and gently put his hand on my cheek. For some reason his touch made me want to cry. He was here, in person, my love, my destiny, but what if . . .
    â€œI meant your hair looks different,” he said, smiling.
    The knot in my stomach eased a bit. “Oh,” I said, reaching up and patting my hair into submission. “It’s this humidity. It’s making my hair all frizzy. It wasn’t like this in Vegas. Plus I’ve been in the car all day. Does it look that bad?”
    â€œI like it,” he said. “It’s kind of crazy—like your eyes.” He ran his fingers through a long strand of my hair, just grazing the side of my jaw and neck. A jolt of tingles shot down my spine. Did he feel that, too? He was staring at me. We were so close—just inches away from each other. For a moment, neither of us said anything. There was an undeniable tension building in the air. I wanted him to say something, do something. When he just kept looking at me, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I backed away slightly and began to joke.
    â€œYeah, well, you haven’t posted any pictures of you all cue ball. When did you shave your head?” I asked nervously. Max looked away briefly, and whatever was happening between us—the almost-kiss—evaporated. The moment was lost. I silently cursed myself.
    He looked back at me. “You like?” he asked, running his hand over his scalp, where his once thick, messy black hair was now chopped into a clean buzz-cut.
    Watching that simple gesture gave me another dose of the tingles. “Yeah,” I said, sounding flustered. “It makes your eyes look all . . .” I wanted to say amazing because they were—ice blue from his fair father against the olive complexion he’d inherited from his mother. His eyes looked like blue jeans—comfortable, and familiar. My heart started to pound harder. “You know, your eyes look all . . . big.”
    He shook his head and laughed a little.
    Again, another silence surrounded us. My hands began