Crush Control Read Online Free PDF

to sweat. I suddenly grabbed the doorknob and opened the front door. “My mom is dying to see you,” I said randomly. Who cares about Mom? I just screwed up another opportunity!
    Max walked through the open door, and once he was inside, Mom ran over to him.
    â€œMAX!” she shouted and wrapped her arms around him with all the ease of reconciliation that I wished I had. “Little Max, my God, look at you! You’re all grown up!”
    Max hugged her back. “It’s good to see you, too, Vicki,” he said. “My mom said to tell you she’s on for dinner this week.”
    â€œGreat,” Mom said, nodding, her eyes roaming to the boxes piled against the wall. “Great. Everything’s going to be great.” She said, clenching her hands nervously.
    I looked from Max to the blank wall. A fresh canvas. A new start. I would no longer have to Photoshop my life. I could create the world I wanted. And it all started here with Max. I needed to stop being afraid and start taking chances. Everything could have been different out there on the porch if I hadn’t chickened out. Now was the time to start the reinvention.
    I gazed at Max’s faded blue eyes and thought, Yes, maybe everything is going to be great.

3
    The three of us stood in the living room, not quite sure where to pick up the conversation.
    â€œSo,” Mom said, breaking the awkward silence. “Maybe I’ll run to the store and get some peanut butter, bananas, and honey. Do you still eat peanut butter, banana, and honey sandwiches?” she asked Max.
    Max cast a glance my way. “I haven’t had that in ages.” He smiled. “This is going to be just like old times.”
    Only better, I thought, unable to take my eyes away from Max’s suddenly chiseled arms . I had an uncontrollable desire to reach out and touch him . . . take him into another hug . . . give him another opportunity to kiss me. This time I wouldn’t ruin the moment.
    Mom reached for her purse and keys on the kitchen counter. She swung the key chain on her index finger, winked at us, and walked out. Max and I stood there in the living room amidst the piles of boxes, not sure what to do. It wasn’t like we could climb trees and make mud forts anymore. Kiss me. Sing to me. Tell me I’m all you think about.
    â€œHey, look,” Max said, walking across the wooden floor, an echo thumping from his flip-flops. He pointed to Oompa, who was curled up into a ball, snoring loudly. “It’s Oompa!”
    At the sound of Max’s voice, Oompa lifted one wrinkled eyelid. Upon seeing Max, Oompa sprang up off the ground and ran to him, circling his ankles like a windup toy gone mad. As Max reached down and picked him up, Oompa nestled his head against the crook of Max’s elbow and smiled. “It’s like he remembers me,” Max said, petting his short fur.
    â€œOf course he remembers you,” I said. “How could he forget the guy who rescued him?”
    Eight years ago, a few weeks before I moved to Vegas, Max and I had boarded our bikes and ridden down the street to Poplinger Park. After we propped our bikes on the bike rack, we headed over to the pond to feed the ducks. We passed a college-age guy with a box full of Boston terrier puppies and a FOR SALE sign. As we sat down at the edge of the pond and pulled out a bag of bread, we heard something rustle in the bushes. Moments later, the ugliest little puppy emerged, his limbs all gangly and knobby, his body scrawny and his face all smashed like he’d been jammed up against the inside of his mama’s womb and his face just froze that way. The puppy scurried over to us and sniffed the bread.
    Max scooped up the puppy in his arms and walked back a hundred yards to the college guy and his litter of puppies. “Excuse me,” Max said, holding the puppy out. “I think this puppy escaped.”
    The college guy’s face reddened. “Oh