His Basement, His Office - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
You are reading His Basement, His Office, Chapter 3: Chapter 3. Read more chapters of His Basement, His Office.
The guy was staring right at me. After what felt like forever, he finally looked away with an easy grin. "My bad, everyone. Traffic was brutal. I'll punish myself properly." He downed his drink in one smooth motion.
"Name's Maxwell. Looking forward to getting to know you all." His eyes locked onto mine as he said it.
I dropped my gaze, suddenly fascinated by the tabletop. My palms were getting clammy, that familiar dread creeping up my spine like an ice-cold blade hovering at my neck. The weight of his attention pressed down on me until I could barely breathe.
"Caleb? You okay, man?" My friend's concerned voice cut through the fog.
I forced a tight smile. "Just... not feeling great."
"Caleb's sick! Someone should take him home!"
And just like that, I felt those eyes snap back to me.
Me: "..."
Thanks, buddy. Really appreciate the help. Next time, maybe don't announce it to the entire room.
Maxwell's brow furrowed slightly. "I'll handle it. You all enjoy dinner—my treat tomorrow."
My internal scream could've shattered glass, but all I could do was let myself be steered toward Maxwell's side. When his warm, dry hand made contact, every nerve in my body lit up like a live wire.
As we walked down the hallway, Maxwell seemed lost in thought before asking quietly, "Have we... met before?"
I went rigid. "Nope! Never! Why would someone like you know someone like me? Haha!" The laugh came out more like a strangled cough.
Maxwell studied my guilty expression but didn't push. He just kept steadying me while I mentally checked out of reality.
He called for a driver, but—apparently worried about leaving a sick guy alone—decided to ride back with me. Part of me felt bad; this whole thing was ridiculous, and Maxwell didn't exactly seem like axe-murderer material.
Rubbing my neck awkwardly, I offered, "Thanks for tonight... uh, you wanna come up for a minute?" Pure politeness—zero expectation he'd say yes.
Maxwell nodded. "Sure."
"Name's Maxwell. Looking forward to getting to know you all." His eyes locked onto mine as he said it.
I dropped my gaze, suddenly fascinated by the tabletop. My palms were getting clammy, that familiar dread creeping up my spine like an ice-cold blade hovering at my neck. The weight of his attention pressed down on me until I could barely breathe.
"Caleb? You okay, man?" My friend's concerned voice cut through the fog.
I forced a tight smile. "Just... not feeling great."
"Caleb's sick! Someone should take him home!"
And just like that, I felt those eyes snap back to me.
Me: "..."
Thanks, buddy. Really appreciate the help. Next time, maybe don't announce it to the entire room.
Maxwell's brow furrowed slightly. "I'll handle it. You all enjoy dinner—my treat tomorrow."
My internal scream could've shattered glass, but all I could do was let myself be steered toward Maxwell's side. When his warm, dry hand made contact, every nerve in my body lit up like a live wire.
As we walked down the hallway, Maxwell seemed lost in thought before asking quietly, "Have we... met before?"
I went rigid. "Nope! Never! Why would someone like you know someone like me? Haha!" The laugh came out more like a strangled cough.
Maxwell studied my guilty expression but didn't push. He just kept steadying me while I mentally checked out of reality.
He called for a driver, but—apparently worried about leaving a sick guy alone—decided to ride back with me. Part of me felt bad; this whole thing was ridiculous, and Maxwell didn't exactly seem like axe-murderer material.
Rubbing my neck awkwardly, I offered, "Thanks for tonight... uh, you wanna come up for a minute?" Pure politeness—zero expectation he'd say yes.
Maxwell nodded. "Sure."
End of His Basement, His Office Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to His Basement, His Office book page.