“Ndari, he’s in my house. I swear to god.” Max paced in her room, kicking clothes and shoes from her path.
“I can’t believe this, so he—”
“Yes! My dad hired him as a private accountant.”
“The chances.”
“Right,” she said, stunned that her father appointed the man who just asked for her number as a joke. It was a jest. Maybe a bet of some kind. He was definitely pulling her leg. The scarred one. Puffing on her vape pen, Max stared at the latest painting.
The results were shit.
She tried to capture Low in a state of euphoria and failed. He’d love it, but she was gonna burn this piece of awful or throw the ruined lambskin in a wood chipper..
“I just can’t wrap my mind around this. My Dad didn’t know, bruh.”
“It’s nuts, babe. He’s fine, though.”
“As hell. And he look soooo good in a suit.”
Shaking her head, Max inhaled blueberry-flavored smoke and spoke on exhale. “I can’t even be in my own home right now.”
Ndari giggled in her ear. “Why?”
“Because I don’t need him humiliating me.”
“Whyyyy would he do that?”
“Caus—” A beep sent Max sprinting for her phone. “Oh shit, it’s Low. I gotta go.”
“Alright, hon, keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
She tapped the green circle and answered with a smile.
“Wus up, baby?” Low’s voice stoked all them feel good vibrations.
“You are never gonna guess who is at my house.”
“Ronald Isley.”
“I wish,” she snorted. Being older than him, her cougar ass could give Ronny the ride of his life. “Nah, Red.”
“No, Teddie, cut lengthwise len—yeah, like that. Who?”
Rolling her eyes, Max groaned and threw the pen on her vanity. She dropped into a chair and examined the mermaid on her neck. Her hair needed shading. A brighter purple. Maybe fuchsia. “Red, as in big ass, fine ass Red.”
“Ohhhh shit, did he follow you home? Hol’ up. Is he stalking you?!”
She laughed and said, “Nope, my Dad just put him on, bruh. I guess he’s an accountant or something.”
“Whhhhat.” Low scoffed. “A calculator corporal?! How somebody like him work a pussy job like that? What a damn shame. Aye, I’m finna come over.”
She nodded, fiddling with her septum ring. A new one was indeed on the way. “I heard that. Bring your fine behind on. I need you here with me in case he tries to hit my line.”
“You might as well giv—”
“Hurry up, Low!”
With a tap to her earbud, she killed the call and shot to her feet. Max jumped to it, ran ass in the bathroom on a slide, and dashed to the closet.
There were only minutes to spare since Low lived nearby. In her dressing room, she lost the SpongeBob onesie and exchanged it for something decent. Purple leggings and a cropped, sleeveless mock-neck thing.
Feeling cute, Max sprayed her throat with Shalamar and slipped into a pair of furry slides. Back in the washroom, she put the straightener to use real quick. It may have been time for a cut. Too long and too much dye was required.
With her hair decent and bone straight, them deadends touched her waist. She didn’t wear it straight often; her curls were too healthy for that. Plus, dual tones popped after a wash and go.
“Okay.” Back in her bedroom, she marched to the dresser and ripped open the top drawer. Its deep belly was filled with sunglasses. She had a menacing stare, as some have said. Max was an old woman who had come to love certain things about herself. The eyes were still a sensitive topic. She still had issues accepting it. Her mismatched set was worse than back-rolls and a wonky leg.
Some glasses were tucked into cases, both hard and soft. Others had no case at all. Her collection was a colorful menagerie of generic no-name, Prada, and Ray-Ban. She had about a dozen that were well over fifty years old, and ten she had bought days ago. Max re-upped on shades damn near every night. Online or in-store, somehow, she had a new pair daily.
Max went for steampunk dystopia. The metal rimmed goggles would hinder peripherals, but so be it. They were also highly reflective, which she loved.
Once donned, she slammed the drawer and twirled. Low lived nine minutes away, and with how he drove, she should have known better.
The man barged right in and froze.
Max dashed for the canvas, stood in front of it, and smiled. “Get out! I’m coming.”
“What is that?”
“Nothing.”
“You lying.”
Stepping over her clothes, he grabbed Max by the shoulders and lifted her like one would a toddler.
“Haaayyy!” she shouted. “I’m ‘bouta mess you up.” She kicked his thighs and growled until he put her down.
“Max…this is fire.”
“No. It’s not. And I didn’t even want you to see it. Asshole.” She scowled and sneered. “You’re invading my privacy. Bringing your bad energy in here. I just smudged my space.”
“I’m taking this home,” he whispered.
She tried not to grin and failed the mission. Of course, he wanted it, Low loved her art.
“I messed up some on the grill part. Don’t think I got the right shade of gray for your eyes either.”
“It’s fine, perfect even. But put it somewhere else before Tracy comes in here.”
“Right.”
Max loosened latches and plucked the painting. She stashed it in her closet for safekeeping and hurried back.
“Okay, now get out.”
“You need to clean your room,” he barked, kicking her things. “This don’t make no damn sense, Max. You a hunnit years old, bruh.”
“I’m a creative! I don’t have time to clean, now go.”
Shoving his butt with a foot made him stumble and laugh. She closed the door and was met with her father’s displeasure.
“Elliot, I didn’t know you were stopping by. Tomorrow night, we have a run to make.”
“Sure thing. Just text me.”
“Excellent. And why are you wearing those in the house, Maxine? Is it because of our guest?”
“Duh,” she replied.
“After the stunt you pulled, please. I will freeze your bank account.”
Tracy had the capacity to be a reeeal jerk. “Sorry, Dad.”
“Hm. Elliot, would you for a bite, libations?”
“No, I’m good, Tracy.” Her dad nodded and turned on his heels. Low leaned into her ear and whispered, “This is why I said you need to move out. He treats you like a child. And what stunt? What you do now?”
“Nothing, and shhh.”
He mumbled and cussed. Low hated how cooped up she was, and how Tracy forgot her age sometimes. Her father had been strict and judgmental her whole life. And yeah, her mental state took a blow every single night. But right now, Max didn’t have many options. There was more at stake than her pride.
“Come on,” she ordered. Tip-toeing ahead, Max fought a rising urge to giggle like an idiot. She stopped, looked back at Low, gripped the handle as tightly as possible, and twisted. It turned silently, thus allowing her the ability to peek into Tracy’s office.
She couldn’t see anything.
“Where is he?” Low asked and was too damn loud.
“Are you trying to get us caught, shut—”
The brass was ripped from her clutches and god damn, his zipper was in her direct line of sight. Snapping upright, Max retreated, bumping Low’s hard body.
Red was a lot bigger.
She was stuck between two males who were well over six feet tall, and being five-three, she was positively dainty.
“What the fuck are y’all doing?” Red asked.
“Don’t be rude,” Low commanded. “We was coming to say hello, witcho mean ass.”
Red filled the doorway, just like Low. And her homie wasn’t even Pureblooded, hm.
Not so big now, huh.
Max felt better for Low, honestly. Purebloods thought they were superior to all others, or so she was told. Never talking to one on a personal level, ‘til now.
His hardened, golden gaze traveled between them.
“Are you two joined at the hip?” he intoned. “Do you go everywhere she does?”
“If I did? What business is it of yours?”
Max smiled and pursed her lips. “That’s right, so what if he follows me like a stray?”
“Hol’ on, Max. ‘Cause you taking the shit too far, per usual.”
Jack, Jacob, crap…what was his name?
“Look here, Jack,” Low interjected. She found it hilarious when they did shit like think the same but on different wavelengths.
“Only my mother calls me Jack. Don’t say it again.”
Low chuckled. “Wait. Is your name Jack? For real? I didn’t even know.”
“She knows my name.”
“I don’t.”
“I told you my name.”
Max grimaced, twiddled her matte black nails, and clicked her tongue ring. “I forgot it. So…”
“She ain’t good with names.” Low snorted and knocked on Max’s skull. She swiped and smacked his hand. “Her short-term memory is terrible, bruh.”
The male cocked a brow and said, “You forgot my name? I don’t think that’s ever happened before. Listen, if you two are only fucking—”
She shoved the strapping stag while Low shushed his ass.
“Get your hands off me,” he balked, wiping the stain her hands left behind.
“Sorry. Look, don’t go saying that out loud, okay? We are not together. Me and Low. Not a couple. And definitely not, fucking.”
“Annnd, that’s your name? Low?”
Low ate it up. “Ohhh yeah, it’s on my SSI card.”
“You got a problem,” Red clipped.
“So do you.”
This was weird, but Low’s expression made their standoff quite interesting. She’d play Red like a god damn violin if need be, and if big Irish over here was feeling froggy, it was about to go down.

Low swung a telling eye to Max, stomped around the red-haired monster, and collapsed onto the lived-in oxblood armchair. This was a fun experiment. Scanning Tracy’s new office, he smirked.
“Daaammmn, it’s clean in here.”
“It is,” Max said, clearly amazed. “There are books on the shelf. Oh my god, did you do this?”
“Your pops is a slob.”
“She got it from him.” Low threw in his unwanted two cents and grinned. Predictable of her to snarl and hiss. “Don’t show out in front of company, Max.”
“So she’s not always like this?”
“She is, I just ignore it.”
“Now you’re lying,” she snapped.
Low smiled and showcased the golds she loved so much. Within the awkward silence, he pulled free a book and cracked it open. “I’m more of a Langston man myself. I don’t like non-fiction.” After a few boring words leaped from the page, Low closed the hardback.
“You’ve read Langston Hughes?”
He pushed the leather-bound novel back in its place and nodded. “Yup. Listen, what we told you, keep that to yourself. ‘Ight?”
While Red’s attention darted between them, again, Low considered their new acquaintance.
“Ohhh, so daddy doesn’t know.” The male grinned as most demons do and stuck both hands into pressed wool pockets. “He wouldn’t approve, or something to that effect. I get it. Sad. What a way to live. But if you two—”
“No.” Max refused yet again as she dropped to a crouch. “Holy crap, you’ve been busy with his finances.”
“She’s free to fuck whomever, as am I.” Low carried on their conversation. He couldn’t afford to lose this job. “We, aren’t a thing. She do her, I do me, etc.”
Taking another L wasn’t on the calendar for this year.
“That’s amusing and—don’t touch that,” Red yelled, spooking Max. She flinched and knocked a perfect pile of eight by eleven folders on they ass. Low thought it was hilarious, but Red, did not. Purebloods were high-strung, arrogant, and bat shit. He’d been around them his whole life. Aged Purevian males, in particular, were the worst.
On the other hand, a big ol’ angry vampire was fun to poke. Also, they’d occasionally put you in a sleeper hold and smashed until you slipped into a coma.
“Oh my god, I spent an hour on that shit. I’m gonna lose it. You are costing your father money right now.”
“So, he good, he can pay for it,” Max stated plainly, glaring at her house guest. “See, I can fix it.”
“Maybe don’t touch it anymore.” Red became rather agitated. Low caught a notion that this here male was a neat freak, on some ‘dont leave no fingerprints on my glass’ type shit.
Red squinted, flexing his sharp jaw. “I feel like you’re gonna make it worse.”
“No look, I can do it.” Max gathered papers with a cute smile and stacked them. “Maybe I can be a receptionist.”
“Where?” Red asked. “Harley Davidson?”
Low cackled. “Cold blooded, bruh.”
Max was tough as boiled shoe leather when provoked and had an angry streak to match. You know, ‘cause she was so tiny. The small ones always had something to prove. They were mad, ferocious spitfires. That’s why he loved short women. His shorty wasn’t insensitive, but she’d make damn sure to hurt your feelings.
And as Max painted on a fake smile, she shoved another pile. Then a second. She emptied folders and shuffled them shits like dominoes.
“He he he, funny times over, Carrot Top. I can still tase you.”
Standing tall-ish, she shrugged while the fair-skinned vampire flushed a brighter shade of red. His hair wouldn’t be outdone; it was the same shade as a ripe pomegranate.
“Do you dye it?” Low asked.
“What?!” The accountant snapped and scowled at Low. “What are you talking about?”
“Your hair?” Low gestured to his own durag. “Do you dye it to get it that red?”
“No.”
“Wild. It’s like heavy white people shit. What is you? Irish or Scottish?”
“He’s magically delicious,” Max belted. “A bowl of L-”
“I swear to god, if you say—”
“What are you going to do exactly?” Max canted her head and grimaced. “Are you an abuser? Because if so, that’s deplorable behavior.”
“I got pahtna’s who can fit you with a toe tag for nothin’.” Low wasn’t playing with them words. “Believe that. So the choice is yours, pretty boy.”
Red anchored a steely gaze upon Low and tweaked a brow. “Are you threatening me, halfbreed?”
Thinking about it, Low admired the coffered ceiling, his boot-clad feet, then Max.
Meeting Red deadass in the eyes, he nodded. “Yes, I am.”
GQ here was a paper pusher. A Pureblood, sure, but still just an accountant. Age didn’t correlate with wisdom. Old heads were often taught quick lessons by a hungry youngin’ who’d do the most to eat.
Red didn’t seem the type to scrap with the likes of Low. Most halfbreeds cowered under a Pureblooded male’s scrutiny. Not him. Low wasn’t intimidated by no fucking body.
“Wus good witchu, pimp?” Low asked, knowing the dapper white man wouldn’t comprehend his query. As his eyes narrowed, Red smiled and popped them dimples. That was some sexy shit to say the least.
Mister number cruncher pivoted and refocused on Max. “Get out.”
“You’re in my house.”
“I’m in your father’s house, now get out.”
“I can make him fire you.”
“I don’t care,” Red said. “By all means.”
After two long strides, his wide frame fell into the squeaky executive chair and rocked. “No sweat off my back. I’ll get paid for my time regardless.”
Low slapped his thighs and pushed off. “Let’s go, baby, ‘fore he has a cornea.”
As he opened the door, Max paused and threw a salty look at the tight-ass accountant. “Don’t get testy, Big Red, I’ll take it to hell and rip your dic—”
Low yanked her mouthy self by the collar.
“I’m gonna kill you!”
Holding her two feet from the floor, Low glanced at the vampire. “Don’t worry, she’ll warm up to you.”
Max screamed and kicked as Low closed the door. “Put me down!”
He dropped her.
“Gently, would have been nice!”
“You want that man to murder you? ‘Cause if you keep talking, he finna pop off, then I’ma retaliate and thhhhen I’ll get pinched. Who’s gonna take care of my brothers? See the snowball there?”
Max grumbled and stalked to the kitchen. Low followed and stopped at the fridge for a quick bottle of B-positive.
“You so ill-tempered.”
“I’m not.”
“Please lie to somebody who don’t know you.” On the counter, he found sugar and snagged it. “What you do earlier, anyway?”
“I accused him of stalking me, and I guess I said something about calling the police. Then I questioned his intellectual status.”
Low laughed curtly, shoveled a tablespoon of C & H, and poured it in his blood. “Whew, you might regret this.” Five more were added before he twisted the top back on and shook it.
Facing Max, who sat on the island enjoying a blueberry scone, he winced. “Disgusting.”
“It’s a delicacy.”
“Anyway, he’s feisty, bruh.” Cracking the top again, he swigged, and Max shuddered.
“You are the only vampire on the planet who adds sugar to blood, and drinks it cold. You committing a sin and upsetting our bloodsucker ancestors.” She shook her head and bit into a real cardinal sin. “Like, it’s abominable what you be doing. Weirdo shit.”
Swallowing, the revival began. He liked sweet blood, okay. What was so wrong with that? Low drank cold blood for hella long. Back when he was living on the streets, and it was hurricane season… a living hell. You break into the blood bank and take what you can get. True, it’d be easier to bite any old body, but he vowed a long time ago to never hunt again…ever.
“Says you,” Low deadpanned, “Who deep throats anything blueberry.”
“Yeah, and? That’s normal. It’s good for you too.”
“When you add refined sugar, flour, and butter, that healthy factor is out the window.”
She shrugged. “It ain’t for a lack of trying.”
Max giggled and stuffed the rest in her talented mouth. Fuck, he hated sneaking and creeping. Lying to his employer wasn’t a safe bet, but such is life, right?
After finishing sixteen ounces of revitalizing power, Low rinsed the mason jar and put it in the dishwasher. “I hate the sunglasses, they ugly.”
“Much like you, fat head.”
He double-backed and stood before her. A war raged within as he fought an urge to kiss the ornery devil. He loved the tiny stud in her full and fluffy bottom lip. Low never felt it when it was pressed to his. And when she wore the black lipstick he loved? Max was untouchable.
“I don’t like that neon yellow durag. You look like a highlighter, bitch.”
“Why you gotta put extra on it every time?!” He frowned. “Do I ever call you a bitch? Nah, you’d be hollerin’ if I did. You get on my ghat damn nerves.”
Max popped a shoulder and jumped off the counter. “It depends on the context, Low. And it ain’t extra when I’m telling the truth.”
“Shutcho mouuuuff, stubborn ass, that’s your problem, bruh, you talk too much.” Following her onto the patio, Low figured he probably did look like a lost puppy. “I swear, you ‘bouta make me smoke…”
“Annnnd? Bye!” Max scoffed, whistled at Jaya, and smiled at him. “We got steaks up in the deep freezer. You wanna grill some later?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
The back and forth never ceased, but there wasn’t a soul he felt more comfortable with. As Max cheered on Jaya’s record-setting lap, his stomach dropped. If Tracy ever found out, it was a wrap. He’d give Low the boot and make damn sure Max never spoke to him again.
Tracy let him know early on that Maxine was off limits. Forbidden. But Low ain’t listen, and the girl wouldn’t take no for an answer. Their vibe thrived from the start, shaking it was hard. Both parties tried and failed. More than once. They decided mutually to cut ties on four separate occasions. Shit flopped. So, he and Max said to hell with it. Letting worrisome thoughts go, he trekked back into the house, in search of the high-priced T-Bone’s Maxi loved.

Oooooookay, this is chapter 7! If you missed it, just know, I posted the wrong one last night. What a mess, I know I already said it, but I am so sorry. Anyway, this is where we are at. I like to call them the Troublesome Trio. If you stick it out and follow their journey, you’ll find out why. These three are headache-inducing, cute, adorable, aggravating, and have sooooo much to learn. I hope you enjoyed their not-so-meet-cute. Anyway, I really hope y’all have a splendid week. I’ll see you in a bit. Thank you so much!