Brazilian Waxing
Summary: Yn tells Max, her very possessive and protective boyfriend, that a guy did her Brazilian wax for her.
The apartment in Monaco smelled faintly like citrus and sea salt, the kind of clean, expensive scent that came from candles Yn kept buying and forgetting to light. Sunlight spilled through the wide windows, painting the living room in gold. Max was stretched out on the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, controller abandoned on his chest as the muted TV flickered with a replay of an old race.
He heard the door before he saw her.
Keys clattered into the bowl by the entrance. A soft hum followed. Then footsteps-light, bouncy, unmistakably hers.
“Helloooo,” Yn sang, drawing the word out like she always did when she was in an especially good mood.
Max smiled before he even looked up. “You’re back early.”
She popped into his field of vision, leaning over the back of the couch so her face appeared upside down above him. Her hair was tied up messily, a few strands escaping to frame her face. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with mischief.
“Am I?” she asked innocently.
He lifted the arm from his face and squinted at her. “You are. Everything okay?”
“Everything is great,” she said, grinning far too wide.
That should’ve been his first warning.
Max sat up, immediately alert. Years together had trained him to recognize that expression. It was the same one she’d had when she replaced his shampoo with blue dye. Or when she convinced him there was a famous singer in the elevator with them, only to reveal it was just some confused accountant.
“What did you do,” he said flatly.
Yn gasped, hand flying to her chest in mock offense. “Wow. I come home happy and this is the welcome I get?”
“You’re never just ‘happy’ like that,” he said. “You’re planning something.”
She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “I would never.”
He snorted. “Liar.”
She laughed and finally walked around the couch, dropping her bag on the kitchen counter. Max’s eyes flicked to it automatically-designer logo peeking out.
“You buy another bag?” he asked.
She beamed. “Maybe.”
“How many is that this month?”
She shrugged. “Who’s counting?”
He wasn’t mad. He never was. If anything, he liked it. Liked seeing her excited over something new, liked knowing he could give her that freedom. He’d told her a hundred times. His money was their money, and if spending it made her happy, then good.
She kicked off her shoes and padded back toward him, plopping down beside him on the couch. She tucked her legs underneath herself, leaning into his side.
“So,” she said casually. “You’ll never guess what happened today.”
He raised an eyebrow. “At the salon?”
“Mhm.”
“You burned the place down?”
She laughed. “No.”
“You scared Amalia again?”
“Hey,” she protested. “She scares me. Have you ever seen her when she’s holding hot wax? Terrifying.”
Max chuckled. “True.”
She nodded seriously, then took a deep breath like she was about to announce something very important.
“So,” she said. “They have a new employee.”
Max didn’t react. “Okay.”
“A new waxing specialist.”
“Cool.”
“And,” she added, dragging it out, “he did my appointment today.”
Something shifted.
Max’s head snapped toward her. “He?”
She nodded, far too calmly. “Yeah. He.”
There it was. That cold, uncomfortable feeling in his chest. He didn’t like it. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but his jaw tightened before he could stop it.
“…What do you mean, he?” Max asked slowly.
Yn blinked at him. “I mean… a guy?”
“A guy,” he repeated.
“Mhm.”
“Did your Brazilian waxing.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Max stared at the wall ahead of them, brain visibly rebooting. “No.”
She tilted her head. “No?”
“No,” he said again, sharper. “That’s not… no.”
She frowned, pretending to think. “Why not?”
He finally looked at her, eyes narrowed. “Because that’s… that’s you. That’s-” He gestured vaguely. “That’s very personal.”
She bit her lip, like she was holding back a smile. “It’s his job.”
“Still,” Max said. “I don’t like that.”
“Oh?” she asked sweetly. “You don’t?”
“No,” he said, crossing his arms. “I don’t.”
She leaned back against the couch, studying him. “Huh.”
“Huh what?”
“It’s just interesting,” she said. “Because you’ve never had a problem with Amalia.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“She’s a woman.”
“And?”
“And you’re my girlfriend,” he said, like that should explain everything.
She nodded slowly. “I am.”
“And some guy is… down there,” he said, voice dropping. “Touching you.”
Her shoulders shook. “Max-”
“What?” he cut in. “You don’t see how that’s weird?”
She pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. “His name is Sam.”
Max stiffened. “Sam.”
“Yeah,” she continued, clearly enjoying herself now. “He’s from Somerset. Very polite. Very gentle.”
Max’s nostrils flared. “Gentle.”
“And super sweet,” she added. “Kept asking if I was comfortable.”
“That’s literally the bare minimum,” Max muttered.
“He even asked about you,” she said.
Max’s head snapped back to her. “He did what?”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “I told him my boyfriend is a driver and he was like, ‘Oh, you must be very proud.’”
Max scoffed. “He doesn’t know anything.”
She grinned. “He said you’re lucky.”
That did it.
Max stood up abruptly, pacing a few steps away. “No. I don’t like this.”
She burst out laughing.
“Max,” she giggled. “Your face.”
“This isn’t funny,” he insisted, though his ears were already turning red.
She followed him, grabbing his arm. “Babe.”
He looked down at her. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Because,” she said, laughing harder now, “I wanted to see your reaction.”
His eyes narrowed. “Reaction to what?”
She took a step back, unable to hold it in anymore. “Okay, okay-stop. I can’t.”
He frowned. “What?”
She wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It was Amalia. Of course it was Amalia.”
He froze. “…What?”
“There is no Sam,” she said between laughs. “I made him up.”
It took a second.
Then another.
Then Max processed it.
“You-” He stared at her, incredulous. “You lied.”
She nodded proudly. “Yes.”
“You let me think-”
“Yes.”
“That some random guy-”
“Yes.”
“-waxed-”
“Max,” she interrupted, laughing, “stop.”
He stared at her for a long moment. Then he shook his head, a disbelieving laugh escaping him.
“You’re evil.”
She grinned. “You love me.”
“I don’t know why,” he said, but he was smiling now.
She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist. “You were jealous.”
“I was not.”
“You were,” she teased. “Very possessive.”
“I was concerned,” he corrected.
She snorted. “Sure.”
He sighed, looking down at her. “You enjoy this way too much.”
“I really do,” she said happily.
He suddenly grabbed her, hoisting her over his shoulder with ease. She squealed, laughing loudly as she kicked her legs.
“Max!” she laughed. “Put me down!”
“No,” he said, already walking toward the bedroom. “You think it’s funny to mess with me?”
“It is funny!” she protested between giggles.
“You’re going to pay for that,” he said.
She gasped dramatically. “Oh no. Whatever will I do.”
He smacked her lightly on the butt. “Behave.”
She laughed even harder, burying her face against his back. “You’re ridiculous.”
He carried her into the bedroom, dropping her gently onto the bed. She bounced, still laughing, hair falling around her face.
“You’re impossible,” he said, climbing over her.
She reached up, cupping his face. “But you love me.”
He leaned down, forehead resting against hers. “Yeah,” he admitted softly. “I do.”
She smiled, warm and affectionate now, the prank forgotten. “Good.”
He kissed her. Slow, familiar, full of laughter and comfort.
Next time, though, he was coming with Yn to her appointment.
