I gripped the denim, but Max shifted, his knee jerking like an earthquake. My fingers slipped, and I plummeted, air rushing past me like a storm. I flailed, a waffle tumbling through chaos, the world a blur of monster truck and carpet. With a bone-rattling thud, I landed on the truck’s flatbed, still roaring across the living room. The impact stole my breath, my tiny body bouncing against cold plastic.
The truck swerved, tires screeching, and I clung to a ridge on the bed, wind whipping my face. My heart pounded as I tried to orient myself, the room a smeared kaleidoscope of furniture and Max’s sprawling form. The truck lurched to a stop in the middle of the living room, and I scrambled to my feet, dizzy, searching for my bearings.
I patted my chest, desperate for my bearings. But before I could find it, a shadow loomed. I looked up, and there was Max, towering like a careless god, his sneakers planted on either side of the truck. His knees bent, and my stomach dropped as his massive form descended, his jeans tightening across his backside. He was about to sit—right on the truck, right on me.
I screamed, but it was useless, my voice a pinprick against his oblivious laughter. His shadow swallowed me, and I froze, sprawled on the truck’s bed, as the world closed in.
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