by Layla Hagen
Max is beside me after two strokes across the water. “It’s worth it to see you blush.”
“What are you doing?” I whisper to him. “Saturday we agreed on….” My voice trails off as I realize we didn’t actually agree on anything. I just word vomited my romantic failures, and Max said nothing.
A devilish smile takes form on his face. “We agreed on nothing. I thought long and hard about you this weekend.”
I ignore the way my body sizzles long and hard at his words. Swallowing, I say, “Care to share any conclusions you’ve reached?”
Max purses his lips as if considering it. “Nah, I think I’ll let you fret a little longer. You look delicious when you do it. How about we start the exercises?”
Going through the session proves to be a challenge. The routine for water exercises resembles the one for normal exercises, in that I first perform the exercise, and then my patient repeats it, and I stand nearby, making sure they perform the exercises correctly. The major difference is that a layer of clothing is missing now. Which means I get to stare at and touch Max’s bare skin for an hour. Sixty minutes that are both torture and bliss. I sense his gaze on me the entire time, which heats up every nerve ending in my body. Putting some distance between us would be a good idea, except I can’t since I’m guiding him through the moves. If I’m honest, I’m not sure distance would help. I can feel his presence even when he is across a room.
“You did that on purpose,” I accuse when Max does a simple exercise wrong for the fifth time.
“What? I just don’t know how to do the exercise.”
“You can’t do a simple leg bend?” I counter.
He shrugs, a smile playing on his lips. Max is enjoying himself immensely. “I’ll do it much better if your hand is on my thigh.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, keeping my hands firmly behind my back. “What’s gotten into you today?”
“You’re standing in this pool, looking irresistible, and all I can think about is how fucking incredible you tasted on Saturday.”
I think I might have had a mini orgasm just from hearing him speak like this.
“Max, please do your exercises.”
As he finally complies with my request, I step back, feeling victorious. Except then I see the way his chest and ripped muscles contort, and I realize I’m the one who lost.
“You survived the session,” I announce when he’s done. “You’re free to go.”
“I have an idea. Let’s race. Twenty pool laps.”
“I do laps every day. You can’t keep up.”
“Wanna bet?”
This makes me pay attention. I should have known he has an ulterior motive. “What’s the bet?”
“I win, I get to kiss you again.”
His gaze is heated, but I feel bold. “I win, you don’t mention kissing again. Ever. And I get to kick your ass.”
“Deal.”
“Fine, let’s do this. Prepare yourself, Bennett.”
I swim with a vengeance, putting one arm in front of the other, propelling myself forward. I am consciously aware I’m not going at my full speed. When I finally touch the end of the pool, I pull myself up, gazing around me. There is a twinge of disappointment as I see Max a few feet behind me. Maybe some part of me wanted to lose. Goddammit.
Max notices I won and stops swimming, instead straightening up and walking toward me, the water rippling around him, caressing his skin. I can’t help noticing the way the sinewy lines of his abs flex when he moves.
He advances until he’s inches away from me, completely invading my personal space. He’s so close my breasts squish against his chest. Instantly my nipples turn to stone. His arms are at my side, palms firmly planted on the edge of the pool. Being trapped between his arms gives me a sense of security, which is ridiculous, because I’m in danger of falling for his charms.
“I won. That means you can’t kiss me,” I say in a low and unsteady voice. Every inch of my body longs for him, almost painfully so.
“Don’t worry, Emilia. I won’t kiss you again until you ask me to.”
Until. Not unless.
Somehow I find my voice. “What makes you think I will?”
“You want to. You would never have taken the bet otherwise.”
“Maybe I just wanted a chance to kick your ass.”
“You wouldn’t have taken that chance if a part of you didn’t want the kiss.”
“Know-it-all.”
Max tilts his head to the right, scrutinizing me. “I don’t know if I can be just your friend. I’ll try, but as you can see, I’m failing repeatedly.”
“You don’t seem to try very hard.” Nervously I lick my lower lip, and Max follows the movement with his gaze. His proximity does unspeakable things to me.
“That’s right. I’ll be honest with you, Emilia. Until now I didn’t make an effort in my relationships, and now I think I know why. I couldn’t see them going anywhere. But with you… it’s different.”
“What are you saying?”
“That you’re fun, sweet, and always on my mind.” He lifts his hand to cup the side of my head, then drags the backs of his fingers down my cheek, moving them along on my jaw. He stops short of touching my mouth. “Part of that is desire, but it’s more. I like to be around you, to see you smile. To make you smile. You’ve grown into an amazing woman, Emilia.”
“Stop being such a fancy-pants charmer,” I whisper.
“You have no idea how much I’d like to charm this bathing suit off you. But I’m not bullshitting you.”
I know he’s not. He’s kept that boyish honesty I loved about him—even if it annoyed me at times, such as when he informed me my pixie cut sucked. Now, though, I have no idea what to do with his information, and judging by his expression, neither does he.
“Max, I….”
He puts a finger on my lips, silencing me. Unfortunately, feeling the warmth of his touch awakens all my senses. I become painfully aware of my hips grazing against his muscular thighs, of our mouths being only a breath away.
“Don’t say anything,” he says. “We’ll just see where the pieces fall into place.”
His eyes have that glint of mischief and determination I know too well. Only now he decidedly delivers it in a very grown-up Max way, which warms my heart… and other parts. Instantly, I know all bets are off.
Chapter Thirteen
Emilia
My grams always used to say, “when one door closes, you kick the shit out of every other door and window, until one opens.”
Her own version of when one door closes, another one opens. She was never a believer of good things just falling into one’s lap, and she raised me the same. So when the repair shop informs me that my car’s repairs will be twice as much as I anticipated, I allow myself to panic and fret for a few hours, and then I make a plan. I call a few of my patients who asked me if I’d be willing to do sessions at their homes, and offer my services. Home sessions are usually a pain in the ass, because I don’t have all the necessary equipment, but it can work in easier cases. I end up with three evenings booked. It’ll be a stretch fitting everything in, but I’m in no position to turn anything down.
What’s a girl to do when she has too much on her plate? Arm herself with her two best friends and a sugary, caffeinated drink while on lunch break at work. At least this girl does. My version of wine and a girls’ night out.
“You are insane,” Evelyn says, and Abby nods vigorously as we enjoy a coffee on our lunch break on Tuesday. We’re in the small backyard of the clinic. It’s a beautiful April day with the sun shining almost unnaturally bright. Except for two snow-white clouds, the sky is a divine shade of blue. I wish I could be outdoors the entire day, soaking in the light and warmth of the sun. It’s beautiful.
“No, I’m trying to pay for my car’s repairs,” I reply.
“You need to let off steam, or at least have a breather now and again,” Abby insists. They both offered to help financially, but I vehemently refused
. That’s not what friends are for, and I don’t take handouts.
“I know what you need,” Evelyn says wickedly. “I bet Max wouldn’t mind helping you let off steam.”
“Yeah,” Abby says. “His Royal Highness seems eager enough.” Abby has a slightly unhealthy obsession with royal families and uses that moniker for men who pass her gorgeousness test.
“That’s between His Maximum Hotness and me,” I volley back, surprising both of them.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Evelyn asks. I told them about the kiss on Saturday.
“I have no idea,” I admit with a sigh. “But the moniker fits him. He’s just… he makes me feel so many things at the same time. Too many.”
“That’s a good thing,” Evelyn insists. “Don’t be afraid to feel, Emilia.”
A lump forms in my throat. “I’m not. What I’m afraid of is losing him. My friendship with Max was always my happy place as a kid, and it is now too. Risking all that to calm down my hormones feels wrong.”
Evelyn and Abby exchange a glance, which tells me they’ve spoken about this at length. When they don’t say anything in return, I have the slight suspicion they might be up to something. Just as I’m about to question them, my phone buzzes with a message from Max.
Max: Random thought—coffee tastes better with cinnamon. Had it today for the first time. You should try it sometime too. How are you?
I love it when he sends me messages about little nothings. Even as kids, we used to meet up after school to tell each other about our day.
Emilia: Great. Managed to get some side gigs to pay off the car repairs.
Max: What? You’re already working full-time… I want to help.
Emilia: You can make me laugh. Helps me let off steam.
The moment I send the message, I know it was a wrong choice of words.
Max: Consider it done. Love hearing you laugh. BUT, and I’m just putting it out there, I know much better ways to let off steam.
Looking up from my phone, I find Abby and Evelyn staring at me. Giving them an enigmatic smile, I head inside the clinic.
***
Over the last sessions of his therapy, the chemistry between Max and me gradually gets out of control.
“What are we doing today?” Max asks at the start of the very last session. Today it’s just him and me in the training room.
“Mattress exercises,” I inform him, pointing to the mattress on the floor.
“Great. They’re my favorite kind.”
“Really?” I frown at him as he lowers himself on the mattress. He hasn’t shown much enthusiasm for any exercises until now. “Which ones are your favorites?”
“All of them. Doggy style, missionary, you name it. Which one is your favorite, Jonesie?”
My ears turn red, and I immediately avert my gaze. “You are shameless.”
“I’m being told that at least twice a day.” He says this with so much pride, it’s ridiculous.
Sighing, I shake my head. “Let’s start with leg bends. I will watch you and correct you when you’re doing it wrong.”
He pins me down with his gaze for a brief second, igniting every cell in my body. Determined not to back down, I stubbornly hold his gaze, even though my breath becomes shallower by the second. Eventually, he lies on his back and starts the exercise.
“No, no,” I correct. “You can’t push your lower back against the mattress.” I wedge my hand between the mattress and his lower back. “Your back is not allowed to touch my hand.”
As Max resumes the exercise, I can’t keep my wandering eyes from taking in the movement of his sinewy muscles. Damn it. I have officially upgraded from ogling to eye fucking him.
“You’re going to strain your eye muscles from over exercising them, Jonesie.”
Busted.
The next exercise is trickier because I have to ensure that neither his shoulder nor his hip lift off the mattress while he lifts and bends both his legs. The easiest way to accomplish this is to hold one hand on his hip and one over his shoulder. Which means I’m leaning over him, practically putting my boobs on his chest, my mouth dangerously close to his. As Max bends his leg, his knee brushes lightly against the side of my ribs. Heat spears me anew, and I nearly bite my tongue. Damn it. How am I supposed to do my job if feeling his knee in my freaking ribs turns me on?
“You have beautiful lips, Jonesie,” he says.
“Stop calling me Jonesie.” Despite myself, I grin.
“But I can tell you that you have beautiful lips?”
“No, you can’t do that either. My gym, my rules, remember?”
“I have an excellent memory, but when I have a woman over me, I can’t help myself.”
This man is relentless. Can’t he see what he’s doing to me?
“I didn’t take you for the type who likes women on top,” I reply, feeling bolder than usual.
Max cocks an eyebrow, and then his lips curve into a smile. “I’d like you anywhere. On top of me, under me. To my side. I assure you I can perform in any position.”
Giving up on the pretense of helping him with the exercise, I sit back on my ass, sighing loudly. He bolts into a sitting position on the floor.
“What are we doing, Max?” I ask.
“Pushing each other, waiting to see who will be the first to fall over the edge. I have an inkling it’ll be me.”
My question was rhetorical, so I wasn’t exactly expecting an answer.
“I don’t think I can be just your friend,” Max continues, and I feel as if someone just doused me in cold water. “I thought I could, but evidently, it’s not working.”
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart.
“It’s not just because I’m attracted to you, Emilia. I admit I am. Fuck, I am. I leave every session with blue balls, and I’ve jerked off so many times thinking about you lately that my right hand will fall off.”
My eyes widen as an arrow of desire shoots right through me. Max isn’t done though. He scoots closer to me on the floor, looking straight at me.
“When something good happens, the first person I want to share it with is you. When I know you’re worried about something, I want to take that worry away from you.”
“Max,” I whisper weakly. “Why do you say all the right things?”
“Give me one reason why we shouldn’t follow our instincts. Yeah, we’re risking our friendship, but clearly we’re not doing a great job keeping it platonic as it is anyway.”
He’s right. The past four weeks are proof of it, and damn it, I want to be with him, but I need to be honest with him first. This morning, I finally sold my wedding dress. Getting rid of it felt cathartic… and like a sign.
“I have so many issues, I could fill a mile-long list with them. On both sides,” I say.
“Start firing. I’m ready to take notes. I can type seventy words per minute.”
“Max—”
“Emilia.”
I snap my head up to him. “I’m serious.”
“So am I. Try me.”
“I have daddy issues and abandonment issues,” I say in a small voice. “Which are at the root of many other suboptimal traits and inadequate developments in attachment.”
“Suboptimal what and inadequate huh?” Max glares at me. “That sounded very… cold and odd. Like something a self-help bullshit test would word vomit.”
I blush violently. “I did first read that in a self-help test, and then I talked to the in-house therapist and my friend, Evelyn, who said about the same thing, albeit using friendlier terms.”
Max reaches his hand out to me, placing it over my fingers, which are spread on the floor.
“Well, I’ll say it in simple words. You’ve had bad luck. Your dad was an asshole, and you lost your mother. You also haven’t had much luck with men. I could be cocky and say that it’s a sign you had to wait for me, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”
I burst out laughing, and he laughs with me. God, I could listen
to this sound the entire day.
“Told you I could make you laugh.” Without warning, he cups my cheeks in his hands. “I have known who you are for fifteen years, Jonesie. All your fears, all your insecurities were there when I met you, in one form or another.” With a smirk, he adds, “And you know my fears too.”
“You hate small spaces.” I claw myself out from his grip because his lips are far too close to mine. “That makes you so undesirable.”
“Well, it does mean we could never have sex in an elevator or a broom closet.”
“Two places which are very high on my list,” I deadpan, though I break out in a sweat imagining the two of us doing the deed in a broom closet.
“Look, it’s not like I have a great record with dating,” Max continues. “Can’t promise this will work. Maybe I’ll screw up. Maybe you’ll screw up. Maybe we both will. We’ll never know if we don’t try.”
I hug my knees to my chest, resting my chin on them and looking at the beautiful man in front of me.
“Let’s grab dinner tonight,” he suggests, glancing at the clock to our right. The session is almost up. “We don’t have any sessions left, and we need to sort this out, Emilia.”
“Okay, but I have a seminar I can’t skip. I finish at nine.”
“I’ll pick you up when you’re done. Text me the address.”
“Okay.”
We both rise to our feet, and Max kisses my forehead, placing one hand on the center of my back. I can sense the message behind his gesture, a soft encouragement to trust him. But he lingers with his lips on my skin for a split second too long, and the innocent touch turns into a sinful sensation, his mouth igniting me. Desire zips through me, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of all things Max: the very faint stubble on his chin, his masculine scent of wood and sea, the slight tremor in his chest… and mine. We’re both seconds away from losing control.
When he takes a step back, we’re both panting.
“See you tonight, Emilia.”
Chapter Fourteen