by Bria Quinlan
“Isn’t that what people in your field call a leading question?”
“Just answer the question, Tuesday.”
“Okay, so it wasn’t just the running. Those things are deadly.”
Max set the knife down and leaned toward me. “Please don’t try to tell me that this somehow has to do with your black eye.”
This conversation wasn’t going the way I’d hoped. Shocker.
“It threw me against its dashboard thing and then spit me out against the wall. Those walls are hard.”
“Cinderblocks usually are.”
“And then there were squats. With weights. And crunches. And these things on this ginmorous ball that I couldn’t stay on. And more weights. It felt like I was there for hours.”
I saw the darn dimple come out as he turned his back to me and asked, “How long were you there?”
“I guess about forty-five minutes.”
“How much of that was on the attack treadmill?”
“Too much.”
“Mmm-hm.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I suspected it was his way of not having to say anything to avoid laughing at me. Which was fairly nice, considering.
Max started doing something in one of my pans that smelled like heaven and I gave up caring what he thought about my workout inabilities and more about what he was going to feed me and why nothing I cooked in that pan ever smelled as good.
Figures he cooked.
“Do you have wine glasses?”
Because the old cabinets were old, small built-ins, they weren’t tall enough for wine glasses, so I’d put those in the little space underneath my TV where other people probably stored movies and games. Ah, city living. After making my way across the room far more easily than earlier, I still had no interest in squatting down to get the glasses. Bending at the waist seemed like a far better option. I pulled out two glasses and made my way back to the stool where I probably should have asked for a cooking demonstration as he’d worked.
Max stood there, just shaking his head at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not nothing.”
“You just look…comfortable.”
I had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Of course I looked comfortable. I was aiming for a night in on my couch. Just because Mr. I’m In Control had added himself to the agenda didn’t mean I was going to dress up.
After a moment, he added, “Yoga pants.”
“What? Do you have a thing for yoga pants?”
“Tuesday, all men have a thing for yoga pants. Especially when they fit like those.”
With that, he turned back to the stove and started dishing out things into serving bowls while I pondered the show I’d just given him in my yoga pants and little t-shirt.
Not that it mattered.
He set a plate of stir fry and couscous in front of me and poured each of us a glass of wine before coming around and joining me at the counter.
“I hope you like it.”
“It smells great. I’m sure I will.” And then I bit into heaven.
This was just not fair.
“So, tell me something.” I scooped more food into my mouth, not wanting to wait even knowing there were seconds waiting for me. “Tell me something you’re really bad at.”
“What?”
“Something you’re bad at.”
He set down his fork and turned his body to face me being all inscrutable again.
“Why?”
“Everything you do, you seem to be good at. Are you good at everything or do you just not do things you’re bad at?”
Max shifted back around and rested an elbow on the counter, looking off through my wall to who knows where and downed half a glass of wine.
“Apparently, I was horrible at being a boyfriend.”
Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting.
“What makes you say that?”
“Probably that my girlfriend slept with one of my coworkers.”
I froze, the fork halfway to my mouth, at a loss of what to say. Sure, Jason had turned out to be a jackass, but I was pretty sure that while I dated him, he was one-hundred percent my jackass. Lucky me.
“Um…”
“Yeah. Pretty much the normal response.”
He went back at his food with a new focus, but I couldn’t let it go. He obviously hadn’t. That bothered me more than I could say. That this guy I was pretty sure was a pain in the butt, but a completely honorable one, would feel bad about the actions of someone else.
“Were you mean to her?”
“What? No.” He slammed the fork back down. “Of course not.”
“You didn’t cheat on her, I assume.”
He didn’t even bother to reply to that. Just gave me a look that answered that question and what he thought of it.
“Did you break promises?”
“Sometimes I was late because of work, but I always texted to let her know.”
“Did you flirt with other women?”
He looked appalled, as if men didn’t come on to women who weren’t their girlfriends all the time.
“Why would I commit to someone if I wanted to be with other women?”
“If you could answer that question, we could solve half of the first world problems.”
He pushed his food around his plate, slouching a bit in his chair which worried me more than the scowling. “She said we never talked and I didn’t listen to her.”
I sat there, trying to piece together this mystery that was Max. Obviously he wasn’t a man who spoke a lot, but he did seem to listen, even if he barreled through and did what he wanted to anyway.
“Yeah, see. I can see that. You’re agreeing with her.” He shifted back around and picked up the bottle of wine, refilling his glass a bit more than the one before it.
“I’m not agreeing with her. But you do have a habit of just doing what you think is right whether people want you to or not.”
“Oh, really? And you know this after only a week?” He crossed his arms and added, “Give me one example.”
I raised an eyebrow at him and he mirrored it back, waiting for me to come up with just one example.
I pointed at my meal.
“Dinner? I made you dinner and that’s your example of not listening to you?”
“You didn’t say, Hey. Kasey. I know you’re in pain, how would you like me to throw together a little something? You just started cooking in my kitchen even after I told you all I wanted was a bath and a movie.”
“But you’re getting a bath and a movie.”
“On your terms.”
“Sometimes people need to be taken care of.”
The muscle at his jaw ticked and the fingers on my wine glass tightened.
“Yes,” I answered, not sure of what else to say.
“And, sometimes it’s nice to just do things for people. Especially if you’re dating her.”
“That’s true.”
“And you would assume that if two people were dating, making a meal one night when one person wasn’t feeling well would be a good thing.”
Well, I couldn’t argue with that, except…
“We’re not dating.”
“I didn’t say we were.” He flashed me a grin, more cocky looking than before. “Are you hinting at something, Tuesday?”
Incorrigible. That’s really all I could say about him.
“Nope.”
“I’m just saying that,” he went on innocently enough, “I need to be able to take care of people I care about. If she had a problem with it, she could have told me instead of inviting my friend over and greeting him at the door in her bra and underwear.”
That was…Who does that? Who purposefully sets out to hurt someone that badly just because he was a little too much with the being-in-charge thing?
“I can’t argue with that.” Because, what sane person could?
“Thank you.”
That was probabl
y the best place to leave this conversation. I let Max put the dishes in the sink but told him he couldn’t wash them. I could see the hesitation on his face, but he nodded and left them there. It was probably going to kill him before the night was over. But, in light of our earlier conversation, I was really impressed he allowed me to leave my own dirty dishes in my sink.
I wandered over to the small living room set Ben had left in my care and curled up in the corner. Max continued to make himself at home putting the movie in and walking around adjusting lights. It was hard to fault him when I was filled with great food and exactly where I wanted to be.
I expected him to take the chair in the corner. Instead he plopped down on the other end, grabbing the remote and hitting play as if we did this every weekend.
The movie flickered on and I got sucked into the world of good and evil and what would my super power be.
I was pretty sure Max really would be a super hero if they existed. Him and his keeping people safe, always being there thing.
I tried to stretch my legs out without kicking him, but failed miserably when my heel took him in the side.
“Kasey, just stretch out.”
I felt odd putting my legs across him and looked at his lap as if it might be radioactive. Instead, I shifted to try to put them on the coffee table at his end.
“Unless…” He glanced at the blanket I was tucked under, lifting the edge and pretended to peer under. “Is it because your feet are naked? If it makes you feel more comfortable, I could get my feet naked, too.”
My gaze drifted over to where Max’s sock-covered feet were propped up on the table. He probably had really strong, not hairy, perfectly shaped feet. The kind of feet you see on the movie posters walking down the beach next to a set of dainty lady feet.
There was seriously something wrong with me.
“No. No, need to get your feet naked.” I cleared my throat. “I just, you know, feel like it’s weird to be using you as a footrest.”
“It’s not weird. Just stretch out. I don’t care.” He picked up my feet and pulled them onto his lap, sliding a little toward me so my feet hung over his far leg. “See? Not weird.”
I nodded, shifting my focus back to the movie and Hugh Jackman and trying ignore it as Max’s handed rested across my calf.
I couldn’t even enjoy the last fifteen minutes. I kept thinking about not moving my feet or my legs or wondering why his hand was on my calf. Was it because my calf was in his way or was he touching my leg, touching my leg?
As the credits rolled, I sat up, thinking about pulling my feet away, but before I could, he lifted them again, slid out from under them and headed toward the TV.
“That was better than I thought it would be. The trailer was kind of lame compared to the one last summer.” He crouched in front of the TV set-up and ejected the DVD. “What did you think?”
I think I needed to get him out of my apartment. This was supposed to be a quiet night at home recovering from Hailey’s abuse.
“Yeah. It was good. I liked the earlier ones better.”
He glanced over his shoulder, giving me a look that obviously said my flat tone came across loud and clear. Instead of asking what had turned me into weird-o girl, he just nodded and starting putting everything away.
He headed toward the door, grabbing his corkscrew and sauté pan off the counter as he went.
“Come here and lock me out.”
Oh, yeah.
I pulled myself off the couch, happy to see I was moving a little more easily and knowing there was no way I’d leave the house tomorrow.
At the front door, he half stepped into the hall before turning back to look at me.
I made the mistake of looking up at him. Jason had been a lot taller than me. He was a lean six-foot-one. But, Max at his more modest five-ten felt bigger as he filled my doorway, and closer. Amazing how much closer he felt with just a few inches of height lost.
He stood there, looking down at me and I felt the need to fill the silence with something for some reason. Unsure why or what, I finally landed on, “Thanks.”
Max grinned and shook his head. “Sure. Don’t forget the dishes.”
And then, before you could say apartment takeover, he was gone.
22
My blaring alarm clock sounded, pulling me out of another weird dream. More Max. More Max and kitten calendars. This calendar’s year was all cooking. Eggs, steak, cupcakes, kebobs. If I would eat it, there was a month for it.
This time, Max stood in a gourmet kitchen, wearing jeans and an apron, his shoulders broadly outlined by the thin white straps. The kitten perched on his shoulder, a little chef’s hat on his head, his tail gently wrapped around the back of Max’s neck to drape down his shoulder.
I reached over and slammed the alarm clock off, happy to have my weird internal voice shut up.
Max.
I could lie to Jenna and Hailey, but I had to admit it to myself at least. I was attracted to Max. It wasn’t even just the hot cop uniform. He was completely the opposite of what I wanted, and yet…
If I was going to get my life back on track, I needed to stay out of his sphere as much as possible. Too many women had been drawn by the siren’s call of flat abs. I would not be wrecked on the shore of male beauty.
I looked around my new apartment and thought again about how free I felt out from under Jason’s controlling shadow. Lying in bed, I listened to the birds outside my window shout at each other and made a mental list of my day.
Get up, get dressed, eat something. Those all seemed obtainable since my body was once again doing what my brain told it to.
I finished the mental checklist and decided it was early enough to head over to The Brew to get some work done. If I stayed in on a nice day like this, I’d just get cabin fever.
Luckily, there were only to-go regulars there grabbing their morning mixes when I set up. I would be distraction-free now that Jenna’s office was repaired.
Hopefully she wouldn’t totally forget about me without our shared workspace.
I powered up my laptop and set in to answering the emails I was getting. Still nothing big enough to think of as an actual job, but people were checking in and getting more information. Not bad for my first week in business.
I created a FAQ page for my website and a contact form for the inquiries I seemed to see the most. Then I finished the mock-up of Jenna’s new landing page which turned out pretty kick-ass. Moving down the to-do list, I emailed The Village council to see if they needed any flyers made for their Farmers’ Market and Sidewalk Sale day.
All in all, a pretty fine morning.
I was getting ready to take a break when Jenna wandered in, her nose in a little red notebook as she scribbled away. A kindly patron pulled a chair out of her way as she beelined for the sofas.
Dropping her laptop bag on the chair, she stood and continued writing until she was done.
I’d learned by example watching Ben to just let this play out and then talk. Anything said while a notebook was opened was not actually said.
Or, as Dane put it, if a friend speaks in the notebook void, does anyone hear them?
“Hey.” She collapsed into her chair, a look of anguish on her face.
“What’s wrong? Is Ben okay? Is anyone hurt?”
She looked at me, her eyes still damp from unshed tears and said, “Chloe is going to college and I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Chloe your…sister?”
Did Jenna say she had sisters? In my head she was an only child, but I’d been meeting so many people I could have gotten confused.
“No.” Her lips quivered as if fighting not to smile and she slouched back in the chair. “You’ll think I’m absurd. Even Ben occasionally thinks I’m absurd.”
“I’m pretty sure Ben thinks you’re adorable even when he thinks you’re being absurd.”
“But still…Chloe is the character of my series. I’ve been writing her since she got to high school.
It’s one of the longest running single author YA contemporary series currently. Thirteen books. And now, she’s going to college and I have to let her go.”
Okay, so that was a little…absurd.
But, I’m sure in her world it was totally normal. I mean, there are books I’ve read that I hated when they ended.
This was obviously killing her.
“Aren’t you ready for a new adventure?” Because, New Adventure was my new middle name. Maybe I should hyphenate it. “Change can be good. You might have something really exciting in you that you couldn’t see because it was standing behind Chloe and once you send her off to her new home, you’ll be able to start on it.”
Before the words were even all out of my mouth, tears were streaming down Jenna’s face. She lifted a hand to cover her mouth and dropped her eyes shut.
Crud. I was really horrible at this girlfriend thing. I had no idea what I’d said to make her cry, but it was obviously the worst possible thing. She sat there, pulling in on herself while I glanced around the room desperately looking for a distraction.
“I’m sorry. Whatever it is I said, I’m really, really sorry.”
I half jumped, half crawled over the coffee table between us and set my butt on it taking her free hand in mine.
“What is it? This can’t be about your series ending, right?”
Writers weren’t that crazy, were they?
I considered the tree in her office and the way she talked about Chloe’s day as if it were real.
Okay, maybe they could be that crazy. But this didn’t feel like that.
“People just…leave, you know? They’re there and they’re this huge part of your life, and then they just up and move across the ocean never to be seen from again.”
Ah.
“I don’t think you’ll never hear from Ben again.” I patted her knee, trying to get her attention.
“I meant,” she sniffed, “you know, people in general.”
I was really rusty on my girl-speak apparently because I was about one-thousand percent sure we were talking about Ben.
“You’re talking about Ben.” Yeah, smooth.
Jenna burst into tears again.
I glanced over her shoulder at John standing behind the counter looking panicked. No help there.