by Steph Nuss
I beamed at his compliment and gazed around at his huge apartment. I hadn’t really taken in my surroundings until now. Floor-to-ceiling windows covered the north wall, overlooking Washington Square Park. Beautiful oak covered the floor. It was obvious that a decorator designed the space, but I actually liked that about his place. Instead of filling his home with a bunch of masculine decor, he and his designer had gone for a comfortable and homey atmosphere. Picture frames filled with his family and friends adorned the living room. Wall art in the form of old, framed movie posters warmed the space and gave it a pop of color. The simple fact that we’d eaten in the living room made me feel like I could accidentally spill my drink and not feel awful about it. I appreciated homes that were lived in, and Max had certainly spent time here.
Peering back at him, I shot him a smile. “By the looks of this place, your story gave you the opportunity to chase after your dreams and build the life you wanted. You should be proud of that, proud that you’ve achieved your dreams.”
“Not all of them,” Max admitted, pulling me up off the couch.
“What are some of your other dreams? Directing? Producing?”
“Nah, although those would be cool to do someday,” he stated, leading me out of the living room. “I’d like a wife and kids someday. That’s the one I’m working on now.”
“Kids? As in plural?” I stopped short and dropped his hand, causing him to look over his shoulder. “How many kids? Like a handful of them? A football team?”
He swaggered up to me in an arrogant manner and bent down so his lips were right next to my ear as he teased me. “Does that scare you?”
I scoffed. “It scares my vagina. It’s not a bowling ball returner. Just because you shoot some sperm down the lane doesn’t mean a baby should come out every time.”
His shoulders shook hard with laughter. “That’s the best baby-making analogy I’ve ever heard!”
“You didn’t answer the question!” I exclaimed.
“I don’t know the answer,” he said, shrugging it off. “Now, come on, I’m giving you a tour of my place.”
“You …” I muttered in a soft voice, following behind him. “You’re so infuriating sometimes.”
“Did you plan Zane?” he retorted.
I rolled my eyes again. “Obviously not.”
“See,” he stated, grabbing my hand again. “Some of the best things in life happen without a plan.”
“Gah!” I tilted my head back dramatically and shrieked. “You can’t say things like that!”
“What?” he asked seriously. “Why not?”
“Because that’s how babies are made!” I said, shaking my head. “Just give me the damn tour, and no more talk about babies or baby-making.”
Walking down the hallway just off of the dining room, he opened the door to the first room on the right and showed off a simple full bath, decorated in different shades of blue. Dark gray tile lined the floor, but the hues of blue throughout the room gave it a less masculine feel. The large, zero-entry shower was equipped with a rainfall showerhead and a bench, and a light blue striped shower curtain provided privacy.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, following him back into the hall.
“The room across the hall is the guest bedroom.” He opened the door and an array of grays and greens greeted us. An evergreen bedspread adorned the king-sized bed, topped with gray and green throw pillows, and identical wood nightstands sat on either side of the bed. In the corner, a matching wood dresser gave guests the option to unpack and stay awhile. The gray area rug centered in the room warmed the space. Gray curtains decorated the two large windows overlooking the park, and a TV framed in the same wood as the furniture hung on the wall across from the bed.
“If this is your spare, I don’t even want to know what your room is like,” I teased, awestruck.
He chuckled softly, leaning against the doorjamb. “I wanted a room for my parents. I hate the idea of family coming to visit and having to stay at a hotel; it’s just so impersonal. So, when I was looking for a place to live, I knew I wanted room for more than just myself.”
“I like that,” I said, exiting the room with him. We continued down the hall, and I confessed. “I have to admit, I thought your place was going to be a total bachelor pad.”
He smiled over at me. “Is that so?”
“Yeah.” I stopped at the next door. “I thought you were going to be this cocky, self-centered celebrity, who lived in some womanizing lair.”
He laughed harder, reaching for the doorknob. “I used to be that way, but I’ve changed my ways.”
“Lucky me.”
He opened the door and showed off the next room. “I know it doesn’t really look like an office, but that’s what I call it.”
Entering the room, I gazed around completely stunned. One wall was lined with built-in bookshelves filled with books and movie memorabilia. A rectangular, glass desk and a plush chair sat on the opposite side of the room, across from the bookshelves, housing his Mac computer. He had framed posters of his movies and photos of him with other celebrities hung up on the wall. Comic books—some even autographed—lined the shelves, still in their plastic packaging to protect their authenticity. He had a personalized San Francisco Giants jersey pinned up, autographed by all the players, along with other baseball memorabilia. But all I could think about as I peered around the room was Zane.
“Zane would go nuts in here,” I commented aloud, shaking my head. “He loves comic books and baseball.”
“I got to throw out the first pitch of Game Three during the 2014 World Series,” he said, admiring the jersey. “That was probably a dream come true for me, to throw out the first pitch in my hometown. I grew up watching the Giants, so to see them win it all was awesome.”
“That is amazing,” I said, fingering the comic books. “Zane’s comic book collection is almost this big, although most of his aren’t signed.”
“There are a few unicorns I’m still looking for,” he admitted.
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to a large three-ring binder on the shelf.
Excited, he grabbed it and opened it up. “It’s my baseball card collection. I started it when I was maybe Zane’s age. It’s probably stupid that I still have it, but these are actually worth a lot of money. I couldn’t just throw them away.”
The binder was full of nine-pocket sheets, each pocket holding a different player’s card. “That’s impressive.”
“Really?” he asked incredulously, putting the binder back in its spot. “You don’t think it’s childish?”
“No way,” I said, shaking my head. I reached for his hand and smiled up at him. “I didn’t grow up getting to collect things. I didn’t have anything I cherished so much I couldn’t get rid of it. So, no, I don’t think it’s childish that you’ve kept a piece of your childhood with you.”
“I still shop around for cards though,” he admitted proudly, leading us out of the office.
I laughed. “That’s okay, too. It’s good to have a hobby.”
“Hmm,” he mused, eyeing me playfully. “You like my nerdy comic books and baseball card collection. Remind me not to let you get away.”
“That’s right,” I said confidently. “I am one of a kind.”
He laughed and led us to the last door at the end of the hall. He pushed it open and the bright lights of the city took my breath away. In Max’s bedroom, one wall held floor-to-ceiling windows, just like the ones in the main living area, overlooking the city. Two sets of curtains were pulled off to the side—one gray and the other sheer white. White paint stained the other three walls of his room. A gray and white bedspread covered his king-sized bed and matched his gray upholstered bed frame nicely. A gray upholstered bench sat at the foot of the bed with a folded blanket resting on top of it. The two nightstands and his dresser were made out of barn wood, but they had been whitewashed to match the room’s decor. The doors to his bedroom matched perfectly, crafted of the same barn wood wi
th the same whitewashed finish. He slid one to the left and showed off his walk-in closet, and then he went over to the double barn doors across the room and slid them apart. I swear the heavens sang as the pristine bathroom appeared.
“Holy shit,” I muttered softly, stepping into the large master bath. White tile lined the space along with a double vanity made out of marble. A beautiful chandelier made the room even brighter. The claw-foot tub looked perfect for a bubble bath, and the shower was encased by glass with the same rainfall showerhead as the guest bathroom. Gray mats and towels lay around the room, waiting to be used. It was the cleanest, most magazine-photo-shoot-ready bathroom I’d ever seen.
“I think this is my favorite room,” I praised, running my hand along the edge of the tub. “I’ve never bathed in a claw-foot tub before.”
“It’s good for a nice, long soak, and it’s even better when you turn the lights down to about fifty percent and leave the doors open, letting the light from the city filter in.”
He painted a beautiful picture—one I could imagine myself in with him. Goose bumps pebbled my skin as I felt him come up behind me and take my hand away from the tub.
“But that’s for our third or fourth date,” he said with a wink. “Let me show you my favorite room.”
“It’s not this one?” I teased, silently saying good-bye to his luxurious bath.
“Nope. It’s the roof.”
***
The rooftop area that Max rented rivaled his master bath. The views of the city from each direction were stunning, and in the clear night sky, with the warm summer breeze wrapped around us, we could actually see some stars shining down on us. Stargazing wasn’t something one could easily do in the city, with light constantly polluting our skies. I couldn’t remember the last time I stared up and saw stars.
“This view is gorgeous,” I said, leaning back on the railing.
“Yeah, it is,” Max said, pulling my attention away from the night sky.
His gaze was set directly on me—not the stars, the city, or anything else—and all the emotions from our night came rushing through my system. Sharing our pasts and knowing the effort he put into the wonderful dinner he made for me proved how eager he was to get to know me. I also enjoyed how open he was with me. By giving me a tour of his home and showing me his collections, I felt like I knew a part of him that most people didn’t. The fact that he’d kept us away from any of his fans or the media reminded me how much he cherished his privacy, his alone time with me. It’d been years since I’d been taken care of in such a way that made me feel desirable, and the way Max looked at me now made me want to walk right up to him and kiss him.
Moving closer, Max caged me into the railing with his bulky arms. “You want to kiss me, don’t you?”
Cue blush. I turned away from him and gazed out at the city below us, embarrassed by my obviousness. “Not anymore. Way to ruin the moment.”
He laughed softly. “I didn’t ruin anything. You can kiss me.”
“I don’t need your permission,” I quipped.
“I know you don’t,” he agreed, his warm breath tickling my ear, causing goose bumps to rise along my arms. “I was just encouraging you to go for it. Turn around and cover my lips with yours.”
Go for it, Whitley.
So, I did.
Inspired, I grabbed his face and pulled him down to me, and our lips met. His strong hands grasped my waist and flushed my body up against his, sweeping me into a hot, eager wonderland where no man had ever taken me. Soft lips and tongues explored. Tasting and teasing and oh, so arousing. I could barely breathe. The man made a mean margarita, but no amount of tequila could make me this tipsy from a kiss. It was all him. His gentle hands, combined with his sweet, skillful mouth made me feel wanted in a way I hadn’t in a long time. My teeth teased and bit his bottom lip, and the deep, sensual sound of his groan filtering up from his throat caused my insides to tense, desperately needing so much more.
“Whit,” he said, taking a quick breath before diving right back in for another taste. “God.”
“I know,” I agreed, stealing a third kiss from him.
By the fourth, one of his hands cradled the back of my head and the other slid down and grabbed my ass cheek. “I can’t stop.”
“Me either,” I said, holding onto him tighter with the fifth.
“We probably should though.”
A sixth.
“Yeah, I probably—”
He shut me up with the seventh.
“You interrupted me,” I muttered against his lips, before going for an eighth. “I should probably leave.”
“I know,” he agreed, running both hands along my sides. Titillation led us to the ninth. “I don’t want you to go though.”
“I don’t want to either, but we’ll probably end up in that bed of yours if we go back down to your place and keep kissing. And don’t even get me started on all the things I want to do in that tub of yours.”
The tenth was neither eager nor needy, but sweet and gentle, lips sliding against one another, tongues tangling in a careful caress that slowed us down.
“Probably.”
We stared at each other, eyeing the other’s mouth, our lungs laboring for oxygen. I reached up and rubbed my lipstick off his bottom lip.
“You had lipstick,” I stated quietly.
“Figured,” he said amused. “Since you’re no longer wearing any.”
We laughed softly, basking in the solitude of the rooftop.
“You know, we can take this at whatever pace you want,” he said, locking his arms around my waist. “I don’t want to pressure you into something you don’t want to do.”
Leaning back, I gazed up at him in disbelief. “Max, my lips are thoroughly swollen because I very much enjoyed doing what we were doing.”
He smiled. “I know. I just …”
“You’re being a gentleman,” I said, finishing his sentence. “And I appreciate that because it has been a long time for me. I’ve been busy raising a little boy—one who already adores the hell out of you. So, we do have to be smart about this. It’s not just about us. But don’t ever worry that you’re pressuring me.”
“Okay,” he said with a nod. With his arm around my shoulders, we walked down the stairs together, back to his apartment. “By the way, I adore your little boy, too. I know I haven’t been around him much, but from what I’ve witnessed, you’ve done an amazing job.”
“Thanks,” I stated proudly. “But he mostly takes after his father.”
“That’s not true,” he stated, brows furrowed. “He rolls his eyes just like you do.”
“Really? I hadn’t really noticed, but I do catch Zane rolling his eyes from time to time. Adam never did that. I was usually the one always rolling my eyes at Adam’s behavior.”
“Maybe you notice Adam’s traits more because he’s no longer here, and I think that’s a good thing. But Zane’s definitely got some of his mama in him, too.”
Back in Max’s apartment, I grabbed my purse and freshened up in the bathroom. My cheeks were still flushed from our rooftop make-out session, but I swiped on some lip gloss and fixed my low ponytail. Max wore a baseball cap that he said was only for disguise purposes. By the time we got to the lobby, Manny was already waiting for us curbside. We rode back to my apartment in silence, hands intertwined, eyes stealing glances at one another the whole way. When Manny pulled up to my building, I exited the truck with Max right behind me, and he walked me up to my place.
With my back against my door, I smiled up at him. “Thank you so much for the wonderful dinner and evening. I had a really great time.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, his fingers twisting with mine. “I’d love to do it again sometime soon.”
“Well, if you’re not busy tomorrow night, you’re welcome to come over for dinner,” I offered, taking a risk. “I mean, the meal won’t be as fancy since an eight-year-old will be present, but—”
“Hey,” he interjected softly.
“I’m dating all of you, and that includes your motherhood. I’d love to have dinner with you guys.”
And then we ended the night with a really, really long eleventh.
Chapter Nine
The next night, I arrived at Whitley’s apartment empty-handed. Throughout the day, I’d agonized over whether or not I should bring something with me to dinner, like a bottle of wine, but Zane couldn’t have wine. I thought about bringing something more kid-friendly, but who the hell brings a pack of Gatorade or juice with them to dinner? I even contemplated a snack food item, but there were just too many to choose from and I didn’t know what he liked yet. So, here I stood, hands sweating, preparing to knock. I’d performed in plays in front of hundreds. I’d taken plenty of nearly-nude photographs. I’d done a lot in my acting career that would make the average person nervous. But I’d never been this nervous before in my entire life.
Just fucking knock already, man.
Taking a deep breath, I exhaled and rapped my knuckles against her door.
I heard an excited, “I got it!” through the thin wood material, and a smile spread wide across my face.
The door opened immediately and Zane stood in front of me, almost jittery. “Hey, Max!”
“Hey, Zane,” I exclaimed. “How have you been?”
“Pretty good,” he said, shutting the door behind me. “Mom’s just finishing up dinner. She made baked mac and cheese!”
Whitley entered the living room with a kitchen towel draped over her shoulder. Her brown hair tumbled over her shoulders in carefree waves. The green tank she wore made her tanned skin glow and her worn jean shorts showed off her lean legs. Her feet were bare, with her toes painted pink, matching the sweet gloss lining her lips. Our eyes met and I felt my chest tighten in a good way—a way that reminded me that what we’d started was real and that I’d do everything in my power to not fuck it up.
“Hey,” she stated softly, pressing a kiss to my cheek.
I rested my hands on her hips and smiled. “Hey.”
“Zane,” she said without taking her eyes off me. “Why don’t you go wash your hands for dinner?”