Max

by Tara Crescent

  The sun is pouring into the suite. In the daylight, I can see how luxurious the space is. Every surface has texture – the couches are velvet and the curtains are wool. The sheets, in a wild tangle around Cole’s naked body, are cool, crisp cotton.

  Even as I’m fighting the urge to flee, I can still appreciate the view, and my God, it’s one heck of a view. Last night, in the candlelight, Cole’s body was lean and angular, hard with muscle. In the daylight, I can admire the warm tan of his skin, the way his chest is covered with the perfect amount of hair, the perfection of that oft-admired happy trail…

  He mumbles something in his sleep and burrows his head into a pillow. I freeze. Shit. I need to get up and get out of here before Cole wakes up. Yes, I know I’m not being very mature, and we should probably talk about what happened last night. But right now, my emotions are too close to the surface. As I’d imagined it would be, the sex was very, very good. Cole made my body feel things it hasn’t ever felt before.

  What I didn’t plan for was the feeling of connectedness. When I looked into Cole’s eyes as we were making love, I felt emotion. I felt cherished and cared for. Cole didn’t make me feel like a client. For the space of a few hours, I’d completely forgotten the nature of our transaction.

  My heart thuds in my chest and my pulse races. I’m emotional and raw, and I recognize these feelings. Five years ago, I felt the same feelings for Jude.

  I married Jude, and that was a disaster of epic proportions. I’ve avoided entanglement since then. Damn it. Cole is an escort. Am I that fucked up that I’m falling in love with someone who fucks women for money?

  Get your head on straight, Sadie Sterling.

  I dress in a hushed kind of hurry and sneak out of the Fairmont. Cole stirs but doesn’t wake, which relieves me no end. Right now, I need some time under a shower and a cup of coffee, and some snuggling with Devil and Blue. I don’t need a gorgeous guy with too-green eyes messing with my emotions.

  * * *

  No more sex. A vibrator is going to have to be enough.

  That’s the conclusion I’ve reached after spending thirty-three minutes under steaming hot water.

  As much as I wish it weren’t true, I’m not capable of emotion-free sex with Cole. This morning’s freak-out proves it.

  Sometime today, I’m going to have to put my big-girl panties on, knock on Cole’s door and apologize for running away. Then I’m going to have to ask him how much I owe him for his services last night.

  Kill me now. I’m not cut out for this.

  In order to distract myself from the waves of self-recrimination, I decide to go online and research vacation destinations. The stupid trip to London set this whole sorry ball rolling. Had it not been for Anna and Patti for nagging me about taking more risks, I wouldn’t have ended up in bed with Cole.

  Come on, Sadie, that’s not fair. Anna and Patti didn’t make you sleep with him.

  The absolutely worst thing? I really wish I could sleep with him again. It was so good…if my vagina could talk, she’d be throwing a tantrum at my ‘no more sex with Cole’ resolution.

  Enough. I determinedly click to a discount airline site to see what’s on sale. Porto comes up, as does Rome and Madrid. All three of those would be different from London, but I doubt they’d be much more adventurous. Portugal, Italy and Spain are not really the kind of destinations for truly intrepid travelers.

  Marrying Jude had been my one truly reckless move. We’d only known each other for two months, and when he got down on one knee and proposed, I should have listened to the voice that urged caution.

  In the sidebar of my Facebook feed, an ad for Istanbul flashes, and catches my attention. I’ve always wanted to go to Turkey. Istanbul has always struck me as a magical place. One part of the city is in Europe and the other part is in Asia, and from everything I’ve read, the city is an intriguing blend of East and West.

  Well, why don’t you go there, Sadie? Flights seem reasonably priced.

  My mouse inches toward the buy button, then I hesitate. Shouldn’t I do more research, and find out if it is safe for a woman to travel alone? Am I being impulsive (bad) or spontaneous (good)?

  Buy the ticket, Sadie. Do it.

  But I hesitate, and I hate myself for my paralysis. Before I can fall into another deep pit of self-loathing, I’m distracted by a knock on my door. I open it to find Cole at my doorstep, holding up an empty coffee cup. He gives me a persuasive smile. “Hey Sadie,” he says, “you wouldn’t happen to have some coffee, would you?”

  12

  Cole:

  For an instant, she looks happy to see me, but the moment is so fleeting that I wonder if I imagined it. “Cole,” she says neutrally, “what a surprise.”

  “I’m out of coffee again, Sadie.”

  She gives me a careful look. No doubt she’s wondering if I’m going to make a scene about the way she snuck out in the morning. And don’t get me wrong, I’m very tempted to.

  I’ve had more than my fair share of one-night stands. I used to be a bartender in a beach town, you know? Banging the bartender is a top five fantasy for most women, and I’ve been happy to oblige.

  Last night was different. Last night felt real. And because of that, I’m here. I’m terrified and I’m jumping into the deep end of the pool. I’m not used to knocking on a woman’s door. I get pursued – I don’t pursue.

  Except with Sadie, evidently.

  The situation is all kinds of fucked up. Because of her ex, she won’t sleep with me if she finds out I’m not an escort. But she at the same time, she won’t sleep with me because she thinks I'm an escort. I’m sure there’s a way out of this mess, but I can’t see what it is. Maybe the coffee will energize my brain. That is, if she’s going to let me into her apartment.

  She is. “Come on in,” she says, still cautious. She opens the door wide, and her dog runs up to the door. I grab him by his collar before he escapes, and Sadie smiles at me. “He’s a runner, this one,” she says fondly before bending down to scoop the dog up. “Come on, Devil, it’s crate time for you.”

  Crate time isn’t popular, because Devil squirms in Sadie’s arms. I take a seat on her couch while she deals with her dog. Blue, the cat, is nowhere to be seen, thank heavens, because it’s hard to be persuasive when you are sneezing your brains out.

  “How much do I owe you?” Her tone is cool as she comes back to the room. She busies herself at the coffee maker, staying well out of reach and refusing to look at me.

  “Why’d you leave?” I counter.

  “Because I had to work,” she snaps. “Not all of us are fortunate enough to set our own hours, Cole.”

  The coffee starts percolating. “Bullshit. You could have woken me up. We could have grabbed breakfast first.”

  Her back is ramrod straight. “I believe we decided on one evening, and nothing more.”

  Wow, that cuts. Deep. “Even escorts have feelings, Sadie,” I snap back. “I would have had breakfast because I had fun talking to you. Not everything I do has a price tag attached.” God, how did I end up in this mess?

  She looks chastened. She takes a deep breath and sighs. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I’m being a bitch.” She pours me a cup of coffee before sitting at the far corner of the couch. “Last night was my first time with,” she hesitates before continuing, “… someone like you. And this morning, I was very uncomfortable.” She attempts a half-smile. “It’s not you, it’s me.”

  “That is such a clichéd line.”

  “Trust me, I know that,” she says dryly. “It’s still true.” She meets my eyes. “I had a great time last night, so thank you for that. How much do I owe you?”

  I knew this was coming. I still feel like I’ve been slapped. “Don’t worry about it,” I tell her.

  “No, no,” she insists. “Don’t be ridiculous. This is what you do for a living, and you deserve to get paid. What’s the damage?”

  Fuck if I know. I still haven’t managed to talk to Seamus. What
the heck does an escort charge, anyway? I have an idea what the going rate is in Thailand, but I don’t know what the rate is here in Toronto. “Umm, five hundred bucks,” I say, pulling a number out of my ass.

  Sadie obviously has a better idea than me, because she frowns. “That’s excluding the room, right?”

  “No, forget the room.” Now I’m taking five hundred bucks from a woman I really like? Wow, Cole. New low. “I told you. My brother’s the manager.”

  She’s about to argue, but thankfully, she changes her mind. “Okay,” she says. “Is a check okay, or do you want cash?”

  “A check’s fine,” I mutter. One that I’m going to burn as soon as I leave this room.

  She writes me a check, then she gives me a shaky smile. “I don’t want this to end on a sour note,” she says. “Can we be friends?”

  You know what this is? This is the universe’s idea of a sick joke. Karmic payback for all the women I’ve said the exact same line to. The salve of friendship to soften the sting of rejection.

  You know what else? If the only way she’s going to let me close is by friend-zoning me, then game on. I want Sadie. I can bide my time – she’s worth it. I lift my mug up in a toast to her. “Friends,” I agree.

  I need a plan, something good, something that’s going to batter down this wall that Sadie’s erected around her heart. Coffee helps, but I need Mike and Eva’s advice. The two of them owe me. If it hadn’t been for their ‘Cole is an escort’ crap, I wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with.

  13

  Sadie:

  “He's an escort.”

  Silence greets my statement. Both Anna and Patti look at me with identical puzzled expressions on their faces. “What are you talking about, Sadie?”

  I’ve had some last-minute work deadlines dumped my way, and I’ve had to bail on six hot yoga sessions. Anna, Patti and I are getting together a full two weeks after our last conversation. “The cute neighbor, remember?” I sigh. “He’s an escort.”

  “Like the kind that you hire to be arm candy?” Anna has an intent expression on her face. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Also, I slept with him.”

  “What?” Both of them shriek at exactly the same time.

  I nod gloomily. “That was a lapse of judgment,” I mutter. “A one-time lapse.”

  “Why? Was it bad?” Patti asks. Figures. I tell her I slept with an escort and she’s talking about the quality of the sex?

  “No.” I feel the heat rise on my face. “It was very good.”

  “Was it too expensive?”

  “No.” I frown at that. “It was five hundred bucks, and in fact, Cole still hasn’t cashed my check. I should ask him about that tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah.” I play with a strand of my hair and avoid meeting their eyes. “I told him that we should be friends, and he’s taken me at face value. He’s at home all day too, just like me. So now we drink coffee together in the morning, and we take Devil out for walks at night.”

  Thinking about the walks with Cole and Devil, a smile fills my face. In the short space of two weeks, he’s become part of my life. In the morning, I brew an extra cup for him. When I cook lunch, I knock on his door and he shares my meal. In the evening, we drink pints of beer together, me relaxing after a day’s work and Cole? Well, I guess that Cole’s prepping for his evening’s activities. That’s the only topic that’s truly off-limits between us.

  The truth is, my feelings for Cole haven’t diminished because I decreed that sex between us was a one-time thing. If anything, our weeks of friendship have just intensified my emotions.

  I like Cole. A lot. I refuse to even contemplate the possibility that what I feel for him is more than liking. He’s easy to be around, fun to hang out with. He doesn’t take himself too seriously and though Blue triggers his allergies and turns him into a sneezing, sniffing mess, he’s never once pushed her away.

  I’ve always judged people by how they treat animals. Jude treated my pets with polite indifference. Cole brings Devil and Blue treats when he visits. Yesterday, he set his plate down for an instant and Devil, in true beagle fashion, promptly ate all his food. Jude would have been furious. Cole just laughed.

  “So he’s a decent guy and he’s good in bed. It seems pretty perfect to me.” Patti looks puzzled. “You get to have some fun, without any messy complications. Isn’t that what you want?”

  What I want is for Cole not to be an escort. For him to be interested in me for myself, not for a $500 paycheck. I don’t say that to Patti and Anna though, because I’d sound like an idiot after all my protestations that I’m not looking for something real. “I'm not going to sleep with someone that does it for a living,” I say. “I thought it was a good idea, but I was wrong. I'm not that hard up for dick that I need to pay for it.”

  “Hmm,” Patti says.

  Anna, however, has a thoughtful look on her face. “You’re not interested in him?” she asks tentatively. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely,” I lie. “We’re just friends.” Sure we are. Because it’s normal to be having lust-filled, X-rated sex dreams about a friend.

  “In that case,” Anna asks, “do you mind if I hire him?” She makes a face. “There's a big industry dinner coming up in a week, and I heard through the grapevine that Jack is bringing his girlfriend.” She looks strained. “Call me petty, but I'd really like to show up with a good looking guy. Give them all something to gossip about.”

  There’s a sharp pain in my chest where my heart used to live. “Be my guest,” I reply, dismissing my uncomfortable twinge of jealousy. Jack, Anna's ex-husband is dating the woman he was having an affair with when they were married, and from the sound of it, many of their friends knew, but didn't tell Anna. I know from painful first-hand experience how humiliating that can be, especially when you work in the same industry as the asshole and have to see him in public gatherings.

  “Awesome.” She flashes me a grateful time. “I’m so glad you live next door to an escort and can vouch for him. I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to find one otherwise.” She pulls her phone out. “What’s his number? Is that the best way to contact him, or does he have a website?”

  “I have no idea.” God, I can’t even begin to describe how much I hate everything right now, and how hard I wish we were talking about anything else. “I’ll give him your phone number, okay?”

  I can tell my tone is curter than normal. Patti gives me a thoughtful look, then changes the subject. Our conversation turns to other things. Beers are ordered and drunk, and we stuff ourselves with enough junk food to negate the health effects of the hot yoga.

  And all through the evening, I do my best to ignore the sinking feeling in my heart.

  14

  Cole:

  Sadie’s at hot yoga, and I don’t know what to do with myself. My brain insists on torturing me by imaging her all sweaty and pink with exertion. She’ll come home, her hair in damp tendrils out of her face, then she’ll get naked and shower.

  In fantasyland, she’d beckon to me. “Join me?” she’d invite huskily. “I could use someone to soap my back.”

  My dick tightens painfully imagining Sadie in the shower. One night wasn’t enough. Not even close. And this friendship thing? Don’t get me wrong – I really want to get to know her. I want to find out what makes her happy and what makes her sad. I want her to hold my hand during scary movies and burrow her face in my shoulder.

  I’m enjoying every moment I spend with her. I just wish for more.

  * * *

  “You want me to do what?” I gape at Sadie for a second. Wait, she wants me to escort her friend to some event? I want to find some hard surface, possibly a concrete wall, and repeatedly bang my head against it.

  “Unless you’re too busy for Anna,” she starts stiffly.

  Oh God, this impossible situation. Each day I don’t tell Sadie I’m not an escort, I’m digging myself into a deeper and deeper hole. Already, extricatin
g myself from this false life seems impossible. Every evening in the last two weeks, Sadie and I part ways because she thinks I’m out fucking some other woman. Instead, I’m in my apartment, as silent as a mouse, working on my book. The only positive in this situation is that my muse has finally made a reappearance. I’m on a roll, and it looks like I’ll actually make the planned release date of Hammer II. A month back, I’d have been ecstatic. Now, I don’t care.

  My agent is, however, thrilled. He’s shopping the book around to publishers. “Give them a chance,” he encourages, when I mention I’ve been pretty happy self-publishing. “We can work a deal where you keep English language rights and they translate and publish your books internationally. Ritter & Stern is quite interested.”

  “Cole,” Sadie breaks in. “Are you listening to me?”

  “Yeah, sorry.” I look at the post-it note in her hand, with her friend Anna’s phone number. “Alright, I’ll call your friend.”

  If she’s puzzled about why I’m not more excited for the business, she doesn’t show it. We drink our coffee and eat our orange-pineapple muffins and I pretend that everything’s okay.

  * * *

  A week later, I’m standing outside Sadie’s friend’s door, wearing a tuxedo and holding a bouquet of flowers in my hand. Only one thought runs through my head. I don’t know how I get into these situations.

  I should have told Sadie that I wasn’t an escort. Why didn’t I? I have no idea. One look at her and all thoughts flee my head. When she crosses her arms primly over her chest, pushing those lush breasts together, every bit of blood in my body rushes toward my cock. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.

  Except that now, I’m taking her friend on a date, some woman called Anna, when it’s Sadie I can’t keep my mind off. I’m standing outside Anna’s door when all I want to do is knock on my lovely neighbor’s door again, kiss those sweet lips of hers and hear her moans as I pleasure her.