by Abby Brooks
“From the moment you pulled me over.”
“Well you have to realize how it looked to me. Another pretty girl, trying to smile her way out of a ticket she knew she deserved.”
“I just didn’t want to be late to work. I had a busy day, new patient and all that.”
“I get that now. But then?” He lifts his eyebrows and laughs. “Not so much.”
I hate the way my mind is reeling from the compliment. Pretty girl. Hate the way I need to hear it again, the way I’m clinging to those words like they are an anchor. “You thought I was pretty?”
“From the moment I saw you. Prettiest damn woman I’ve ever seen.”
I look down at my hands, the look in his eyes too intense to manage. “Now you’re just flattering me. No one likes to be flattered.”
“What about honesty? I think most people can appreciate honesty.” Max flicks on the turn signal and turns into a parking lot I don’t recognize. “You’re absolutely stunning, Chelsea.”
As much as I’d like to think I can handle myself gracefully, there’s nothing graceful about the tongue-tied woman staring at her hands in the passenger seat of a parked car, too frozen to even undo her seatbelt, let alone come up with something appropriate to say.
Max pivots in his seat, puts his finger under my chin and lifts my face until I’m losing myself in his eyes. “Something tells me you haven’t heard that enough,” he says.
I blink furiously. Pull it together, London! And yet I continue to be speechless. Way to take awkward to a new level.
“We’re going to have to work on that, then.” Max brushes a stray hair from my face, that crease between his eyebrows deepening. There’s more tenderness in that one movement than I’ve ever experienced in all my life and for some reason, tears sting my eyes. When Max looks down to undo his seatbelt, I immediately fumble with my own, glad for the distraction. What the hell is up with me? Tears? For real?
We climb out of his car and Max offers me his elbow again. “Where are we?” I don’t know what I expected, but this isn’t it. The building in front of us is simple and unassuming, yet somehow—maybe it’s the man at the ornate front door in the tux—I get the feeling that there is so much more here than meets the eye.
“This, my lovely lady, is Han’ei, the best place to get sushi in at least three states. It’s not just about the food, it’s the entire experience.” He leans down to whisper in my ear. “And don’t worry, if you don’t like sushi, there are plenty of delicious items on the menu.”
I barely hear what he’s saying because all I can think about is how close he is to me and how it does funny things to my heart rate. His proximity is tangling with my confusion over all the ways this evening is turning out to be exactly not what I expected. Max Santoro, the hard-nosed police officer driving the leather-interiored, bells-and-whistled car that has to be way above his paygrade. The guy who doesn’t do family but whose greatest joy is the time he spends with an under-privileged kid and the dog he rescued from the pound and rebuilt from the ground up. The guy who was so condescending as he asked for my license and registration the first day we met calling me beautiful, touching me tenderly as he tells me he doesn’t think I’ve heard that enough. And now, the guy who professes to be a simple man but takes me out for sushi in some swanky club on our first date. Him in a suit and me in a dress and my arm in his like this is just the most natural thing in all the world.
What’s funny, is that it actually feels that way. Natural. Even as my head is spinning with all the different angles this man is throwing my way. As uncomfortable as I think I should be, I’m not at all.
All I know is that I don’t know enough about the enigmatic Max Santoro and what I’ve learned in one short car ride is enough to sell me on learning the rest.
13
Max is right. Han’ei is all about the experience. The décor is understated yet decadent. The music is soothing yet invigorating. The atmosphere is one of posh civility and is very private and almost introspective. I’m trying not to stare wide-eyed and open-mouthed at everything, but I very much feel out of my league.
“Do you like sushi?” Max asks as he pulls out my chair for me at a table nestled into a private little corner. Our hostess nods politely and disappears, promising us our waitresses prompt arrival.
“Will you think less of me if I admit I’ve never tried it?”
Max shakes his head. “Not even a little bit.”
“I’ve never tried it.”
A look of disgust curls his lip down in a decidedly condescending frown. “I thought you were better than that,” he says with a curt shake of his head. He crosses his arms across his chest and looks away, refusing to make eye contact.
“Hey.” I lean forward, elbows on the table. “That’s not funny.”
“I thought it was.” He gives me an adorable little quirk of his lips. “And judging by the smile on your face, you did too.” There’s this moment of silence where he just stares into my eyes. I wish we had wine or something to distract me because I feel naked under his gaze and I’d love something to do with my hands. “I like seeing you smile,” he says finally.
“Well that’s funny, because I like seeing you smile, too.”
Oh my God. Kill me now. I am the most awkward person of all time. Ever.
“Are you adventurous? I could order for you if you’d like to give sushi a try. If not…” He gestures to the menu. “There are plenty of delicious choices here.”
Let’s see. Am I adventurous? Up until now, the qualities listed highest on my Ideal Man list included a steady job and a growing 401k. When asked what I do for fun, I talk about work and painting the trim on my house. And I say things like I never speed and I’m never late for work.
Like, never ever.
Adventurous? I’m going to have to go with hell no. I pick up my menu and frown down at the long list of unfamiliar names and exorbitant prices.
Max chuckles. “I’m going to take that as an indicator that you’re not feeling like stepping outside your comfort zone.”
Somehow, his words sound like a challenge. I might not be adventuresome, but I am competitive as all hell.
“Nope, just getting the lay of the land before I make my final decision. It’s best to be informed, you know.” I close the menu and place it on the table in front of me
“I see.” Max steeples his fingers and touches them to his chin. In this moment, he seems way more financial mogul than rugged cop. The juxtaposition sets me on fire. “And where did you land, after your little informational excursion?”
I giggle and decide to drop a great big honesty bomb on the table. “This isn’t at all how I envisioned this evening.”
All traces of joviality drain from Max’s face. His eyes go hard and that little muscle in his jaw pulses, just once. A warning. “Yeah?” One word, strangled by stress.
Shit. That reaction right there is much more like how I envisioned the evening, but I hate the fact that I pulled it out of him when he was in such a lighthearted mood. Something tells me he doesn’t do lighthearted very often.
“I’m enjoying myself. Like, a lot. I just … wasn’t expecting all this.” I wave my hand around the restaurant and glance down at my sexy little black dress.
Max smiles and looks relieved while I practically melt with relief. “What were you expecting?” he asks.
“Well, honestly? Something a little more affordable on a public servant’s salary.” I hold up my hands as his eyes go wide. “Not that I’m judging. Not even a little. It’s just…”
“You thought maybe we’d be more sports bar and beer and less suits and sushi?”
“Exactly.” Plus, I kind of expected Max to be more broody and grumpy and way less approachable and fun. But there’s no way I’m saying that out loud because I’m really enjoying this side of him and I refuse to chase it away.
Max opens his mouth like he’s going to say something just as the waitress arrives with a polite bow of her head and a soft-spo
ken request for our drink orders. I haven’t even looked at the wine list, although I’m typically pretty easy going and just go with a low to mid-priced red of some sort.
“What do you think? Adventure?” Max quirks his head to the side in question and, after a brief pause to consider, I finally take the plunge and agree. He orders something in Japanese and our waitress smiles and disappears.
“You speak Japanese?” I’m utterly flabbergasted.
Max laughs, a warm sound. “No. Not at all.”
“That totally sounded like Japanese to me.”
“I ordered our drinks. A ‘chu-hi’ for you. It’s very delicious, fruit juice mixed with a Japanese alcohol called shochu. And for me? Just plain old shocu, served straight, on the rocks.”
I raise my eyebrows and make a face. “Is it strong?”
“A little. Don’t you like things strong?” Max lets his eyes smolder into mine and suddenly I’m not so sure we’re talking about drinks anymore.
“Oh, believe me.” I bite my lower lip. “Strong is good.”
“What about bold? Do you like bold?”
Electricity wings its way through my body. “I’ve not had a lot of experience with bold.”
“That’s something else we’ll have to remedy, then.”
Our waitress reappears with our drinks and Max orders for us, a long string of complicated names and combinations, while I take a sip of my chu-hi. He’s right. It’s delicious. Strong and bold and probably going to go straight to my head.
“So, is it a turn off?” asks Max after our waitress heads back towards the kitchen. “The fancy atmosphere and the whole not getting what you expected thing?”
“No. Not even a little. It makes me want to know more about you. The man who takes speeding tickets as seriously as murder charges…”
“Hey, the law is the law.”
“And who swears he’s not hurt when he’s walking around on a torn meniscus…”
“Can’t be hurt and do my job. Life lives where you put your attention.”
“Well,” I continue. That gruff guy turns out to work with children and adopt dogs on death row…” I hold up a finger. “And rehabilitate them, of course. And then shows up for a first date dressed like…” My gaze sweeps down his face and across his broad shoulders. “Well, like that.”
“And these are all good things?”
“Yes, silly. I can’t define you and it’s got me very intrigued.”
Max drops his gaze to his drink, swirls a finger around the rim of his glass, and then takes a drink. “My parents had money. My grandmother had money. When they died, it went to me.”
There’s something raw in his voice. A confession. A deep truth delving into darker secrets. I want to ask for more but I don’t want to chase him away. But in the meantime, what do I say?
I take a drink to buy me some time to think. Do I comment on the money? If I heard it once, I heard it a thousand times growing up. It’s rude to talk about money. Do I reply with a typical I’m so sorry about the passing of his family? A question? Oh God. What’s the right response here? I take another drink.
“When did you lose your parents?” I ask, randomly deciding that is the safest question.
“When I was young. Six.” Max clears his throat. “Lived with my grandmother after that until she passed when I was ten. Ran out of family members and into the foster system I went.”
So many explanations for so many things in that one short explanation. I have about a million questions. How did they die? What was it like in the system? It was bad. I’m sure it was bad. It’s always bad. Is that why he’s not big on family? I take another drink and the bold and the strong are doing a number on me but I’m not sure I care.
“What about you?” Max asks. “Family?” Ghosts are dancing in his eyes, but he’s trying to hide behind a light smile and polite small talk.
“Oh yeah. Two sisters who double as best friends. My parents were supportive and pushed me to succeed. Or, rather, are supportive and continue to push me to succeed. Both of them are doctors, a little disappointed that I slid off the London family path and fell into physical therapy, but since I’m so good at what I do, I think they forgive me.”
We fall into comfortable conversations, avoiding landmines like family and focusing mostly on work. Max tells me a bunch of stories about things he’s seen pulling people over and before I know it, I’m laughing about the time he pulled a guy over and walked up to the window just in time to watch the guy come in a prostitute’s mouth.
“You’re kidding,” I say, hand to mouth, suddenly very distracted by the thought of Max and blowjobs.
“Not even a little.” He straightens the items on the table in front of him, a naughty gleam in his eyes.
“What did you do?”
“I wrote them a ticket for the reckless driving and the indecent exposure and then got the hell out of there.”
We laugh together and our food arrives, a decorative array of items I don’t recognize and rituals I don’t know. Max explains everything to me, shows me the right way to handle the sauces and the oftentimes unwieldy rolls. Most everything turns out delicious, although I am not that big a fan of anything with tuna in it. It’s just too fishy and I’m not comfortable with the texture in the least. But we eat and we drink and we talk and we laugh and before I know it, hours have passed and it’s time to go home. Max pays the bill and leaves hefty tip on the table.
Our breath puffs in front of us as we step out into the cold November night. My heels click on the pavement and Max’s hand is at the small of my back, his eyes darting side to side, taking in all there is to see as he leads us back to his car. I snuggle in close to him, enjoying the way it feels to be tucked in close to his warmth. The sheer size of him making me feel safe.
The ride home is over too fast. We talk some more, laughing and joking about everything and nothing and I realize how long it’s been since I’ve just let myself be free. I hold myself so close, push myself so hard, ask more and more and more out of my days. I barely have time to breath. I barely have time to smile.
Hell, I barely have a reason to smile.
My life has become work and succeed and work some more to succeed some more and I think that has just hollowed me out. I am an empty shell on auto-pilot. When was the last time I did anything simply because I wanted to rather than because it was what I should do? When was the last time I did something spontaneous? Adventurous? I mean, if the most adventurous thing I can think about in the last couple months is letting Max order my drink and dinner for me then I think it might be time for me to loosen the hell up.
When he pulls into my driveway, I’m immediately certain of what I want to say. Immediately certain that I am going to throw caution to the wind and invite this man into my house for a drink. Not only am I not ready for the evening to be over, but I’m also not even close to being ready to be alone again.
No. that’s not quite right. What I’m not ready for is to be without Max. I don’t want to say goodnight to this man because I want to sit down so close to him on my couch. Touch him some more. Get to know him some more. The little tidbits I discovered about him tonight have only intensified my desire to know more about him. And if I’m being all kinds of honest, I want him to kiss me. I want my hands on his body and holy shit, do I ever want his hands on mine.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” he says and kills the engine.
I pull my keys out of my purse as we head up the walk. “I’m not really ready to say goodnight. Would you like to come in for something to drink?”
“I’d love that. I really would. But the dog doesn’t do well if I leave her alone for extended periods of time.” He takes my hand. “But I had a really nice time tonight.”
I tilt my face up to his. “Me, too.” There’s no way he knows how hard it was for me to invite him in. That I’ve never done anything like that before. That it took some huge dose of courage. That it was a testament to how much I enjoyed being with him.
I step into his space. Tilt my face up to his. Let my lips part. His eyes go to my mouth, hungry and hooded. One hand on my hip, pulling me close. Another on my cheek. So tender. Chills and goosebumps.
He presses his lips to mine and that is the end of me. I sigh, something unraveling deep inside me. Tension I didn’t know existed uncoiling into this molten pool of need and relief. As if, in this one kiss, this moment of connection, all the answers to questions I didn’t even know I was asking are answered.
Well, all except one. Who is this man? That question just got bigger and more important than anything in my life.
His kiss is tender yet bold, his hand snaking up into my hair and grabbing it in his fist. His other hand presses my hips into him, closing the gap between us while his lips caress mine, his tongue darting out to taste me. It’s a dichotomy of power and pleasure and I am totally undone.
He pulls back. “Can I see you again?”
“Only if you promise to keep kissing me like that.”
“Sold,” he whispers and his mouth is back on mine, more insistent this time, the space between our bodies non-existent.
As I melt further into him, sliding my hands up his back, ever so aware of how amazingly broad it is, I feel him tense through the thick wool of his overcoat. He pulls back a fraction of an inch, his lips grazing mine as he speaks. “Don’t move yet, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper, our breath mingling.
He pulls me in closer to him, crushing my body to his, and yet, his focus is very clearly not on me anymore. “There’s a car parked down the street. Saw it when I picked you up. Do you recognize it?”
Max pulls back, smiling, his eyes like weapons boring into mine. He spins me a little so he can lean against my door, pulls me back into him and tilts my chin so he can kiss along my jawline and I can get a better look down the street. Goosebumps flare across my body. His lips are wonderful, kissing the sweetest spot, my favorite spot. The spot that makes my eyes roll back into my head with pleasure.
And it’s been so long since anyone’s been there.