Not the Marrying Kind

by Kathryn Nolan

  21

  Max

  This was it then.

  My death.

  I was legit about to fucking die here, wrapped around Fiona on a stationary motorcycle with both of my hands teasing beneath her skirt. How did people with crushes on their friends walk around and live normal lives? Because I was not okay right now. I’d just admitted to this bombshell that I had an actual crush on her before hugging her against my body with every ounce of restrained sexual passion that I had.

  Maybe I need to be convinced.

  I was going to convince the hell out of her and then ask Mrs. Rivera to call an ambulance for me. Whatever was going on with my heart at the moment had to be concerning to a doctor.

  Also—for the record—I was now smelling her hair constantly.

  Strawberries and fucking sunshine.

  “Max?”

  “Yes, princess?” We were both watching my hands on her soft, gorgeous thighs. I was gliding them up, then down, listening to her ragged breathing.

  “Have you ever had sex on a motorcycle?”

  She hadn’t turned her head fully, just tilted her neck to give me access to that pretty throat of hers. The second she did, the second those lips came near, I was finally going to taste her.

  “Not yet.” I pressed my mouth to her hair. She shivered. “Would you like a simulation of that too?”

  She nodded, but just barely. Which I got. The two of us were caught in some kind of spell right now, one that didn’t include my past or her contract or the approaching future. Sudden movements were dangerous.

  “Maybe, in this simulation, you and I have had our fill of this drive,” I said. “Maybe we want each other so badly we don’t even make it to the hotel down the road. Maybe we only make it to the first abandoned gas station.”

  My lips tasted the back of her neck. My fingers drifted a little higher.

  “Then what?”

  “You tell me. Because I see you perched on this exact seat, feet propped up, with my head beneath this lovely skirt.”

  She gasped. I fucking loved it.

  “You could scream my name as loud as you wanted. No one would hear you by the highway. Not a goddamn soul would hear me press your face into that seat and kick your feet apart.”

  My tongue darted out, touched her earlobe.

  “And not a soul would hear you scream again while I fucked you from behind like the world was about to end. Is that what you see when you think about the two of us together?”

  I peeked around to catch the dreamiest, sexiest smile spreading across her face. Eyes closed, blissed out, nipples hard against her dress. What a fucking vision.

  “Please.”

  The word stopped me in my tracks. Because until this moment, what we were doing felt like a more erotic version of our harmless flirting. We were friends who probably shouldn’t fuck but couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Teasing like this, playing like this, seemed to make Fiona happy. I was quickly learning I’d do anything to make that happen.

  But that word. Please. That was a request.

  That word had consequences.

  I slid my fingers through her golden hair and gently turned her face. Nudged her nose with mine until she opened her eyes. I expected to find lust there, and I did. But there was trust too, which tightened my throat. She was begging me for something I couldn’t possibly give her.

  Or could I?

  Fiona wanted her next kiss to be from a man who meant it. Not a man like me, who usually tossed them around like party confetti. Except I was milliseconds away from kissing this woman with more fraught fucking yearning than I ever thought possible.

  When did a first kiss become the highlight of my year?

  “You can ask me for anything,” I whispered. “Pleasure doesn’t have to be earned, and for fuck’s sake, you deserve pleasure in this life. Let me give it to you.”

  She held both of my wrists. “My crush on you makes me a little scared.”

  I pressed my forehead to hers. I hadn’t experienced anything this intense in years.

  Maybe ever.

  “I’m a little scared too.”

  There it was. The truth.

  She must have seen something in my expression, must have seen how sincere I was being. Because I watched Fiona tip her mouth up towards mine, seeking a kiss. Our lips brushed together once—so softly it didn’t seem real. A millisecond later, my goddamn phone rang. It was a loud, squawking, bucket of cold water to a situation that was sexy as sin and technically forbidden.

  “Your phone,” she whispered, already starting to pull away.

  “Ignore it,” I growled. “I need you.”

  I need you. Not “I need to kiss you” or “I need to fuck you.” Both of which were true. But I finally had sweet Fiona wrapped in my arms, and the past week of wanting her had loosened my tongue.

  My phone kicked up its third bout of ringing, so persistent a flare of concern finally forced its way through the haze of my own lust.

  She kissed my cheek. “It’s okay. I promise.”

  I cursed under my breath. Hopped off the bike, raking a hand through my hair angrily. We were so close. So close to figuring out what this passion between us really was. Because I had no idea what was happening to me right now.

  “Yeah?” I said, sounding frustrated as I answered the call. I rubbed my forehead and stepped outside. One glance behind me, and I was immediately distracted by flushed, slightly rumpled Fiona, touching her fingers to her lips.

  “It’s Charlie. How are ya?”

  Horny and confused. “Uh… good. Good, man. Thanks for calling. How are things at the shop?”

  Charlie whistled a bit beneath his breath. “Better, depending on what you say to what I’m about to ask you.”

  My heart stuttered to a stop as my brain finally caught up to what was happening.

  “If you’re interested, we’d love to have you out here as the customs-build mechanic on a trial basis. See how you do, see how you work with everyone out here. Our trial periods are thirty days long, and obviously we’ll fire you if there’s an issue.”

  “Obviously,” I repeated, fucking dazed.

  “But we like your work, we liked your references, and we think you’re the best fit for what we need. Can you be in Los Angeles by next Wednesday?”

  I scrubbed a hand across my face. That was only two days after the concert, which didn’t give me a lot of cushion to spend more time with Pop and Mateo and… and…

  Fiona.

  “You’ll be signing an NDA on the first day,” he added. “We’ve got several elite clients looking to bring their special bikes in for you to work on, Max.”

  This job. This fucking job. It was the one. The one I dreamed of when I was sixteen, reading everything I could online about motorcycles and club culture and which shops were the best ones and why. My mother had successfully talked me out of having hopes like this since people’s hopes were so often crushed. But for the first time, she might have been wrong. Because I had a tiny amount of hope about this far-fetched idea, and here it was, coming true. Every mechanic I’d ever known, at shops all across the country, told me Rusty’s was the golden ticket to the next level.

  I’d be a fool to turn it down.

  “My answer is yes, of course,” I said. “And thank you for taking a chance on me. You won’t be disappointed in my work.”

  “Good,” Charlie said. “Glad to hear it. Just get out here by 10:00 am on Wednesday. We’ll get you situated from there. Sound okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Yes, sir.”

  Charlie hung up, and I stared at my phone like it had sprouted two goddamn heads. When I slid back inside the garage, Fiona was packing up her bag and fixing her hair in the mirror side of an old toaster. “Is everything okay?”

  “I, uh, I got a job,” I said slowly. “Kind of a dream job.”

  “In the city?”

  The sparkling happiness and surprise in her voice sent dread spreading through my veins. �
��Um… no. In California. I applied for this custom-builds mechanics job I’ve always wanted. And never ever thought I’d get it, but the guy just called and they want me out in L.A. right after the benefit show. I’d probably catch a red-eye the night after.”

  I watched her face fall like she was totally disappointed. That dread morphed into my own disappointment, and I didn’t know what the hell to do about it. A few weeks ago, if I was still working in Bar Harbor and completely disconnected from my home, I would have gotten this job, packed up my shit, and hit the road with nothing but peace in my heart.

  “Max, that’s fucking amazing.” I refocused on Fiona, who was suddenly standing right in front of me with a big smile on her face. Whatever I thought I’d seen was gone. “I had no idea.”

  I shrugged. “Haven’t really told anyone. I’m not really a dream job kind of guy. But I don’t know, I thought it could be time to take the next step. To be a little more serious.” I felt flustered and weird and really wanted to get Fiona back on the bike and into my arms. “So, yeah. I guess enjoy me while you got me.”

  She took a step back, bit her lip. “Right. Of course. As a proponent of climbing the career ladder myself, it’ll pay off. You deserve the next step.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “Thank you. I mean that.”

  But her eyes held a question, and I was coward enough to ignore it. “Plus, you’ll want to be rid of me after the concert and focus on your quest. Time’s a wastin’, as you would say.”

  The emotion and curiosity of our moment on that bike, our almost kiss, our almost everything, had completely disappeared. We were standing like two work acquaintances at a Christmas party neither wanted to be at. Dancing around a topic I kind of wanted to talk about but had not a fucking clue of how to go about it. Something like I know I’m suddenly moving to Los Angeles, and I know I always thought I’d never want to date anyone, ever, but I can’t stop thinking about you, and the thought of you going on dates with anyone but me makes me rage-sweat.

  “True,” she said smoothly. Regaining some of her cool confidence. “As soon as the concert is over, and I have more time, I’ll be actively focusing on dating again, tweaking my processes and systems.”

  My mouth tasted bitter, like old pennies. I literally ached with wanting her.

  And not just in all the dirty and depraved ways I had her in my fantasies.

  Like wanted her.

  But we were back at these crossroads again with no path forward. Fiona might dominate my every waking thought, but I still wasn’t her future husband and never would be. She wanted a man who wouldn’t up and leave her. And I’d just confirmed that fear, walking back in here with a brand-new job in my pocket and a West Coast zip code.

  “So anyway, I’ll work with Mateo to get these posters printed by tomorrow.” She was rapidly pulling things together, tidying up. Her walls were going back up again.

  “Fiona.”

  She brushed right past me, refusing to make eye contact.

  “I think we need to talk.”

  She spun around, halfway out the door. “About what?”

  I reached for her wrist. Caught it. “I’m new at this, but I’m pretty fucking sure friends don’t tell each other the things we just told each other. Right?”

  My crush on you makes me a little scared.

  Her eyes softened, but her posture didn’t change. And she gently pulled away from my hold. “I’ve got a late work thing. And you’ve got plans to make for your new job. And we still need to sell 200 tickets in the next week. We should get to it, okay? I’ll call you later.”

  Then she swept out of there without a backwards glance.

  “Fuck,” I swore, leaning back against the garage wall and dragging my hands down my face.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  For the first time in my life, I’d said the words I need you to a woman and really meant it. That pinch, right over my heart, was back in full force.

  This big-time sucked. How did Mateo and Rafael do it? Walking around, making themselves vulnerable for anyone to stomp on?

  But how could I blame Fiona for believing every word I’d said about relationships until today? I had been telling the truth. She was right to believe me.

  I just wasn’t sure if I believed it myself right now.

  22

  Fiona

  An hour later, and I was pushing open the door at Roxy’s tattoo parlor. My big sister gave me a quick wave from the very back, where she was working on a client. The insistent buzz of the tattoo gun blended with Siouxsie and the Banshees playing on the store speakers.

  “Good evening, Fi.” My sophisticated future brother-in-law sat in a chair by the front desk, ankle crossed over his knee, surrounded by files and his laptop. “Roxy told me you were coming by to, quote, take me for all I was worth, end quote.”

  I blew out a big breath. Edward’s steady, calm voice was the comfort I needed right now. “I should hope you’re worth more than fifteen grand.”

  His eyebrow lifted. “As would my investors.”

  I pulled over a chair and sat down next to him. I’d come right from Mateo’s garage, right from Max telling me he needed me.

  Right from Max getting a job on the other side of the country.

  The bizarre part of it, the part that had sent me running scared, was that my attraction was so strong, so persistent, so tempting, I didn’t even care that he was moving away again. I’d broken the rule of my contract. I’d happily engaged in physical affection with him even though I absolutely could not guarantee his commitment.

  I’d done that with a man who was boldly anti-relationship.

  “What’s wrong?” Edward asked softly. “You look wrecked.”

  I waved my hand back and forth. “I’m tired from work. I’m okay.”

  He didn’t seem convinced.

  “Max and I are planning this benefit show in a week to raise money to save The Red Room,” I said. “Pop’s being sued for back rent.”

  He nodded, brow still pinched. “Roxy told me. Bloody awful business.”

  “We need help filling a gap. If we sell out of tickets, which I think is likely, we’re still short. I thought maybe The Logan Hotel would like to sponsor the event. I can offer basically nothing in return except my lifelong love and admiration as your sister-in-law.”

  His lips twitched at the ends. “And the satisfaction in knowing this city’s last remaining punk rock club won’t be demolished.”

  I nudged his knee. “So that’s a yes?”

  “Of course,” he said. “Let me figure out how I’ll swing it, but you’ve got my word.”

  I leaned back in the chair, sighing with relief. “Pop’s going to need more help than that though. Business coaching, revenue plans, marketing help.”

  He was writing something down on a pad of paper. “I’ll set him up with a few mentors I know who are free right now. It’s a grand idea, and one that will help him avoid this situation in the future. Dodgy landlord or not, if he’s easily making rent and maintaining a healthy revenue stream, Pop should be able to rest easier at night.”

  I sighed, relieved. Squeezed his knee. “Thank you. I knew you’d understand.”

  “Let’s be honest.” His smile was playful. “The Red Room was saved the minute you attached your name to it. I’ve never known you to back down from doing what’s right. And I’ve technically been on your bad side before. Still gives me nightmares.”

  When Edward was attempting to win Roxy over during their breakup, I’d been the sole mediator, sitting him down with my parents to show them he’d mended his dipshit ways.

  “I think that was a compliment, so thank you.”

  He grinned. “It was.”

  I clapped my hands together. “So I’ll help make the connections, loop Max into the process, and follow up once you’ve secured your gift amount.”

  I winced when I said Max’s name, and Edward caught it. He slowly set his paper aside and leaned his elbows onto his knees. His expressi
on was almost unbearably compassionate. “Are you truly alright, Fi?”

  I chewed on my lip and shook my head. “Were you…” I stopped. He waited patiently. “Were you in love before you met Roxy? With Emily or anyone else?”

  Emily was the woman who dumped Edward the night he wandered into Roxy’s tattoo parlor, drunk and heartbroken.

  “Not at all,” he said swiftly. “In fact, meeting Roxy helped me realize I had never, truly, been in love. My feelings before I met your sister were tidy and careful and had more to do with making my parents happy than anything else. But love’s not tidy, and the experience of falling in love is not at all careful.”

  I chewed on my bottom lip. Even before last year’s dating disasters, I was hard-pressed to remember a relationship that had left any sort of impact on my life or my heart. Every attempt at love I’d viewed as a stepping-stone, yet the one thing I resisted analyzing was my own lackluster response to their affections.

  Those tense moments with Max on that bike were the hottest of my life, hands down. I was struggling to fully accept the level of passion I’d been missing out on all these years. Like think about you all the time, dream about you at night, want to kiss you for hours and hours type of attraction. It wasn’t linear. It wasn’t quantifiable. It was wild and rebellious.

  Turns out I wasn’t an expert on the mysteries of the human heart after all.

  “I’ve never been in love either,” I said. “I thought something was wrong with me. Everyone around me seemed to be passionately in love with someone. I thought it was because I was too busy focusing on school and then my career. That love wasn’t something I ever experienced because it wasn’t a priority. But I made it a priority last year, and it still felt tidy and careful.”

  He made a sound of understanding. “It’s a risky business, this love stuff. I fought that for a long time until I realized that terrifying, god-awful leap was the first step.”

  I was lost in thought until he nudged me. “Forgive the intrusion, but are you considering taking the leap with someone?”