She beamed. “I’ve known you since I was ten years old,” she said. “I have an idea of how you communicate. Should I hit send?”
Pop looked over at me.
“Do it,” I said. “I know it’s scary. But it sounds like this love stuff is pretty scary.”
My dad leaned down and hit send. And then exhaled a long, ragged-sounding breath. “Do you think I’ll need to find my suit?”
She shook her head. “Go as you are. It’s more authentic. If she’s the one, she’ll like you for you.”
Our delivery buzzer tore through the air, and he sighed again. “Brody’s back with the next delivery. Help me unload?”
“Absolutely,” I said. I followed him out the door, stopping first to turn back toward Fiona.
“Thank you,” I said. “That meant a lot to him. And to me.”
“Anytime.” Her smile was shy. She pointed at the various stacks of chaos that filled the office. “Is this stressing you out”
I ran a hand through my hair. “It’s stressing me out a whole fuck-ton,”
She popped up from the chair and grabbed a pen. “I can help.”
“You really don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
I gripped both sides of the door, nervous again. “You’ll be here when I get back, right?”
“Right.”
I lowered my voice. “So we can talk?”
“Please.” That word—repeated from our intense moment on the bike—felt purposeful. Another sign. “How’s your crush by the way?”
I rubbed my palm across my mouth. Stared hungrily at the smooth, pale skin exposed by her dress. “Bigger than ever.”
“Then you should hurry back.”
I didn’t need to be told twice.
24
Fiona
I was officially in the hurricane now. That much was obvious.
As I methodically organized Pop’s messy system into something easier to understand, I noted my shaking hands and shaky breath. My roaring pulse and jumpy stomach. I brought Max those flowers on purpose. Added that note on purpose.
Because I was Fiona Quinn, and I didn’t fucking give in to fear.
This morning, as I lay awake thinking about Max for the hundredth time, I’d stared at that picture of me and Roxy backstage at The Red Room. Remembered diving off that stage into a crowd of outstretched arms. Multiple times. The aching thrill of it, the almost absurd joy of doing something just to do it. No goals.
Max was moving away in nine days.
He was not the marrying kind and never wanted to be.
Being hurt by him was an extremely real possibility.
But what if he was my actual soul mate—and I missed out on a lifetime of happiness due to fear? Roxy had almost let Edward walk away before they both faced their fears and mistakes and made things right again.
What I felt for him wasn’t tidy. It didn’t fit into a spreadsheet, and it voided my contract.
It did, however, feel really, really, really good. Good as in right.
I needed to reclaim some of that Quinn bravery that had sent me leaping off that stage while graduating with honors, all at the same time.
“Hey.”
I turned around from my work to find Max shutting the office door behind him.
Every ounce of my newly reclaimed bravery vanished.
I realized now how deeply he’d been restraining his attraction, how clipped and controlled he’d kept his reactions to me. The cocky bad boy sauntering toward me was sex and danger and charisma cranked all the way up. I was literally helpless to resist him.
“Hey,” I croaked out. “Do you want to see these piles of bills? I can show you my—”
He didn’t halt his stride, backing me against that desk until I was forced to sit on it. He took the mess of envelopes from my hands and placed them behind me. Leaned his body in close until our faces were barely six inches apart.
“Tell me about this big crush, princess.” He reached forward and brushed the hair off my shoulder. Slid his palm around the back of my neck and squeezed, gently. His thumb stroked across my pulse point.
It was not a friendly touch.
It was not even a silly, flirtatious, fun touch.
And neither was the look on his face.
I pressed my palm against his hard, flat stomach. Swallowed a few times. Forced myself to hold his dark gaze. “I like you. And not just as a friend.”
His smile was a slow, sexy reveal of white teeth and sinful intentions. “Here’s the thing. I don’t think we’re friends anymore, do you?”
I slid my palm up, to his chest. His heart beat beneath my fingers. “I’ve heard friendship is overrated.”
His palm left the back of my neck but only so he could brush the hair from my face. Work his fingers through the strands. It was so tender I could have cried.
“I’m sorry I left yesterday,” I whispered. “I got a little scared and a lot overwhelmed.”
His jaw clenched. “I should have told you about the job. It was a shock, getting that call. And I don’t know what it means yet. But I have never, ever, felt this way before. About anyone. I’m losing my goddamn mind over you.”
“Glad we’re on the same page,” I said, voice faint. I was dazed, staring at his mouth, too caught up in this moment to give a shit about the future. I pictured myself on the edge of that stage down there, young and wild and unafraid. I’d trusted the outstretched hands would catch me. I needed to trust that Max would catch me.
I removed my right hand from his, reached forward. Stroked my fingers across his forehead, touched his silky hair. Trailed them down his cheek to scratch along his jaw. The emotion in his eyes tripled.
“That almost-kiss yesterday, on the bike, it wasn’t my best work,” Max said. “I’ve heard first kisses are kind of important. I’d hate if I didn’t deliver.”
I let my fingers trace his full lower lip. Desire washed over me so powerfully I swayed on the table. “Who am I to deny you more opportunities to convince me that your bold claims of sexual prowess are actually true?”
“I happen to have a single-minded focus when it comes to kissing. I’m dedicated, princess.”
We shared a single, ragged breath. I closed the remaining distance between us, brushing my mouth against his.
“Then prove it,” I whispered.
Max kissed me.
I never knew this scary free fall could be so sweet. But his mouth was sweet. Sweet like honey, tempting and soft. He was holding back, giving me the reins on these first precious moments of our very first kiss. Which I appreciated. He knew this rule-breaking risk needed to begin on my terms because I was the one who’d created the restrictions in the first place. So I explored everything I’d previously denied myself. Tilted my head and kissed Max again, harder this time. Curled my fingers into his shirt and held him still, licking along the seam of his lips. Opening his mouth to me.
He was shaking.
I was shaking.
A hushed groan came from somewhere deep inside him, somewhere primal and erotic in equal measure. The sound sent my tongue licking boldly into his mouth.
Max opened wider, brushed his tongue against mine.
It was like touching a live wire.
The shock of our connection, the sharp spike of lust, had me fisting the collar of his shirt and tugging us closer. With a growl, Max scooped one strong arm around my ass and yanked me firmly against his waist. I clung to him, as I was briefly airborne, until he sat us back down in that office chair. It was an impressive show of strength and control.
I straddled Max, up on my knees, and his hands cradled my face like he’d never, ever get enough of tasting me. We parted on a panting inhale, mouths barely apart.
“Quick question.” His chest rose and fell rapidly.
“Uh huh?” I was liquid, mindless, all nerve endings and arousal.
“Did you feel that?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Good.” His mouth s
lammed back on mine before he even finished speaking. He was no longer holding back, but that didn’t speed up his slow, deliberate exploration of this fraught first kiss.
Single-minded focus.
I’d demanded he prove it to me, and now he was. His lips moved confidently as he leisurely stroked our tongues together, as he fisted his fingers in my hair and tugged. How foolish I’d been, to think I could kiss Max and go on existing as a human woman, doing simple tasks like breathing or thinking.
I was comprised solely of cravings now, a hungry blend of need and desire that could only be satisfied by Max’s mouth. He kissed me like an expert. And there was nothing I could do now except forget about every ambitious goal I’d ever believed in when it came to love and romance.
My only goal from now on was to be kissed by Max, kissed like I was the only woman he wanted, kissed like he was as obsessed with me as I was with him. Contracts and legal language were a paltry defense against this onslaught of lips and teeth and tongue.
I rose up on my knees, forcing his head to tilt back. Wrapped my arms around his neck and enjoyed the lazy, sensual sensation of his palms skating up my thighs beneath my dress. Like he had no plans except to touch me.
My only plan was to drive him past the point of focus.
I dragged my mouth down his throat and licked up the side, tasting salt and sweat. Then I closed my teeth around the skin of his neck and bit him. Max hissed in a shocked breath but cupped the back of my head. Holding me there. I licked the spot, then moved an inch higher and sank my teeth in again.
Max growled this time and yanked my head to the side, mouth at my ear not a second later. “I should have known beneath all those prim fucking suits was a bad girl that liked to bite.”
“I don’t fuck nice either,” I murmured. And was rewarded with his soft, sexy laughter against my skin. He kept my throat fully exposed and kissed me slowly beneath my ear. Used his lips, his tongue, his teeth, to chart a long, devoted path from my ear to my collarbone. Then did it again, moving up, up, up until he gripped my face and kissed me hard. I needed to be devoured by Max, needed to do the devouring. His fingers slipped beneath the strap of my dress. The soft material slid down the ball of my shoulder. His lips landed there, licked that extra-sensitive spot between my neck and shoulder.
I wasn’t going to survive this.
His tongue wandered along my collarbone, licked the swell of my breasts. I rocked slowly, steadily against his giant, jean-clad cock and grinned like a temptress when he groaned so loudly I had to slap my hand over his mouth. But that only lasted a moment before our lips met again. It was a decadent feast, an almost brutal expression of our explosive lust. His hands moved to my ass, squeezing roughly, moving me in tight circles against his cock. Max pressed his nose and lips to my hair, breathing me in like he was worried we’d never kiss again if we stopped.
But then he did.
I was on his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, fingers tangled in his shirt. His hands held my face. We panted heavily, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. If my hair looked anything like his, it was currently rivaling my worst bedhead. In fact, it probably resembled a just spectacularly fucked look, even though we hadn’t or even gotten close to it.
That was how good Max was at kissing.
His thumb stroked my cheek. “I believe you broke your contract for me.”
“I know.” I smiled at him, watched him blush deeper. Beneath that cocky, bad boy look, this man was cute. “I thought I might give bravery a bit more of a try. Strategize less. Kiss you more.”
His eyes closed, like he was in pain. “I want to spend a week straight with my tongue buried in that pretty pussy of yours. If I got you into my bed right now, Fiona, we would never leave.”
I tried to kiss him again. “That sounds like a great idea.”
He kept us apart though. “You told me that the next man you fuck is going to be a man looking for something deeper with you. Not a temporary fling.”
Ice flooded my veins. Fear, worry. Please don’t let this be a mistake. “That’s still what I want.”
Max kissed my cheek. It was so sweet I had to blink tears away. Then he whispered, right against my ear, “I’d like something deeper with you, Fiona. And I’m scared out of my mind about it. But I trust you.”
The shock of his admission sent me wrapping my arms around his neck. I pressed my lips to his cheek, his temple. Trust. That’s what was missing from my list and from every relationship prior to this one.
I pulled back so he could see my face. “I’m terrified. And I trust you too.”
His grin was shy and sexy. “Well then.” He cleared his throat. “Electric Rose is playing here tonight at nine.”
My eyebrows shot straight up. “That’s my favorite fucking cover band of all time.”
He brushed the hair from my forehead. “Mine too.”
I hadn’t seen Electric Rose in years, but back in the day, I was their number one fan. They played punk and classic rock covers I loved to dance to.
“Would you like to see them together? With me?” he asked.
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“Yes,” he said. “My first first date.”
I gave him a short but passionate kiss. “Yes. Please.”
A second later, Pop and a handful of delivery guys kicked open the door and walked through the office door. We turned around—hair mussed, clothing wrinkled—looking, I’m sure, like two teenagers caught making out in study hall.
“Oh, uh, hey, Pop,” Max said, voice strained. “And hello, complete strangers.”
I covered my mouth to keep from laughing.
Pop gave a secret little grin and nodded. Then took out his phone.
“Hold up. Mateo owes me ten dollars.”
Max narrowed his eyes as I gently extricated myself from our scandalous position. Bag, I had a bag, right? Keys? What had I brought into this room and where were my sandals? My brain had melted like a Popsicle on a hot day.
His phone chirped, and when he picked it up, he swore.
“Pop,” he said, arms raised. “You and Mateo took a bet about me and Fiona?”
Pop shrugged. “I gave it a solid week before you two started dating. Mateo gave it ten days. And it’s been six so…”
“Six?” We both said in unison.
I touched my fingers to my lips. It felt like months, not days, had stretched between the night on the fire escape until now. If I’d known kissing Max would be like this, I would have let him do it immediately.
Casting Max a slightly bemused look, I ran a hand through my hair and slipped on my sandals. “I’ll see you… tonight?”
He nodded, squeezing my fingers when Pop wasn’t looking. I flashed a silly smile at Pop as I left and caught the amused expressions of the three strangers hanging out, watching this scene unfold.
But I kept my chin high and my back straight—same as when I’d been caught kissing a boy I wasn’t supposed to. And as I left, walking down the steps on legs like jelly, I heard Max say, “Hey, any of you guys know what you wear on a first date?”
25
Max
I stood outside The Red Room just after 9:00 pm and didn’t want to go in for the first time in my entire life.
Because I was nervous as hell for my first date with Fiona and pretty damn sure I was going to puke any second.
“You’re not gonna puke, hermanito,” Mateo said. I’d called him in a panic as I walked down the sidewalk, grateful that Fiona had texted she was already inside. Her text read, specifically: Get your ass in here, Devlin. They’re playing your favorite songs and I might have forgotten to wear underwear.
A text like that would usually send me spinning through a fantasy of all the filthy things I was going to do to that smart mouth. But instead I was terrified I was about to ruin our first date—a major, epic first for me.
Every moment with Fiona ended up being a terrifying first. This morning was the first time a simple kiss broke me. As if Fiona had
reached into my chest and pulled my heart out herself. At this stage in my life, I was essentially an expert in the different intensities of sexual arousal. And the second Fiona touched those sweet, mischievous lips to mine, I was a goner.
Every other experience in my life was stuck, stubbornly, at level five. Fiona in my lap, kissing me like I was the air she needed to breathe?
There wasn’t even a level.
Actually, the level was called I am so fucking fucked.
“How does the shirt that I lent you fit?” Mateo asked, dragging me back from my chaotic thoughts. “Has Fiona seen you yet?”
I looked down at the black Henley Mateo had given me. I’d shoved the sleeves up to my elbows and worn my cleanest jeans. “No. I’m still out here thinking about throwing up or whatever. But I think I look… fine?”
Mateo laughed. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”
The door opened, and I peeked around, trying to get a glimpse of a blond beauty throwing elbows. “Your support is appreciated.”
“Hey,” Mateo said, voice growing serious. “You’ll be fine. Remember my first date with Rafael?”
I sighed, leaning back against the brick wall. Let my head fall back. “I told you, if it went poorly or you wanted to bail, to call me and I’d come pick you up and take you out to meet cute guys.”
“I’ll do the same,” Mateo said. “Even though you’re a pain in my ass right now. But if it goes bad, text me. We’ll come get you and take you out for a burger and then drop you off at a bar filled with beautiful women who aren’t Fiona.”
That scenario sounded real depressing right now. But I appreciated the sentiment. “Thank you,” I said. “Be on standby for your best friend to make a goddamn idiot of himself tonight. How’d the bike ride tonight?”
“She’s perfect,” he said. “And I really, really appreciate you doing that for me.”
That was some good news, at least. “Ask for more help, and I’ll give it.”
“I know,” he said. “I see you trying, I really do. Now get in there and get your girl.”
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