“The problem is us, Max. We don’t fit.”
His jaw tightens and I see that familiar glint of determination in his eyes. Only this time, it doesn’t irritate me. It turns me on, because it’s layered with heat and desire. And the last time I saw that glint in his eyes, he wasn’t arguing with me, he was rubbing my clit, and all that determination was focused on making me come again.
And when he speaks, his voice is low and growly and deliciously familiar. “I thought we fit together perfectly.”
“Yeah. But that was just sex.”
As soon as I say those words, I know I’ve said the wrong thing.
Or the right thing.
He flinches, like I’ve slapped him. And then he turns and walks away. He walks out of my house. Maybe out of my life.
Which is exactly what I want.
I think.
I’m right. I know I’m right. I know that Max and I don’t fit. Not in any of the ways that really matter. I also know that a relationship based on sex alone won’t be enough for a man like Max. A man with two PhDs who was short-listed for the McPherson Genius Award needs the mental stimulation that he can’t get from someone like me.
Moreover, I need more than just sex, too. I need someone who can love me.
I don’t need functional companionship. I need love. Big, deep, and all-encompassing.
I don’t know if I’ll ever have that, but I know I can’t settle for anything less.
Despite all of that, being around Max makes me stupid and reckless. It makes me want things I shouldn’t want and do things I definitely shouldn’t do. The condom-less sex, for example. If a girl in one of my classes admitted to doing that—to merely asking a guy if he was clean and then taking his word for it—I’d roast her alive. Because you can’t just take chances like that with your life and your health.
Do I believe Max was being honest with me and he’s clean? Yes, absolutely. Because this is the man who scrubs his hands for three minutes before handling dirt. So, yeah. I think he’s disease-free. And I’ve been on the pill since I lost the baby. Because having one ectopic pregnancy increases your risk of having a second and I can’t ever do that again. I won’t survive the pain of having my fallopian tube burst, of nearly dying from blood loss, of waking up in the hospital to learn I’d lost the child I desperately wanted. I am vigilant about birth control pills because I can’t ever do any of that again.
The fact that I forgot all that, even for a few minutes, only proves how stupid Max makes me. Obviously, if I was irrational enough to have condom-less sex, then my feelings for Max have gotten way out of control. Wanting him makes me reckless and desperate.
Reckless and desperate Holly makes very bad decisions. I.e., if Max asks me to marry him again, I might just be desperate and reckless enough to say yes.
Chapter 23
Max
Igo to the lab first thing on Saturday morning. Thank God I don’t see anyone on my way across campus.
The last thing I need is someone stopping me to make small talk. No one else is in the lab either. Again, thank God, because Gwen, Jaxon, and Priya often come in on the weekends to finish up work.
However, that’s where my luck runs out.
Not that I believe in luck. But if I did, this is definitely where mine fucking ends.
I make it all the way into the clean room before I remember that all my sample bags are full of fucking Miracle Grow.
I’m this close to texting the dumbass grad students to ask why none of them threw out the Miracle Grow, but I know the answer. They don’t do anything with any of my samples unless I specifically tell them to. It’s taken me two years to train them on the protocols for how I want my lab run. So, no, I don’t get to yell at them when they follow my directions.
Besides, I know it’s not them I’m mad at. It’s me.
Because I’m the one who went over to Holly’s expressly to get the soil samples. I’m the one who fucked her. And then fucked everything up. And then left without even getting the samples.
Though, even I can’t imagine how that conversation would have gone down.
Hey, I know you’re pissed that I revealed our relationship to my boss and your ex-husband, and you just said you didn’t want to marry me or have sex again, but do you mind telling me where my soil samples are?
This is my curse in life. I’m a genius when it comes to unraveling the connections between microbes, but a dumbass when it comes to reading people. But even I’m smart enough to know better than to ask Holly for the samples now.
