Page 96 of Maximus

“Why are you smiling?” he probed.

“I didn’t realize I was. But I guess it’s because Zane’s funny.”

“Funny, haha? Or funny as in he’s a nosy prick?”

This time when I grinned, even if I hadn’t felt the muscles in my face tighten, I wouldn’t have missed the way Max’s gaze dropped to my mouth. And there was certainly no missing the lust in his eyes.

One passionate look from him had my panties on fire, and wasn’t that some cliché romance shit? But it was true nonetheless.

“Gladiator?” I started to giggle.

“My name,” he mumbled disgruntledly.

“I gathered that.”

“The story goes, my father wanted me to have a strong name, one that was fit for the heir that would one day take over his business. What he did was saddle me with a name that gave every asshole in high school something to make fun of.”

The darkness that invaded his features made my heart hurt for him. A sudden change in him, I understood all too well. There was nothing that could dampen my mood like thinking about my parents.

“What’s your name?”

“Maximus.”

“Your full name,” I pressed.

“Maximus Brown.”

“You’re being purposefully obtuse,” I sighed. “What’s your middle name?”

Max’s silence made it increasingly harder not to laugh. His facial expressions weren’t helping either—he looked like he’d chugged a gallon of lemon juice and the tart flavor wasn’t his favorite.

“Please tell me it’s not Spartacus.”

Max shook his head in the negative but still didn’t speak.

I tried to remember the Russell Crowe classic, Gladiator, but there were so many Roman names, most of which I couldn’t pronounce, let alone recall. I was at a loss for more suggestions.

“Come on, just tell me,” I begged.

“Ragnar.”

“Maximus Ragnar?”

“Yes,” he ground out. “I’m named after a Roman Emperor and a Viking that died in a pit of vipers. Lucky me.”

“I swear I’m not laughing at your name.” I waved my hands in front of me as hilarity bubbled. “It’s just… it’s the way you’re grinding your teeth like you’d rather have your toenails pulled out than say your name.”

“I would. It’s a stupid name. But then, if you knew my pompous, dick of a father you’d understand why he was so proud to introduce me as Maximus Ragnar to his associates. I was barely out of diapers when he started his rhetoric about how he gave me the name of a king. Of course something normal like John or Peter weren’t good enough for his son.”

All my humor fled at the tone of his voice. It wasn’t anger I heard, it was soul-deep pain.

“Fuck him,” I blurted out. “He may’ve given you your name for some arrogant reason, but he’s right about one thing, your name is strong and it fits the man you grew to be. A leader, a loyal friend, a protector. The best part is, you became that man. You—not him. And you did it on your own, despite his best efforts to turn you into the kind of man he is. Malicious and broken.”

I watched with laser focus as Max went solid. Every feature frozen, his arctic stare turned into a blaze of agony.

And when a rumble started from somewhere deep inside of him until the vibration finally verbalized in a single word, I thought I’d made a huge mistake.

“Fuck.”