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“I’m banking on soccer players,” I say thoughtfully. “All of you loved playing soccer.”
“That’s what I told her, too.” He winks at me, and I’m sure women worldwide would drop their panties at that wink. Not me, though. My panties are firmly in place.
“Can’t wait for them to be born,” he continues. “I’ll make it my mission to teach them how to prank everyone.”
If I thought his wink was heat inducing, his words are atomic, albeit in a different way—pulling at my heartstrings. Max might think he’s not father material, but I disagree. I think he is, just doesn’t know it yet.
“Do they already have names?” I inquire.
“Mia and Elena.”
“Those are beautiful names.”
Max nods, and I’m pleased to observe that he seems more at ease than before. His breathing pattern is calmer, even though his hands are still curled into fists. He also eyes the floor right next to me from time to time, which is a telltale sign he’s not completely at ease. Almost driven by a will of its own, my hand inches closer to his, reaching for him. I touch the back of his hand with my fingers. At first, nothing happens, but then he opens his fist, letting me in. Having my hand in his feels familiar and new at the same time, which I suppose is the perfect way to sum up our renewed friendship. Trying to ignore the way my body hums at his nearness, I scoot even closer to him, until my left hip touches his right hip. Max moves our intertwined hands on his lap.
“I think it’s every man’s fantasy to be stuck with a woman in an elevator,” Max says. “And when it happens to me, I’m nearly having a damn panic attack.”
“I’d say you’re doing fine, Bennett. You scared me a little in the beginning, but now you’re looking good. I knew I had to get you to talk in order to distract you.”
“You’re a distraction all by yourself. Especially since your skirt slid up when you sat.”
“Oh crap.” I inspect my skirt, and sure enough, it slid up my thighs. Damn me and my habit of wearing skirts on the way to work and only changing into training gear at the clinic. My ass is not hanging out, but there’s enough to see if you look closely. And Max definitely is looking closely. That’s why he was peering down regularly. It wasn’t a sign of nervousness. It was a sign of him being a pervert. I’ve been so focused on him, I didn’t even notice my panties are almost on display. Hastily I cover myself, pulling at my skirt and wishing it were longer. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“And ruin all my fun? I’m not stupid.”
“I, on the other hand, am an idiot. A complete and utter idiot.”
“No, you’re not.” He opens his mouth as if he would like to add more, but then closes it again.
I remain silent, watching the vein pulsing at the base of his neck. Up close, I can smell his scent beneath the cologne, and it’s intoxicating, awakening every single cell in my body. Unexpectedly, he turns my palm up, tracing the almost invisible white line at the base.
“The scar almost faded,” he murmurs. “Did you tell anyone how you really got it?” he inquires.
“No, I kept our secret. Did you?” On the night before Grams and I moved to Montana, I snuck out of my house to meet Max for a farewell walk around the places we used to hang around. I cut my palm badly in the process.
“I don’t kiss and tell, Emilia.” I don’t know if it’s the fact that he used kiss and Emilia in the same sentence, or that his tone is low and husky, but a delicious shiver slithers down my spine.
“You call me Emilia a lot lately.”
“Jonesie doesn’t fit you anymore, does it?” With his thumb, he draws little circles at the base of my palm, driving me crazy. How can a gesture so innocent stir so many sinful sensations inside of me? My breath hitches as I hear Max swallowing hard. Risking a glance at him, I notice his jaw is clenched, as if he is exerting the utmost self-control. Raising my hand, he places a kiss on my scar. The contact sends a jolt directly to my center.
I let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a groan, energy strumming through me. Max turns his head toward me, focusing on my mouth. He is so close. I’d barely have to tip my head, and.... Almost involuntarily, I lick my lower lip.
A groan reverberates from deep inside Max. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Shaking my head, I become acutely aware that our hands are still intertwined. Worse still, we’re both shaking. To someone watching us, it wouldn’t be noticeable. But I can feel it in my bones. Our last vestiges of control are about to give in. I pry my hand out of his and push myself further away in an attempt to put some distance between us, but as soon as I move my ass, my damn skirt slides upward again.
“Fucking hell,” Max exclaims, his gaze following the hem of my skirt as if he wants to set it on fire. Cursing, I cover myself again. He snaps his gaze away, staring
at the door instead. “Earthquake, flood, waxing.”
“What?” I ask, wondering if he’s lost his mind.
“I’m trying to focus on evil things to distract myself.”
I snort. “How are earthquake, flood, and waxing in the same category? Wait! What would you know about waxing?”
“I pissed off Alice badly once. Her revenge was cruel.”
