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“Okay. But if you change your mind, let me know. I’ll get you a ticket.”
“Thanks, Max.”
“Have a good night. Stay safe.”
“You, too.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear to swipe, and Maggie grabbed it from my hand.
“Max? Are you still there? It’s Maggie.” She grinned at me. “Oh, hey. Listen, buy the ticket. I’ll get her ass on that plane.”
“Give me that phone,” I said.
She leaned back, as if that would keep me from reaching.
“That’s a good idea. Thanks, Max.” She wiggled her fingers at the phone even though he obviously couldn’t see her. “Toodle-oo.”
Maggie swiped to end the call and held my phone against her chest, looking all dreamy-eyed. “He told you he missed waking up to you. You have to go.”
I shook my head. “I wish I could, but I can’t. I have so much to do at the office.”
“Let me ask you something… Is this man as sweet as he seems from the little I’ve been around him?”
I sighed. “He really is. Under that tough-guy, hockey-player-who-hits-people-with-a-stick exterior is a real softie.”
“And how’s the sex?”
I smiled just thinking about it. “He checks that sweetness at the bedroom door. And when he kisses me, he wraps his big hand around my throat. It’s very dominant and probably should scare me a little, but I kind of love it.”
“How long is he gone?”
“He was supposed to come back tomorrow afternoon. But something came up, and now he won’t be back until Sunday.”
My phone chimed from Maggie’s hand. She held it out to check the screen and then looked to the two glasses of wine in front of me on the table. “You better finish that wine and get started on the next one.”
My brows furrowed. “Why?”
She turned my phone around and showed me the screen. “Because Max just sent you a ticket. I need to get you drunk enough to talk you into getting on the plane tomorrow afternoon.”
• • •
“I’m going to jump in the shower,” Max said to my reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Breakfast should be here in a few minutes.”
I set the blow dryer down. “Okay. I’m done. The bathroom is all yours.”
He flashed his dimples and pulled down his boxer briefs. “Or you can stay and watch.” He kissed my shoulder. “Better yet, join me.”
Just then, someone knocked on the door to the suite.
“Looks like it’s a shower for one.” I grinned.
Max pouted.
Back in the bedroom, I grabbed my purse to dig out a tip before answering. But the only thing I had was a hundred-dollar bill. So I popped my head back into the bathroom.
“Hey. Do you have any small bills for a tip? I only have a hundred.”
Max was already in the shower. “Yeah, I should. I think my wallet might still be in my pants pocket. Help yourself.”
“Thanks.”
I looked around the bedroom to find his pants, but they weren’t there. Then I remembered they were probably still right near the door—where he’d pulled them down as he held me against the wall about two seconds after I arrived last night. I smiled at the memory as I picked them up and found his wallet. He had a ten, so I slipped it out and answered the door.
Room service wheeled in a cart, and I chuckled at the full-size box of Cheerios and big, glass carafe of milk. I handed the attendant the tip and walked him to the door.
Just before it shut, he turned back. “Miss?”
“Yes?”
He held out a business card. “This was inside the bill you just gave me.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I took the card. “Thank you.”
Back in the room, I went to return the card to Max’s wallet. As I slipped it in, I couldn’t help but notice the words printed on the top: Cedars Sinai Neurology & Neurosurgery. There was an address underneath, and a handwritten date and time on the appointment line for two days ago. Rather than put it back in his wallet, I left it on the room service tray so I wouldn’t forget to ask him about it.
Then Maggie called, and just as Max got out of the shower, his phone rang. So it wasn’t until we were half done with breakfast that I noticed it again.
I lifted the card. “This was tucked into the bill I took out of your wallet to give the room service person. I didn’t notice it, but the guy handed it back to me as he was leaving.”
Max looked down at the card and then up at me. He said nothing.
“Did you go to a neurologist the other day?” I asked.
He took the card and shoved it into his pocket. “Yeah. Just a checkup.”
“A checkup? I’ve never been to a neurologist.”
Max shoveled a heaping spoonful of Cheerios into his mouth and shrugged.
“Is there a reason you get checked?”
I don’t think I’d ever realized Max usually made good eye contact when he spoke—until now, when he avoided making any at all. He pushed the Cheerios in his bowl around with his spoon. “I get migraines. So I get checked once in a while.”
