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“It isn’t,” I said, immediately spanning the distance between us. I reached for his hand, tugging him farther inside the store. “I love it. I seriously do. I’m just shell-shocked.” I laughed. “I haven’t been on a ton of dates before, but more than half were just dinner and we’d always split the check.”
Maxim spun me, drawing me against his chest as he wrapped his arms around me. “Who said this was a date?”
Mortification slammed through me, heating every inch of my skin. I clenched my eyes shut. “Oh, right. This isn’t a date. I didn’t mean…” God, now I was rambling. “I wasn’t calling this a date. I was just comparing…whatever this is to what I’ve experienced in the past. I wouldn’t—”
“I legit love it when you get all flustered,” Maxim said, leaning down to brush his lips over mine before working his way along my jaw and up over my cheeks. “The blushing thing is beyond adorable.”
I shivered against him, unable to stop the reaction my body had when he was holding me like this, touching me like he was. I tried and failed miserably to build a wall around my heart, to explain to it that what was happening between Maxim and me wasn’t forever, wasn’t even official. It was…luck and lust and nothing more—on his end.
“Wait, you’re messing with me?” I asked, and he released me, but kept my hand as we walked to the closet row of shelves. My attention was severely divided between Maxim and my first true love—books.
“Always,” he teased. “You think I would do this for just anyone? You think I always do first dates this way?” He shrugged, then pointed to a shelf of local fiction authors. “You want to check these out?”
I blew out a breath.
“Is that a no?” he asked, and I just shook my head.
I was totally reeling from what he’d said. I couldn’t think around it and as much as I wanted to keep quiet and just be whatever Maxim needed—a curse breaker, a convenience, whatever—and just take the pieces he gave me…I couldn’t.
“First date?” I asked, my heart racing in my chest.
He glanced away from the books, eyes landing on me as he arched a brow like he didn’t understand the question.
“What are we doing here, Maxim?”
“I thought we were going to find you some more books to read,” he said, then flashed me a deliciously devious grin. “Maybe some of the romance ones. I can help you fact-check some of the steamier scenes.”
My heart fluttered at that, a thrill rushing through my veins at the thought of Maxim being more than ready to try new things.
With me.
Holy fuck, I’m in so much trouble.
“No,” I said, flabbergasted. “Not here, here. But like…” I gestured between us. “You said first date, and yeah, we’ve crossed some roommate lines, and I know you say I’m your good luck charm, but is that all it is?”
Something more serious slid over Maxim’s face. “Are you asking if we’re a couple?”
My stomach was twisting into knots.
Why? Why did I have to open my mouth and beg for clarification? He had the power to destroy me and yet here I was terrified of losing that chance with him. Any chance, even if he ruined me in the end.
“Look, we both know I’m not a fan of your life in the limelight,” I said. “And I’m more than comfortable behind the camera. In front of it?” I shuddered. Unless Maxim was holding the camera, I rarely wanted to be in front of it. “I’m not asking you to go public with whatever it is we’re doing…” I sighed, wishing I would’ve just kept my mouth shut and found some delicious books to read instead of forcing this conversation. I walked deeper into the store, needing some breathing space that didn’t have his intoxicating scent blurring my mind. I turned a corner, rounding another bank of shelves stacked with colorful spines, seeing them but not reading the titles. I breathed in the fresh air scented with paper and leather and a hint of coffee, and my chest loosened a fraction.
“Evie,” Maxim called, stopping me once I’d reached a little sitting area tucked into a secluded corner with nothing but ceiling-high bookshelves around it. It was beautiful, the colors, the books, the rich leather couches and chairs and solid mahogany table, each one inviting a reader to sit down and escape for a spell.
“Evie,” he said again, tugging on my hand, forcing me to turn and face him. He looked down at me with cobalt eyes that weren’t guarded, weren’t angry, weren’t thinking about the next game or practice or shot. He was focused, here and present and listening. “If someone asks me about you, I’m not going to deny what you are to me.”
“Your good luck charm,” I clarified.
