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I shake my head, hoping to rid my brain of Willie and Max and sex, and go into the bathroom. Fortunately, that’s a much more soothing atmosphere, with a light gray and white decor.
I take a quick and unsatisfying shower. Something about the idea of being naked when Max is sitting in the other room watching TV is too intimate for my liking. My insides are already quivering, and the sight of him in those gray sweatpants makes parts of me warm and tingly.
I do not want to tingle in those parts. Not here with him, and not when I have a headache blooming.
Fortunately, I brought decent sleepwear—my favorite pink silk pajamas—and not my usual cotton tank and shorts. I brush my teeth, blow-dry my hair, and slap on some moisturizer. I wipe away the condensation on the mirror and grimace. The events of the past day have caught up with me, and I look worn out. Haggard.
I hate for Max to see me this way. But this is my face, and I’m going to have to make the best of this situation. Even if that means the sofa.
He’s going to have to understand the importance of taking the bed, chivalry be damned. He needs to be in top form this week, and starting it with terrible sleep isn’t a good idea.
I march out to the living room and find Max lying on the couch, partially covered by a hideous blue blanket. His bare feet are hanging over the arm. The lights are out but the TV’s on, tuned to some Animal Planet show about wildebeests.
“Max.”
He opens his eyes. “Oh, hallo,” he says casually, like he didn’t expect me to be here. My presence barely registers, obviously.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Really, you need to sleep in the bed. I know how you have, ah, had, sleep issues. You need to be at your best this week, especially after that Miami race. Please?”
He sits up. “I feel ungentlemanly if you take the sofa.”
I can tell he’s tired as well, because his German accent is a little more pronounced. “I won’t hold it against you, I promise. It’s more important that you’re rested. That’s an order. From the team owner.”
“Okay, fine.” He flings off the blanket. “Can I at least get you a pillow?”
“Sure.”
We pass by each other, and I catch his masculine scent: the faintest whiff of aftershave and the unique smell of his skin. It smells like ocean sunrises and sea air, luxury hotel suites and pure sex.
The sensation of blood rushing in my ears makes me unsteady. I sink into the sofa, the cushions still warm from his body. The fibers of the sofa smell like him too. There are those tingles again, all concentrated in one bundle of nerves between my legs. If I was home alone, I’d take care of myself with my vibrator.
That’s obviously impossible tonight, although the thought of doing so on the sofa while he’s in the other room makes me even more aroused. I am a deviant.
Max pads back out, his footsteps soft. He’s not holding a pillow, and gestures with his thumb behind him. “You know, this is an enormous bed. We can both sleep there. I’d hate for you to toss and turn with a headache tonight.”
I take in his athletic frame, the muscles that ripple beneath his tight T-shirt, the way the fabric stretches over his chest, and how his eyes glint in the light coming from the bedroom.
My temple throbs, signaling the escalation of my headache. I look at the narrow sofa, its red cushions picture perfect, its fabric a luxurious crushed velvet. It’s nice looking, but not designed for sleeping. It’s also hard as a rock.
“Fine.”
He smiles, but it’s not a lascivious expression. It’s a mixture of relief and, possibly, happiness. “I’m watching this program about animals, so I’ll be in later. But, uh, feel free to sleep—”
“Yeah, I’m exhausted.” I interrupt him. This is getting way too awkward for my liking and all I want is for both of us to stop talking. “Night.”
“Night night,” he says, shutting the door.
In the bedroom, I turn off the bedside lamp and slide between the luxuriously soft white cotton sheets. I roll onto my side, as close to the edge as I can without falling off, facing the window. I do not want Max to think I’m doing this for a hookup.
The thought of building a wall of pillows between us comes to mind, but I chide myself. That’s absurd. We’re adults, teammates, and we can bunk in the same bed in an emergency. This would be no different if it was Tanya or Anh.
Come to think of it, why didn’t Tanya offer to put me up in her room, with her? As I pull the fluffy duvet up my body, over my shoulder, and cover my ear, I ponder this. Whatever. What’s done is done.
The bed is sinfully comfy and I drift off, trying to will my headache away and not think about the moment when Max lies next to me. Many hours later, a soft buzzing sound stirs me awake. It’s the air conditioner, kicking in. My eyes flutter open, and for a moment, I’m not sure where I am.
Oh right, the Plaza, in Austin. In a comfy bed inside a dark room. The temperature is perfect for sleeping, not too cold, not too hot, and . . .
There’s a muscular arm around me.
