Eleven
VALENTINA
Maksim emerges from the hallway, tugging on a white T-shirt. I’ve been around muscles and ink-covered skin my whole life. It barely even registers anymore. But when I walked through that door and found him in nothing but sweatpants—gray fucking sweatpants, at that—I was fighting for my life.
He has the kind of abs I can eat off of and still lick my plate clean. And that faint line of hair leading down from his navel…I want to trace it with my tongue just to see where it ends.
Oh, shit.
I’m fucked.
“Sorry. I keep it cool in here,” he says when my shoulders shudder, offering me a fleece blanket draped over the arm of the sofa. He has no idea I’manythingbut cold.
Still, I take it, if only to discreetly breathe him in.
So fucked.
Joke’s on me, though. The blanket smells like Aunt Leni’s perfume. He must keep it here for her when she visits. The thought makes me smile. Maybe I don’t know him that well anymore, but I know how much he loves her, loves them both.
It gives me hope. Hope that maybe I can find my way back in, be someone special in his life again. Someone he keeps blankets for.
The Fruit Loops come to mind, and my stomach flip-flops. That has to mean something…doesn’t it?
“Thank you,” I say as he settles beside me. I shift closer, trying to find a comfortable spot despite the damn cast.
“Let me know when you’re ready to go home. I’ll drive you.”
My heart dips.
“Are you kicking me out already?” I tease, trying to hide the disappointment creeping in.
“No. I just don’t see the need for Remi to drive all the way back here. I can take you.”
A spark of hope flickers.
“Oh, I was planning to book a ride.”
“The fuck you will.”
My head snaps up, meeting his narrowed eyes.
“You know, Maxy, I had a life here before you, one that included late-night walks and rides with strangers.”
If he only knew the half of it. The risks I live and breathe on the track.
“That’s nice. I’m here now.”
Something primal stirs inside me, and I clench my thighs.
God, am I wet? Wet from his possessiveness?
Another shudder runs through me. “I’ll remember that next time. Good to know you care.”
“I never stopped.”
The mood shifts, and suddenly I feel the chill in the room. Or maybe it’s just the sobering reminder of his absence all these years. Guilt roots deep when I think about how easily I almost forgot he was ever real. What a shame that would’ve been.
His beautiful eyes tell a thousand stories. Yet none of them good.
