We smile at each other.
"Well, how's my transition?" I hesitate, choking on my own words for a moment before I can build up the strength to say them. "I'm going to go on the pill when I get home." I swallow. "Have you been tested lately?" I'm so nervous asking this question that I'm literally trembling.
He just grins. "I never go bare. I get tested all the time. I'm so proud you had the guts to ask though."
My heart fills with him. "Cool."
"Now, how did you get into ballet?"
"I went to the ballet with my dad and Konnor when I was six. We sawThe Nutcracker. The District Academy has performed that ballet at Christmas every year for decades. From the moment I saw it, I wanted to beClara."
He strokes my thigh. "But you're not this year."
"No. But I have been her for the past four years. This year I wanted to show my diversity. And a really great ballerina named Ana got the part of Clara."
He chuckles. "You hate her."
"I don't. She's lovely."
"You want her killed."
I laugh. "No. I didn't audition for Clara this year. She's best suited to a younger ballerina." I stare at him as he gazes at me. The both of us are entwined on the lounge while the sounds of mountainous Ubud echo in the distance.
It's past midnight. It's just him and me. Sometimes I feel as if there is a Max and Cassidy world... and then there's the complicated dark world we share with everyone else.
He caresses my face with his eyes. "I'm kinda pissed I'd never gone with Jimmy to see a performance now."
I cuddle my knees and gaze at him. "Why?"
"I would've had some great wank material."
"Crude."
"I might have met you sooner."
I lean in to kiss him. "Sweet."
"To taste your pussy sooner."
"Max!"
We drink a lot of port as we talk throughout the night and into the early morning. Well, I talk. He mostly listens. I admit I saw him play rugby against Konnor a few years ago and couldn't keep my eyes off him because he was...oh my gawd, so hot. He laughs.
I learn that Clay has a business degree. Xander is going to study law next year and Max is in his final semester of his Master of Architecture, which means he doesn’t have to attend lectures anymore or go to campus as much.
I get the feeling rugby is his real passion, but he brushes over sentimentalities and offers me short, curt answers to my questions. As such is Max Butcher's way. That doesn't take away from the information offered because, for once, he is actually answering me.
I wonder how he fits being a normal twenty-four-year-old in with the other side of hislife.
When we finally crawl into bed, we share a pillow and Max spoons me.
"Max?"
"Hmm?" He nuzzles my hair and tightens his arms around me. We lie above the white sheets. The ceiling fan above us is on high. The air is thick. My skin is flushed and my mind is fuzzy.
I stroke his arm. "When was the first time you knew you wanted to sleep with me?"
"Oh fuck, Cassidy, I'm trying to sleep."
