He looks from the road to me, eyes wide with surprise. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
He pulls me toward him again, and I nestle beneath his arm, closing my eyes. I feel good about my decision; the more dishonesty I can expel from my life, the better.
The truck rumbles onward, eventually into our neighborhood. Max pulls into his driveway and kills the engine. I lift my head to look into his uncertain eyes.
“I thought you’d fallen asleep,” he whispers, brushing my hair back. We glance at my house at the same time, a cloud of foreboding suspended over the truck. My dad’s Durango’s still gone, but all the same, I hate the thought of walking across the street.
“Do you have to go home?” Max asks as I say, “Can I stay with you awhile longer?”
He flashes me a smile, amusement and mischief and arrogance squished into one. “You can stay with me all night if you like.”
It’s late, and the Holdens’ house is quiet as we make our way up the stairs. Bill and Marcy are likely in bed, and Ivy’s probably celebrating single-girl status with Becky and a box of wine.
Max closes his bedroom door while I slip my shoes off and make myself comfortable on his bed. He turns and stalks toward me all threateningly, but I know better. His jaw drops when I laugh, and he charges the bed like he’s on his way to the end zone. He hovers over me and kisses me, a hot, needy kiss that leaves me breathless. When it’s over, his face is a fascinating mix of desire and restraint. He asks, “Do you want me to put on a movie?”
“Um,no. Not unless you want to.”
“I wasn’t sure if you’d feel like… you know. We can just hang out.”
“Aren’t you considerate?”
He smiles. “Only on my best days.”
“Thanks, but I think too much when I’m just hanging out.”
I pull him close and kiss him hard, and he quits being chivalrous and gallant and starts acting like the lustful teenage boy I need him to be. I sneak my hands under the hem of his button-down and the T-shirt he wears beneath. His skin is on fire, and smooth, like satin stretched over stone. I trail my hands up his torso, as far as I can within the confines of his shirts.
He sits up, suddenly, and yanks them both over his head.
I might be hyperventilating.
“Hey,” he says, resting his palm on my cheek. “You okay?”
I nod, leaning into his hand.
He stretches out next to me and I reach for his arm, trailing the tips of my fingers over his skin. He’s watching me, and his expression… It’s awed and adoring and completely disarming. No one’s ever looked at me the way he’s looking at me now, and for a moment I’m overwhelmed by the intense physicality of my feelings for him. I’ve heard love talked about a million times, in a million different ways, but I’ve never imagined it would feel like this, so raw and powerful.
His hand wanders to my stomach. His fingertips drift under my shirt and trace circles over my skin, slowly, higher and higher. His touch is torture, and it’s bliss. It makes me shiver, and wonder how far he’ll go, and hope he’ll never, ever stop. But then, like the gentleman he’s been raised to be, he smooths the hem of my shirt down. “I won’t push.”
“I know.”
He pulls me against him, until we’re a lace of limbs.
We lay perfectly still for what might be the very best minutes of our day.
31
MY SUNDAY MORNING TRUE BREW SHIFT ISwinding down when my dad’s Durango pulls up to the window. I haven’t spoken to him—haven’t even seen him—since he spotted me at the Yellow Door last night. I’d prefer to keep it that way, but Kyle’s wiping down café tables and chatting up customers, and I’m left with no choice but to slide the window open.
“What can I get for you?” I ask politely, as if he’s a stranger.
He shifts the Durango into park, staring crossly through the open window. “My usual cappuccino, and a minute to talk to you.”
I splash milk into a pitcher and set it to steam. “What about?”
“For starters, I’d like to know what you were doing in Seattle last night.”
