And for reasons I can’t begin to explain, I wonder about what it would be like to make hermine.
We sit there in the thick silence, her wine glass halfway to her lips, my hand retreating knowing I just crossed a line.
She stares at me.
I stare right back.
And for the first time all night, she’s the one who breaks.
She drops her gaze, takes a long sip of wine, and turns her attention back to her plate.
I just watch her, quiet, curious, and wondering what’s going to happen now that we’ve moved an inch closer to the kind of thing that should be left in the pages of her stories. Because once it’s off the page, once it’s in my hands and in my bed, I’ll write the best story never told all over her body.
With my tongue.
But she just looked away. It's the first time she’s backed down from a challenge. Which makes me curious. I want to know why.
An American Pie Lie
Eli
Max is even quiet on the drive back to my place. No snark. No playful jabs. Not even on her phone for a change. She’s either deep in thought or still stewing about earlier. The way I touched her.
I steal a glance at her. She’s staring out the window, bottom lip between her teeth, arms folded.
I clear my throat. “So, what kind of book boy toys do you like?”
I call themboy toyson purpose, just to bait her.
“Boyfriends,” she corrects instantly.
It worked. I smirk.
“My boss and her friends are into billionaires and rich mafia types, but—”
“You aren’t?” I ask, glancing over at her.
“Rich men?” She shakes her head. “No. I prefer the stories about men who actually enjoy a simple life.”
I smile. I like simple.
“My boss is married to an incredible man—straight out of one of our billionaire romance novels. And he happens to be rich asshit. Watching the way he adores her made me think that’s what I wanted too.”
She pauses, then adds, “But after dating a few, I spent most of those dinners seeing how long I could bite my tongue before I drew blood.”
That makes me laugh. She’s really funny.
“The rich men I’ve dated were too self-absorbed. Too arrogant. All money and no substance.”
She goes quiet after that, and something settles in the silence. Something unfinished.
“Where’d your head just go?” I ask, not ready to let whatever she was about to say slip away.
“Well,” she says slowly, “there was this one guy. Nyles. He’s rich. Unfairly attractive. Sexy.”
Okay. Message received. The guy was good-looking.
“He just…” She exhales. “I don’t think he’d ever fully accept all of me. Full-spectrum me.”
