***
Gavin ducks into the elevator with a cheerful wave; the doors hush closed, and the loft exhales into silence. The camera, the lights, the staged warmth—all gone. What’s left is the real warmth still tingling on my skin where Max’s hands were.
Max turns from the hallway, rubbing the back of his neck. “You okay? Did I… make you uncomfortable?”
I’m ready to say I’m fine, ready to thank him for checking—except something raw slips out instead.
“How many women have you slept with?”
The words hang between us, pulsing in the hush. My cheeks go hot. Why did I ask that? Because every brush of his fingers feltpracticed—and suddenly I need to know if I’m just the next name on a roster.
Max’s eyebrows lift; not shocked, exactly, but thrown off balance. He sets Melody on the arm of the sofa and stays very still.
“That’s what you want to know?” His voice is careful.
I nod, mortified but unwilling to retreat. Melody blinks between us like a tiny referee.
He exhales, runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t have an exact count, Nora. It was a lot, especially during the worst years—before rehab, before I started counting consequences.”
My heart stutters. He looks away, jaw tight, then meets my eyes again. “But numbers don’t tell you who I was with them, or who I am now.”
I shift, curling my fingers around the back of a chair for steadiness. “I’m not judging—it’s just… I think you must have had a lot of practice. When you touched me, it felt like you’d done it a thousand times before, and I couldn’t tell if that’s muscle memory or—” I swallow and don’t know how to finish this sentence, so I let it hang in the air.
Max’s brow creases. “Why does it matter to you, Nora?” His tone isn’t defensive, just genuinely searching. “Tell me.”
I open my mouth, close it, then try a shrug I don’t feel. “It doesn’t—really. We’re just different, that’s all. Experience-wise.” I force a small laugh. “World-tour miles versus well-worn library card.”
He steps closer, gentle but relentless, hand bracing on the chair’s other side so the wooden back is all that separates us. “Different isn’t bad. But I don’t want you carrying silent questions around because you’re afraid to ask.”
My pulse bangs in my ears. I stare at a knot in the chair’s grain. “It’s silly.”
“Try me.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “I… don’t have any practice, Max. At all.” My voice drops to a whisper. “I’ve never slept with anyone.”
His eyes widen—surprise first, then something softer, protective. “You mean… never?”
I nod, cheeks on fire. The confession feels like stripping off armor I didn’t realize I was wearing.
Max shifts his weight, searching my face. “Nora, I don’t want to be presumptuous and end up making an ass of myself, but… I feel like there’s a reason you brought this up.”
I hug my elbows, nodding once. “There is, but it’s messy in my head.”
He lifts a hand as if to saylet me try.“Okay, I’m going to go out on a limb—risk-taking is kind of my brand. Yes, I’ve slept with a lot of women.”
My stomach flips, but I hold his gaze. “I figured.”
“And I didn’t always treat them well,” he admits. “I never promised more than a night, but feelings? None of them meant anything to me.”
I breathe in, waiting for the part that matters.
Max’s eyes soften. “Which means I’m as inexperienced with emotions as you are with the physical side. Sounds backward, but it’s true.”
“That… actually makes sense,” I whisper.
He steps closer, voice lower. “Lately, though, I’ve wanted something more. The night I met you, you made me feel—really feel— and I’ve been craving that ever since.”
My pulse kicks. “What are you saying, exactly?”
