What is hedoingto me?
One chivalrous act and I’m suddenly forgetting that he’s MaxwellfreakingCruz? Not only is he the biggest regret from my past—hello!—but he’s my direct competition. He doesn’t get to be the man who wakes up the butterflies in my stomach after years of hibernation.
Conversation resumes around us, and I try to focus on my meal, all the while painfully aware of Max’s attention. His gaze never leaves me.
Every time I chance a glance at him, our eyes meet, and he smirks in that arrogant way of his.
Maybe I should just give in, let him get it out of his system so I can move on with my damn life.
I snort and all eyes turn toward me.
Blinking, I look up, and it’s obvious that I’ve made a sound at the absolute wrong time. I look at Anderson and his eyes are wide, his lips twitching on a smile.
I’ve missed something important in the conversation.
“Sorry, I…” I clear my throat and leave the sentence unfinished.
“So,” the woman beside me continues, “the vet said we couldn’t save her…”
Oh my god.
I close my eyes shut, trying with all my might not to laugh.
Max squeezes my leg and I swivel my head to meet his gaze. He winks and I can hold it back no longer. I burst intolaughter, then quickly excuse myself, leaving the table as swiftly as possible.
Poor girl’s telling a story about her dead cat—dog?—and I’mlaughing. I’m a monster.
This only makes me laugh harder.
I don’t stop until I’m in the bathroom alone, leaning over the counter as I stare at myself in the mirror. Wild eyes and flushed cheeks.
That man has me all out of sorts. The pressure building throughout brunch has me ready to burst like a shaken can of soda.
Shaking my head, I slip into a stall—might as well take this opportunity to empty my bladder—and when I’m finished, I wash my hands, give myself one more pointed look in the mirror, then pull the door open and step out into the hallway.
Right into Max’s broad chest.
“Whoa,” he says, gripping my upper arms to steady me.
I huff, looking up into his amused brown eyes. “What are you doing?”
His brows furrow. “Waiting for you.”
I pure my lips even as my heart stumbles over itself. “Why?”
He shrugs. “No reason, really. Just thought you might want to know that they’ve moved on to talking about dead grandmas now, if you feel like getting a head start on your comedy routine.”
“Oh my god.” With a groan, I squeeze my eyes shut and drop my head, then instantly freeze as I realize what I’ve done. My forehead rests against his too-big chest.
His fingers flex on my biceps.
I breathe in, stupidly drawing in that signature scent of his, then I lick my lips and lift my head. When our eyes meet, the heated look in his steals my breath.
I reach out, settling my hands onto his waist.
He pulls me closer and I tilt my head back.
His chest rises and falls on a deep breath.
