He licks his lips.
My heart slams against my ribs.
Max leans down—
And Ipanic, pulling quickly away from him and pressing my back against the opposite wall. Shaking my head, I say, “I’m sorry. I can’t,” even though I’m not even sure why I’m saying that. It’s just that I’ve pushed him away for so long that anything else feels wrong.
Dangerous.
I don’t have time for the mindfuck that is Maxwell Cruz.
He closes his eyes on a long blink, then gives a curt nod and leaves me breathless and kicking myself in the hallway.
Chapter Seventeen
Max
Sutton Hart has officially pulled my head out of the game.
Nearly two weeks have passed since the golf tourney and our near-kiss, and I can barely focus on anything but her. It’s safe to say the obsession I’ve had with this woman has reached dangerous levels. I’m useless at Apex and have barely even stepped foot into The Rabbit Hole, though I know myself well enough to know that’s probablyexactlywhere I should go to clear my head. It’s just… not the same now that I’ve tasted what it might be like to belong to one subbie.
But I scan the list of new applicants daily and she hasn’t shown up at the club.
She also hasn’t revealed my secret to the world., so maybe that was never her intent.
I feel like a cartoon roadrunner, impatiently waiting for a piano to fall out of the sky and land on my head.
I glance at my watch and curse under my breath. I’m late for the Bruins Big Ten game against the Hoosiers. Pulling on my jacket as I head out the door, I grab the keys and race to the garage.
In Friday night L.A. traffic, getting to the stadium should take a good forty-five minutes.
I’m going to do it in twenty.
The parking situation is shit at the Rose Bowl, but my membership to the Terry Donahue Club offers a few perks, so once I’m through the main gate, I’m parked and out of my car in no time.
The stadium is packed tonight, family and friends filling the suites, fans spilling out of loge boxes, and news outlets propping up cameras anywhere they’ve been allowed access. Everyone and their mother turn out for this event. Friday night games are a big deal around here, but the first Big Ten game of the season is next level exciting.
And tonight’s match between L.A. and Indiana is slated to be a phenomenal show.
I scan the suite for a familiar face, grabbing a cold beer from a young server as I stride toward the open patio. Most of the employees here are college students, and I’m always amazed that they’re old enough to sling drinks. As I get older, I swear these kids get younger and younger. There’s no way I looked this young at their age.
There are a few other agents here, as expected, but none that I’m worried about. The player I’m here to watch has already built quite a fan following, so it’s unsurprising that I’m not the only one here to observe.
Spotting Gray across the patio, I head toward him, smirking when I see the woman draped on his arm. Sasha has been his on-again-off-again girl for months now, but I had been under the impression she ended it weeks ago.
And he calls me obsessed.
I clink my beer bottle against his by way of greeting, then incline my head to the hottest woman to run a billiards table since The Black Widow. “Sasha, you look lovely as always.”
“Thank you, Max.” She grins up at me, then places a hand on Gray’s chest and her smile falls. “See? Is that so hard?”
Gray shoots me a glare and I take a long pull from the beer to hide my smile. Seems we both have a thing for ball-busters.
The game’s already in full gear, so I watch a few plays, making small talk with the people closest to me, but I have to admit, I’m only half paying attention.
I can’t quite focus on the task at hand, my mind wandering to dark bathrooms and dirty secrets. The entire first quarter is over in a blink, and even when I really try to focus on the second, my mind insists on wandering. I can’t get Sutton Hart—or that night in my downstairs bathroom—out of my head.
She’s everything I think about. It was bad before, always there in the back of my mind, the silly hope that I’d bump into her at a charity gala or a sporting event. For years now, I’d show up to watch a prospective client dominate the field or court, all the while scanning the stands for the woman who gives me nothing when all I want is to give her everything.
