The fact that he knew what scent her shampoo was pleased Bo. Not that she would give him the satisfaction of knowing that. “I was cleaning,” she explained. “This house is a mess.”
He didn’t try to argue with her on that point. “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to cook and clean for me. We’re past that point now.”
“Don’t worry, I don’t want any payment for it,” Bo said. “But you said I could have this bathroom for myself, and I don’t want to shower in mould and mildew. Also, have you ever thought about picking your towel off the hallway floor and, I don’t know, hanging it up?”
“I meant to put it in the washing machine, but I’ve been preoccupied. Eight hours of daily piano practice will do that to you. Not that I have to justify my choices within my own home to you or anyone else.”
“You’re messy,” Bo said again, crossing her arms over chest and matching his pose. “I’m not. So, I’d appreciate it if yourpreoccupied, piano-playingfingers could pick your towel up at least.” She could feel herself getting worked up, her tiredness and earlier argument with Willa making her cranky. “I don’t like mess.”
Max stared at her for a moment. “Why are you in such a pissy mood?” he asked finally. “Are you really going to bicker with me about a fucking towel, of all things?”
“I’m not in a pissy mood—”
“You are,” Max insisted. “I can feel annoyance rolling off you in waves. What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on. I’m fine.”
Max gave her another look. “No, you’re not. Something’s bothering you, and it isn’t the towel on the hallway floor. Not really.”
Bo took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart and bring down what was probably an unhealthily high blood pressure. “You’re right: I am in a bad mood,” she confessed. “I argued with a friend this morning.”
“So?” Max gave an infuriating shrug. “You argue with me all the time. You’re good at it.”
“Yes, but, my friend and I . . . we never argue. Not normally. I’m not used to it, I don’t like it, and now I’m out of sorts because of it.”
“What did you argue about?” Max asked, and it was odd, how his eyes went from hard and questioning to soft and compassionate within seconds. There was genuine concern within them, the colour of his irises like the stillest of well waters, and Bo was mesmerized by the shifting nature of his gaze. Quickly, she looked down and away from his kind but penetrating face. “What did you argue about?” Max asked again. “You’ll feel better if you tell someone, and I’m here.”
Bo squirmed with momentary discomfort. “You,” she finally admitted. “We argued about you.”
“Me?” Max looked surprised. “Why on earth would you argue about me?”
Bo squirmed again. “Well, umm, my friend . . . she thinks our, umm,arrangementis a bad idea. A really bad idea.”
Max didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he leaned against the doorway, and Bo could hear his breath as he inhaled and exhaled slowly. He was clearly thinking, and Bo swallowed as she continued to stare at the floor, her toes still bare against the cool white tiles.
“Bo,” Max eventually said, his tone calm and measured. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, Bo dragged her eyes up from the floor to meet Max’s gaze. There was genuine curiosity in the look he gave her, and she swallowed nervously again.
“Doyouthink our arrangement is a bad idea?” he asked her, and Bo shrugged.
“Probably.”
For a moment, Max said nothing. He leaned against the doorway, looking at her with a pensive expression. He was clearly thinking, clearly working something out, and Bo realized that once again she was stood before him wearing next to nothing while he had time to consider the world. She really needed to invest in a new bathrobe. Or at least, reclaim the one she’d shagged Max in from her clothesline.
“Look, Bo, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. That’s not what our arrangement is about . . . or at least, not what I intended it to be. If you think it’s a bad idea, we should stop.”
A flare of panic lit within her, and instantly, she placed a hand upon his chest. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, calm and even as always, and once more she wondered just what it would take to make this manfeel.
“I don’t want to stop,” she told him, smoothing out a wrinkle in his shirt. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“But you think we’re probably a bad idea?”
“Well, yes. I mean, don’t you?”
Max shook his head. “No. You’re a grown single woman; I’m a grown single man. We get along tolerably well, there’s chemistry between us, and we’re making the best of the odd situation we’ve been thrown into. I think we’re a good idea. But then,” he added, giving her a wry smile, “I would think that, wouldn’t I? Our arrangement means I get to have sex on aregular basis with a beautiful and kind woman. Of course I think it’s a good idea.”
Bo chewed on her lip. “But we hardly know one another.”
