“Definitely.”
“You continue to devastate everyone with your rendition of ‘Dreams’?”
“It’s been a while,” I say with a laugh as a mild melancholy hits my heart. Since taking over The Mirage, free time has become nonexistent for me. Most Fridays, if I’m lucky, I’m at the hotel doing check-ins. And even if no one’s staying the night, there’s always something to do. The girl who could pop in here all nonchalant and ready to belt out Fleetwood Mac isn’t me anymore.
Max holds his beer out to me. “Cheers.”
I tap my beverage against his and bring the cool glass to my lips.
“Whoa,” Max exclaims, gripping my forearm so I spill some of the foam onto my fingers. His hand is powerful yet gentle, and the touch zings like a static shock. “Eye contact.”
I pull a face at him.
“It’s a thing. Eye contact when you toast and take your first drink.”
“Says who?”
“Lots of European countries do it.”
“Oh,” I say, raising my eyebrows at him. “Sophisticated.”
“It’s considered bad luck if you don’t—or some people think it means seven years of bad sex.”
“Well.” A flush creeps up my neck. “We can’t have that.”
We lock eyes in a surreal sort of déjà vu, familiar and foreign. How many nights did we spend here, grease dripping down our chins and high on sugar, carbs, and conversation? But now that he’s back in this spot, I don’t know how to act.
His unwavering attention as he takes that first sip—dark brown eyes burning into mine—makes me want to look away, but I don’t. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and my mouth goes dry despite the drink.
“So,” Max says. “Kinda different hanging out in person instead of leaving voicemails for each other.”
If I could crawl under a rock, I would. The voicemail situation wasn’t something we discussed; it happened organically. He left one for me, and I was brave enough to call him back…when I knew he’d be sleeping because of the time difference. I’ve thought of picking up when his name flashed on the phone, but I never dared.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Things with The Mirage get so busy sometimes, it’s easier—”
“Don’t worry.” He shrugs. “I understand. We could take turns sneaking off to the bathroom to leave a message after the beep, if you’d like.”
“Well, since you suggested it…”
The corner of his mouth twitches, and a dimple appears. “Or, you know, we could always schedule a time to chat. I’d pick up.”
I know.
“Maybe,” I say.
“You look good.” He eyes me, and I take the moment to admire the clean cut of his jaw. “And The Mirage…from what I saw, you’re doing a great job.”
“It’s a helluva lot of work,” I say, pulling a cocktail napkin onto my lap and shredding tiny tears along one edge. The compliments make my skin prickle. “But I enjoy it.”
“Yeah?”
“Of course. Might seem silly to you, but I do.”
“What you do is not silly.” A crease forms between his eyebrows. “I would never think that.”
“I always…” I shake my head, not wanting to live in the past. “Never mind.”
“What?”
