Page 175
“You don’t even know who it is.”
“I don’t care.”
“That might actually be important.”
“Nothing is important before coffee.”
I grinned. “I’m framing that, although I’m pretty sure Theron disagrees.”
“Theron is not in my bed.”
I stared at him until comprehension crossed his face, and Max closed his eyes. “Do not.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I was only going to point out that I’m extremely glad Theron isn’t in your bed.”
Max rolled on top of me before I could say anything else, although he was careful enough not to put his full weight against my bruises. I was still laughing when he kissed me, and by the time we eventually surfaced again, the phone had stopped ringing and I’d completely forgotten why I thought answering it mattered.
Responsibility eventually won, although I preferred to blame our surrender on the fact that I needed coffee.
By the time I made it downstairs, wearing Max’s sweatpants and one of his T-shirts because finding my own clothes required more commitment than I currently possessed, he was already in the kitchen attempting breakfast.
I stopped in the doorway and watched him for a moment. “What are you doing?”
Max glanced over his shoulder. “Cooking.”
“I can see that. I’m trying to work out why.”
His eyebrows rose. “I cook.”
“You heat things until they’re no longer cold. That’s not necessarily the same thing.”
“I make proper French food, not American crap.”
I leaned against the counter, watching him return his attention to the bacon with an offended expression. “This is going to be a very long relationship.”
Max looked back at me, but the teasing answer I expected never came because something in his expression changed, leaving behind a softness that made my smile disappear.
“Oui,” he said quietly. “I hope so.”
My chest tightened enough that standing across the kitchen from him suddenly seemed ridiculous, so I crossed the room and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind, pressing my face between his shoulder blades while his hand immediately came down to cover mine.
“You will make me burn the bacon.”
“I don’t care.”
“I care because I was planning to feed it to you.”
I kissed his back through his shirt. “You ruin romantic moments.”
“I improve them with bacon.”
I laughed, and Max turned in my arms until he could kiss my forehead. We stayed like that while breakfast cooked beside us, wrapped around each other in the middle of his kitchen, and there was something almost overwhelming about how ordinary it felt. Yesterday, I’d scored the biggest goal of my career and Max had kissed me in front of the entire hockey world, while this morning, he was worried about burning my bacon as I stood barefoot in his kitchen wearing his clothes.
I knew which one I wanted more of.
