That sinful, wild, unforgettable night.
My heart thunders beneath my palm as I attempt to find the breath that has vacated my lungs. “It’s not like this is a brand, Max.”
His eyes flinch as his gaze drops to my hand. “You sure about that?”
Liquid heat pools between my legs, and I have to fight the urge to rub my thighs together. His eyes are smoldering. On me.
Any other man who would have the nerve to say this to me would probably get a drink thrown in his face.
Max is another story.
I struggle to swallow the knot in my throat. “A week ago, you couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”
His eyes darken as he quirks a brow. “Things change.”
Anxiety stirs in my belly at the words coming out of his mouth. They are words I’ve wanted to hear ever since our first kiss. Yet still, they’re hard to believe, hard to process, hard to compute. Is this really what I even want anymore?
I turn in my chair, my head whirling with the unmistakable intention in Max’s eye. I can’t think with him staring at me like that. I need space. I need time. I need… “To pee.”
I’m not sure which of those words I said out loud as I stand, my ankles wobbling in my heels as I use stray barstools for balance to make my way to the dingy dive bar bathroom located in the basement. I can feel Max’s eyes on me as I walk away, and I have to stop myself from looking back at him.
Clicking the lock on the bathroom door, I flatten myself against the wall, trying to catch my breath and figure out what the hell just went on up there?
Why is Max here? Why did he send Jeff home? Why is he looking at me like that after blowing me off once? I hate that I have insecurities bubbling up, but rejection does funny things to people. And I refuse to put myself in the position to be humiliated again.
I pull my phone out of my purse and send a quick text to Dakota.
Me: Meet me in the bathroom.
While waiting for her, I debate if Max’s interest in me is real or just a product of the games I was playing earlier in the week. Did he come here specifically to crash my date? If jealousy is the only reason Max is here, I don’t think I’m interested.
I want him to want me for me…not stupid mind games.
A bang on the door has me sighing with relief as I rush to let Dakota in. When Max’s broad frame steps into the women’s restroom, I turn my back on him and run my hands through my hair.
“I said I needed space,” I exclaim, bracing myself on the sink.
“You said you needed to pee. I gave you time to pee.”
“What are you doing here, Max?” My eyes find him in the mirror. He’s standing next to a women’s tampon dispenser and finally looks human enough for my lust-filled brain to clear. “Did you come here to crash my date?”
He stares back at my reflection. “I came here to check on you. You didn’t reply to my text.”
“I didn’t need a ride home. I thought the lack of response would have made that clear.”
He tilts his head. “I thought we talked about you not texting me.”
“We were referring to Everly, Max…not you!” I turn on my heel to face him.
“Well, let’s change that.” He steps so close to me and adds, “I want you to text me. I like to know what you’re doing.”
“My weekend plans are none of your business!” I snap, hating that his heat is causing my nipples to pebble. I cross my arms over my chest.
His eyes narrow imperceptibly. “You always have secrets.”
“No, no way. You don’t get to gaslight me on this.” I thrust my finger into his hard chest. “You rejected me last week. You ran out of my place like you were on fire. Which means you don’t get to show up on my date and toss out accusations.”
I move to head for the door and get out of the confines of Max’s scent, but before I can grab the handle, he hooks my arm and twirls me around to look at him.
“Why are you running from me? I came here for you.” He has the nerve to look confused.
“Because I don’t see why you’re interested now!” I cry as my gaze focuses on his broad chest. His eyes are too probing. Too curious. Too focused. I can’t look at him when I add the dark truth that swirls in my belly. “I can’t be the type of girl you normally pursue.”
His finger crooks under my chin, forcing me to look up at his angry expression. His nostrils flare when he asks, “What does that mean?”
I feign a casual laugh that I don’t feel. “You’re rich, Max! And you’re successful. You can get any girl you want. You probably sleep with tiny supermodels you can toss over your shoulder. That is not me.”