I set my brush on the vanity. My things were strewn across the countertop like they belonged there. My red toothbrush was in the jar by the sink, right next to Max’s green one. My toothpaste was next to his because I hated his mint-flavored brand and he wasn’t a fan of my cinnamon one. I glanced at the medicine cabinet, knowing that my Tylenol and tampons were in there, too.
I grabbed the edge of the counter and bowed my head. Lying in bed a few steps away was a man that many women would jump all over—literally and figuratively. He was gorgeous, smart, completely put together. And he wanted me.
And I’m just too broken for him.
A part of me wanted to grab my things and bolt back to my house, the house I refused to give up. It was the one thing that reminded me, and Max, that I had not given him any assurances. I had not promised him forever. Truth be told, I hadn’t guaranteed him tomorrow.
When I looked into his eyes, I knew that he knew I wanted to be with him—tomorrow and the next day and the next one after that. But there was no sense in committing myself. There was no sense in pretending like there would be a forever with Max.
Because, as heartbreaking as it was, there wouldn’t be.
There couldn’t be.
That’s why it was supposed to be just a sexual thing. Just a friends with benefits, minus the friend’s part, if necessary. I really thought that could work. It had worked with other men before him. It was the best way to operate, the way to disengage, to keep a distance. To not become entwined.
At the end of the day, or night as it were, I really underestimated the draw of Maxwell Jacob Quinn.
A few weeks after meeting him in a serendipitous way at Pinnacle Peak, I realized I wasn’t talking to any other guys. I wasn’t taking the bait when a hottie would toss me a line. I wasn’t returning calls. I wasn’t scheduling dates, for a lack of a better, more courteous, word.
I was with Max.
Once I realized how far I had fallen without knowing it, I knew I had to keep some sort of barrier up. He was gorgeous with his jet-black hair, spiked up in the front. His emerald-green eyes shone like gems. His tall, muscular frame was as hard as a brick wall and when I was held tight against it, breathing in the smell of him, it was a grown woman’s version of Disneyland—the happiest place on Earth. He was irresistible.
But I had to resist because it would end. It wouldn’t be fair to him for it not to.
I wondered if every morning would be the last I would wake up to a sticky note on my purse. If every evening would be the last time we’d play Jeopardy together, wrapped up together on the couch. Each day was like the tick of a bomb, another click to the inevitable detonation of this perfect little world I’d allowed myself to succumb to.
Max had been so patient with me, so kind, like he knew I needed to maintain space between us. He’d never pushed me for anything and let me call the shots, more or less. But now that we had been together for over a year and Cane and Jada were married and having a baby, things were starting to change just a little. I could see it in Max’s eyes—he wanted that, too.
With me.
A part of me wanted to sprint into his bedroom and wrap myself around him. I wanted to demand that he ask me the question he asked me routinely, half in jest because he knew my answer. I wanted to look in his eyes and let myself see the emotions in them, the things he tried to tell me through his mossy gaze.
But I just couldn’t. I loved him too much to do that do him. Because I did love him. I knew it, I had for a long time. Loving Max Quinn wasn’t a problem.
Loving Max Quinn was the problem.
I made my way into the bedroom. I could smell the candle he was burning, scents of vanilla wafting through the house, before I got there. I leaned against the doorframe and watched him.
Max hadn’t heard me enter. He was sprawled across the bed, a pair of crimson boxer briefs the only thing covering his divine body. His abs muscles rippled as he played with Titus, the puppy he found abandoned on a job site. In typical Max fashion, he brought the puppy home. Titus slept on Max’s chest that night, obviously in love with him from the start. I couldn’t say I blamed him—it was my favorite spot to snuggle, too.
Max rolled the chocolate-colored puppy a few times, his large hand bigger than the puppy’s head. Titus rolled across the bed and Max chuckled, stretching out on his back. The dog padded across the blankets and plopped down beside him, panting from the play. Max reached over and stroked his stomach. “How are ya, boy? You like this, huh? You like playin’ with me?”
“I’m not sure how anything wouldn’t like you touching it like that,” I laughed, walking into the room.
Max popped up on his elbows and smiled sexily. His dimple shining in his cheek, his hair a wild mess, he looked downright edible. “Get your ass over here and I’ll touch you like that, too.”