Lost in Me

by Lexi Ryan

Chapter Thirteen

  Max props his bare feet on my coffee table and sips a beer. I had no idea a man’s bare feet could be so damn sexy.

  The engagement party couldn’t have gone any better, but I’m glad it’s over. As soon as we got back to my apartment, all my fears and insecurities faded away. Because Max makes me feel good.

  “I hear you picked out a dress last week,” Max says.

  “I’m not sure if I picked it out or my mom did, but that’s more or less true.”

  He frowns. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s beautiful, and hopefully you will like it.”

  I take the beer from his hands and set it on the end table before straddling him. I’m still in the red dress, in no hurry to put an end to the way his eyes roam over me while I’m wearing it.

  I sink onto his lap, my knees on either side of his hips. His gaze floats down to the dress’s low neckline and he swallows.

  “I’ve missed you this last week.” I rub my fingers over the stubble of his jaw. “Are you working a lot more than usual or is this normal?”

  He shrugs. “Money’s a little tight and I had to let a couple of part-timers go. Summer’s always slow. It’ll pick up when the semester starts and the Sinclair students decide they want to work out in something nicer than the dungeon that the college tries to pass off as a gym.”

  “Hmm. Well, we’ll have to figure out how I can see you more.”

  “When your doctor says it’s okay, we’ll run together again. That was always us time.”

  I arch a brow. “No offense to your very healthy-sounding plans, but I had a different kind of exercise in mind.”

  His eyes darken, his pupils dilating, and I slip the dress’s thin straps from my shoulders.

  He slides his hands under the soft cotton and cups my ass. “Hanna?”

  “Mmm?” My eyes float closed as his fingers massage into tight muscles.

  “What happened to your underwear?”

  I look up at him through my lashes. “I took them off when I got home. Seemed like they might just be in the way.”

  I kiss the corner of his mouth, the stubble at the edge of his jaw, and open my mouth against his neck. He yanks my hips forward and lifts his in one liquid movement, pressing my exposed sex to the hard denim of his jeans.

  “You know the worst thing about our night in the steam room?”

  I pull back. “I didn’t know there was a worst thing.”

  “Oh, there was something.” He traces my bottom lip with his thumb. “I couldn’t see you. I want to see you.”

  He wraps his arms around me and stands. I squeak and wrap my legs around him, locking my ankles behind his back to hold on.

  He carries me to the bedroom, lowers me to the bed, and clicks on the light on the bedside table.

  Slowly, he trails his gaze over me, from my red-painted toenails to my thighs. I lift off the bed as he grips the hem of the dress and pulls it off over my head. His eyes are hot when they return to mine. Hot and needy. It takes my breath.

  He pulls off his shirt and climbs next to me in his jeans. I wish he’d get naked, but his hands are on me before I can ask, his fingers following the path his eyes just took—from my toes, up my calves, to my thighs. He hesitates between my legs and skims a finger right over my center before resuming his northward journey over my navel and to my breasts.

  I’m already wet and aching and breathing heavily, and he hasn’t done anything but skim his fingers over me.

  “Tell me what you like.”

  What I like? Who would know that better than him? “I just—”

  His phone beeps and buzzes from his pocket. “Sorry.” He digs it out and tosses it on the floor without looking at it. “You were saying?”

  I shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “You. That’s what I like. Just you.”

  He groans and lowers his mouth to mine, one leg nestled between my thighs.

  His phone beeps and buzzes again, clattering against the floor.

  “You should check that,” I say against his lips.

  He exhales heavily and climbs off me to retrieve it, but when he looks at the screen, something in his face changes. “I’m so sorry. I’m going to have to go.” He taps the screen and shoves the phone back into his pocket. When he looks at me again, he rakes his gaze over me and shakes his head. “I don’t want to, but I have to.”

  I push onto my elbows and frown. “What’s wrong? Who was that?”

  “It’s a friend.” He grabs his shirt off the floor and tugs it on over his head. “I’ll fill you in on the details later, but I have to go help her out.”

  Her? My hands shake as I pull my dress back on and follow him to the door. He shoves his feet into his shoes, and my stomach twists. My voice is weak when I ask, “Who?”

  I can tell by the way he stiffens that I’m not going to like the answer. “Meredith.”

  The name hits me like a punch in the gut. Meredith. My mind conjures the images of him leaving on Valentine’s Day. His sweet attention completely diverted the moment she texted. The way he hurried out the door when she needed him. And now, on the night of our fucking engagement party, he’s going to her.

  “What does she need?” I ask, but my question is masked by the ringing of his phone.

  “I love you.” He presses a kiss to my forehead and pulls his phone from his pocket. “Hey… Yeah, I’m on my way.”

  Then he’s out the door.

  I watch him jog down the stairs, the phone to his ear the whole time. When he disappears around the corner, I return to my apartment. Breathe. Just breathe.

  But the reminder doesn’t help, and I have to rush to the bathroom to throw up.