“My God, Max.” I’m as breathless as if I’ve run here and my heart sprints up and down my chest in its own race.
Max moves from my lips to kissing his way down my neck. “Where’s your bedroom?”
I point to the hallway – my flat is small; we’ll find it – and he sweeps me up in his arms. It takes him ten steps to get to my bedroom, but he doesn’t let me down once we get there. Instead, he bends to kiss me again.
This time it’s soft and sensual - the kind of kiss that tattoos itself on my heart. I feel a wave of longing wash over me that’s so powerful I have to break away to catch my breath.
“You okay, T? Is this okay?” Max peers down at me, concern etched in his gaze.
I’m not sure. I’m not sure I can do this. The last time we were together like this…
It’s been so long and the prospect of holding Max again, being with him again makes my heart clench. But turning him away…
I look up and meet Max’s gaze. His brown eyes are steady on mine, his lips parted slightly. I could tell him I need to stop right now, and he’d put me down without protest. We could eat the food we brought home and snuggle on the couch and it would be fine.
But I don’t want fine.
I want fireworks.
“I’m okay.” I take a deep breath and nod, keeping my gaze locked on Max’s. “I want you, Max.”
He smiles at me and sets me down From that moment, I let my body say everything I can’t speak. My back arches as Max lifts my maxi dress over my head. My lips kiss his chest as he stands in front of me after lifting off his own shirt. My tongue licks the salt and sweat from his skin. My hands explore the broad plains of his back before reaching for the button on his shorts.
Max twines his fingers with mine, stopping me before I can fully undo his zipper, and leans down to kiss me again, guiding me gently down onto my bed, then sliding down to join me. I press my body to his, my breasts straining against my lacy bra. Even the thin fabric between us is too much. I want skin on skin. Everywhere.
Max kisses his way down my neck and I tug him over me. This time when I reach for his zipper, he lets me and I shove his shorts and pants down, letting my hands wander over the firm muscles of his sculpted ass. Max has always had a nice ass, but football has absolutely improved on what was already there.
I pull him down until he’s between my legs and writhe against him, letting out a thin sigh of frustration that my panties are still between us. Max gives a soft groan and says, “I want to take this slow, T, but I’m not sure how good my self-control is going to be once you’re naked.”
“I don’t want slow.” I writhe against him again. “I want you.”
Max groans again and I lift my hips to push my panties down, then prop myself up on my elbows so Max can undo my bra. He sinks down on my chest and I gasp. This. This is what I need. Then he moves between my legs and feeling my wet center on the soft skin of his shaft is nearly my undoing.
I grasp blindly for the drawer of my side table where the condoms are, but after a minute of fumbling, I say, “Condom. Now.”
Max grins at me, but he reaches over, pulling the drawer open and dumping the contents of the box on top of the table. He rips one open and leans back to roll it on. I watch because it’s sexy as hell, and I see the exact moment he hesitates.
He meets my eyes and I stare back at him for as long as I can. The memory of that night is written on his face and, although my memory is very different, in that moment we’re both back in his high school bedroom gaping at a condom.
I can’t stay there. I can’t and I won’t. I reach for him, guiding his hand to finish rolling the condom on and I murmur, “I’m on the pill.”
Because I know too much insurance is never enough.
There’s relief in Max’s smile and he leans down to kiss me. This time when he moves between my legs, I open them to let him in. He’s tentative at first, but I pull him into me until he slowly fills me. And when he begins moving, when we begin moving together, both of us gasping with pleasure, I can’t help thinking how full my heart feels, too.
Later – much later – as I watch Max sleep, his arm flung loosely across my waist, I sigh quietly. But it’s a sigh of contentment, not frustration. Because for the first time in a long time, I feel whole.
Chapter Thirty
Twelve Years Ago
“What do you think about camping, Alice?” Max asks from where he leans against the wall at Bailey’s while waiting for me to finish work. He showed up unexpectedly about ten minutes ago, which has made me lose count of the till three times already. Not because I’m disconcerted at seeing Max here – he’s shown up to escort me home from work a couple of times – but because he’s still in his football kit. He had a meeting with his coach in Manchester tonight and the fact that he came right here from that meeting means it either went very, very well or very, very bad. Max’s face, though, isn’t giving anything away.
“I’m not much of a camper, to be honest,” says Alice. “I haven’t been in years.”
“Don’t you think Tara would enjoy camping?” Max asks with a grin. He’s keeping his gaze trained on Alice, but that grin is all for me and I can’t help smiling back. We’ve been having this conversation-slash-argument about camping for the past couple weeks. Max thinks I’d love it. I think about all the spiders and I’m pretty sure he’s wrong.
“She might.” Alice shrugs and a small grin twitches the corner of her mouth as she continues. “Then again, hotel rooms are a lot warmer.”
“Exactly,” I say as I put the pound notes into the bank envelope. “Thank you, Alice.”
“That said.” Alice looks at me with her pale eyebrows raised. “I’m not sure either of you are old enough to rent a hotel room?”
“It’s hypothetical,” I say quickly. “Max thinks camping is a chance to connect with nature, but I’m pretty sure I’m as connected to nature as I need to be.”
“You haven’t seen the sun rise over the moors. It’s life changing,” says Max.
“I try to sleep through sunrise as much as possible,” I retort. “Moors or no moors.”
“A good sunrise is a sight to behold,” says Alice. Then she turns to Max. “That said, I’m with Tara on this one. Sunrise is way too early.”
“I’m outnumbered, but I will prove you wrong.” Max points at me, then at Alice. “Both of you.”
As we walk down the sidewalk towards the bus stop, I mean to tease Max and ask him if he intends to take Alice camping if he can’t get me to agree. But the thought flies out of my head the minute Max opens his mouth.
“I got an offer from the academy in Spain.” He’s almost breathless as he says it – as if holding in the words was requiring superhuman exertion.
“Oh my God! That’s amazing!” I fling my arms around him and he lifts me off ground, swinging me around. I wait until he puts me down before I say, “Congratulations. Tell me. Tell me everything.”
“I got the email this afternoon. I was going to text you straight away, but I wanted to talk to Coach first to make sure it wasn’t bullshit.” Max’s grin is almost shy. “It’s not. He said it’s not only legit but better than he’d hoped.”
“That’s amazing. So? What’s the deal? When do you they want you?”
“Well, that’s the bad part.” Max’s face falls. “They want me right after Easter. That way I can be there to get a feel for the team with the end of season matches and then I’ll have the summer to catch up on my conditioning.”
“But what about GCSEs and finishing school?” I frown. What about Shake a Leg?
What about me?
“There’s an international school and I’ll transfer there. It’s more like the baccalaureate system, so they don’t have GCSEs, but that’s probably better anyway. I’d go to school for a couple hours every day and focus the rest of my time on football for the next two years. At the end, I’ll have the equivalent of a BTEC qualification in sport that meets my high school requirements.” Max
shrugs. “Coach said it’s legit and if I ever decide I wanted to go to uni, it counts towards that. As much as any BTEC but still. I don’t see uni in my future.”
I nod. Max has always been very clear about this, but I never really let myself think about it in any practical way. The other thing I’ve not let myself think about is the timeframe. Now, when I speak, my voice sounds far away. “Two years? So that’s a definite then.”
“It’s a minimum. But when I’m eighteen I can play for anyone and I’d probably want to move on. They don’t usually keep anyone beyond age twenty unless they’re going to go into coaching, and that’s not me.”
“Wow.” I nod and make my lips curve up in a smile. “It sounds perfect for you.”
“I think it is perfect, you know?” Max bounces on the balls of his feet and then proceeds to tell me about the facilities and the coach’s qualifications through our bus ride home.
I make all the right sounds, keep a smile pasted on my face, but inside I feel like a bicycle tire with a slow leak. The more he talks, the more I deflate. By the time we get off the bus, I know I’m running on empty and, even though I feel bad, I invent a text from my mum so I can’t linger over our goodbye.
It’s only once I’m inside my front door that I let myself collapse against the back of it, sliding down onto the floor, still wearing my coat. I pull out my phone to text Rina to tell her, but I can’t make myself type the words, so I bury my head in my hands instead, letting the tears I’ve been holding in finally roll down my cheeks.
“Tara?” Tariq’s voice is concerned, more so when I look up. “What the hell? What happened? Are you okay?”
I shake my head and open my mouth, but no words come out. Tariq sinks down on the floor next to me, putting a hand on my knee.
“You’re scaring me. What happened?” His voice is gentle, but there’s an edge there, like he’s ready to go kick someone’s ass on my behalf.
I shake my head again and finally manage to eke out, “Max. Spain.”
“Max is going to Spain?” Tariq’s brow furrows, then I see understanding dawn. “Holy shit, he got in?”
Of course Tariq knows. Everyone knows.
I nod.
“Fuck, that’s amazing,” Tariq says with a grin. Then he looks at me and his grin disappears. “I mean, not for you. I get that.”
“No. It is. It’s amazing.” I manage that before a fresh round of tears starts.
“When?” Tariq asks.
“Easter.” I shake my head because I don’t want Tariq to say it.
But he does anyway.
“That’s three weeks away. Holy shit.” It’s Tariq’s turn to shake his head.
“Yeah. Holy shit.” My voice is soft. The tears roll down my cheeks, but this time I brush them away and make my voice strong as I say, “I’m really happy for him.”
“You don’t have to be, you know. No one expects that.” Pity flashes over Tariq’s face.
“I expect it. I always knew Max wasn’t going to be sticking around.”
“Better to have loved and lost? Is that the bullshit you’re trying to sell me now?” Tariq rolls his eyes.
“If you love something, set it free.” I swallow down a fresh batch of tears brewing in my throat. Mum’s not big on platitudes but I’ve heard this one forever and so has Tariq.
“If it comes back to you, it’s yours to keep,” continues Tariq.
“If it doesn’t, it never was,” I whisper to finish.
Tariq squeezes my knee and I put my hand over his. We sit there in silence for a long time. I imagine Tariq is trying to figure out if I think Max will come back to me. But I’m not.
Right now, I’m trying to figure out how I’m ever going to let him go.
Chapter Thirty-One
“You know you’re, um, humming?” Gemma asks as she bumps the refrigerator door closed with her hip in the WS kitchen.
“Am I?” I raise my eyebrows and feign surprise. “I didn’t realize.”
“You want to tell me what that’s about?” Gemma splashes milk into my tea for me before doing her own.
“I’m happy, I guess. It’s a beautiful day. Bradley signed off on my drawings without suggesting a single change.” I grin. “It’s a good day to have a good day.”
“So, this doesn’t have anything to do with spending Sunday with the mysterious Max?” Gemma’s mouth twists in a smile.
“We had a nice time.” I bite my lip so I won’t say more. I haven’t even told Scarlett yet about last night with Max.
“Nice?” Gemma winces as she says it, then shakes her head. “Nice is how you describe tea with your grandmother. This looks like more than nice.”
So much more than nice.
Aloud I say, “Not to change the subject, but I have a note in my diary that the Costumes of Rock exhibit starts at the V&A Museum this week. Do you want to go sometime? I read that they have some vintage Elton John stuff that’s totally outlandish.”
“Oh, that sounds cool. How do you know about this and I don’t?”
“My brother and sister-in-law got me a membership last year for Christmas, so I get all of the newsletters. I haven’t been in a while, so I need to use it again before it expires.” When Tariq and Sharan gave me the gift, I vowed to use it as much as possible. Which I did – in January, February, and March. Once the nice weather hit, I eased off on my weekend trips, but I need to get my money’s worth before I’m back to paying for all of the special exhibits again.
“I’d love to go. When were you thinking?” Gemma asks.
“Hey, Tara.” A voice rings out behind me before I can answer and I turn to see Esther, the intern, coming towards me. She’s carrying a brown paper bag and holds it out to me. “This was delivered for you.”
Whatever it is, it smells delicious, but I shake my head. “I didn’t order food.”
Esther shrugs. “The guy said it was for you and it has your name on the slip.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I take the bag and pull open the staples. There’s a note folded inside, and I take it out gingerly, unfolding it so I can read it.
I assume you still like Indian food? I figured you might be hungry since we worked up an appetite last night. Happy Monday and I’ll call you tonight. Max xx
The stationery is from Bhajatt, which is one of the best Indian restaurants in London. It’s not Max’s handwriting, but I imagine him dictating the message over the phone and my cheeks flush because there’s no mistaking the implication in his words.
“It’s Indian food,” I say as I lift the foil container out of the bag. I peel back the cardboard lid and let out a gasp of surprise. “Oh wow, it’s matar paneer.”
This was my absolute favorite dish back in high school and I can’t believe Max remembered.
“It smells amazing,” says Esther.
“I assume that’s from Max?” Gemma asks.
I nod, slipping the note in the pocket of my trousers. “Yeah, I told him I had a busy day today, so he ordered me in lunch.”
This is true. I did tell him I had a busy day. I also told him I’d be shattered after getting exactly ninety minutes of sleep.
“Well, isn’t he thoughtful?” Esther grins and asks, “New beau?”
“No.” I draw out the O. “We’re old friends.”
“I wish I had friends who’d buy me lunch from one of the best restaurants in town,” Esther says.
“Same,” says Gemma. “My old friends meet me for drinks and then shirk on their rounds.”
“I met an old boyfriend for lunch last weekend and he said he was going to the loo. Instead he slipped out and left me with the bill,” says Esther. “The worst part is that he actually texted a couple days later and asked me if I wanted to get together again.”
“Men are the worst,” says Gemma. “Although this Max guy might be an exception.”
“He’s had his moments, trust me,” I say. I can’t elaborate without giving away who Max is and I’m not ready to do that, so I scoop up my lunch
and my cup of tea and say, “And on that note, I’ve got to eat at my desk because I’ve got a call to prepare for. Now that Bradley’s signed off on my drawings, I need to talk it through with the builder and see if I need to go to Yorkshire or not. Gem, let me know when you want to go to the V&A. I’m up for it as long as I’m not in Yorkshire.”
“There are some gorgeous parts of Yorkshire if you need ideas for a naughty weekend,” says Gemma.
“Hell, if you’re having a naughty weekend, it won’t matter where you are,” Esther calls after me.
When Scarlett mentioned going away with Max, it seemed almost ridiculous. But now I can picture it – long walks in the country, drinks at a hole-in-the-wall pub, a charming inn with a huge canopy bed. It sounds kind of idyllic.
It also sounds like exactly the kind of thing I should stop imagining right now.
I put my lunch carefully down on my desk and stare at the note. It’s innocuous enough and out of context it could be from a friend without benefits and/or a complicated history. There are a lot of different ways to work up an appetite.
Then there’s the way Max and I worked up an appetite that makes me have to clench my thighs together at the memory. That, combined with the direction my thoughts are going, is a warning sign I can’t afford to ignore.
Romanticizing this thing with Max, pretending he’s more than an itch to be scratched, isn’t going to do me any good. Imagining a weekend away with Max isn’t going to do me any good, and neither is envisioning his grin as he dictated this note over the phone, knowing it would make me smile and blush.
I stare at it for another minute before crumpling it and tossing it in my bin because getting sentimental over Max? That would be the worst thing of all.
Chapter Thirty-Two
A Brit Player (Castle Calder Book 4) Page 12
