An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)

by Sophie Jackson

  She smiled, buzzed, her right hand meandering across her stomach. “Hey.”

  Max cleared his throat, his gaze devouring her from the tips of her toes to her tits. “Hey.”

  “You about done thinking so hard in there all by yourself?”

  He pressed his lips together, fighting a smile. Oh, yeah. She was even feistier when she drank. He crossed his arms over his chest, because fuck, what else was there to do but look? “Maybe.”

  “Good.” She nodded toward his crotch, where he knew he was sporting a righteous hard-on. “You gonna come over here with that?”

  “Behave. I’m not fuckin’ you while you’re drunk.”

  “I know. Besides, I wasn’t thinking about that,” she murmured, her eyes closing while her fingertips whispered across her chest.

  Sweet Jesus.

  “What were you thinking about?” Max took two steps toward the bed, pulling his T-shirt over his head and launching it across the room.

  Grace hummed when she saw his chest and pressed her teeth into her bottom lip. “You’re so beautiful.”

  “I guess beautiful is an improvement on pretty. How much have you drunk, exactly?”

  She giggled. “Enough.” Yeah, Max knew that. He’d been keeping a watch on every drink that she’d bought or had bought for her all night, making sure she was okay. She licked her lips. “Enough to know I want your hands on me.”

  Max kneeled on the bed by her feet. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I want my hands on you, too.”

  Max reached out and trailed his palm up her shin. It was as smooth and as soft as he’d imagined. Her breath left her in a ragged whisper.

  “Where would you want to touch me?” he asked. Her gaze drifted from his face to his jeans and as God was his fucking witness, Max’s cock jumped. “I told you,” he grunted, placing a hand on the outside of both of her feet. “Touch me wherever and whenever you want.” He unfastened the button on his Levi’s and slid the zipper down, showing a glimpse of gray underwear. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on the inside of Grace’s knee. She whimpered. He did it again and she moaned at the same time her legs dropped open.

  Fuck, he just wanted to bury his face in her, lose himself for days in her wet and heat. Instead he kissed her inner thigh, noting the way her breathing hitched. She never flinched. He did it again and she arched her back. “Oh, God.”

  Max hummed into her skin, smelling and tasting that damn cocoa butter that he liked so much. His tongue traveled the inside of her thigh.

  “Oh, God,” she repeated, her hands shifting on the bed.

  “You’re okay,” Max whispered, rubbing a gentle hand against her stomach.

  “No, I—”

  “I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

  “No, Max.”

  He nuzzled the crease where her thigh met her hip. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  “Move. I need you to move.”

  “Move?”

  “I’m going to be sick.”

  Max sat up as though his ass were on fire, narrowly dodging Grace’s swinging arms and legs as she dropped clumsily off the side of the bed and veered into the bathroom, smacking into the doorjamb before making it through and emitting the most fuck-awful gagging noise Max had ever heard.

  After a beat of disbelief, he cupped a hand to his forehead. Talk about a libido killer. He looked down at himself and his now half-flaccid cock and grunted. “Jesus,” he muttered while clambering off the bed and zipping himself back up. He peeked around the door of the bathroom and saw Grace kneeling on the floor, head in the throat of the toilet. “You okay?”

  She groaned. “No.” She sniffed and heaved some more.

  Approaching cautiously, Max gathered her hair that splayed down her back as well as the parts that had fallen forward in her haste to get to the john and sat on the edge of the bathtub, holding it clear of any rogue chunks.

  “Crap, I’m sorry,” she garbled before she hurled again.

  Max chuckled at the sight of her in her sexy underwear, upchucking the night’s festivities. “Don’t worry about it.” Of course, it wasn’t how he’d imagined tonight to go, but that didn’t matter.

  Keeping her hair in one hand, he rubbed her back softly with the other.

  Rhinos.

  Rhinos, elephants, and any other large, stampeding-type mammals had obviously invaded Grace’s bedroom last night and jumped all over her head. How else could she explain the horrific pain that wrapped her entire skull and the grotesque throbbing going on behind her eyelids? Seriously. Her eyes had a damned pulse.

  She cracked one open, immediately hating the glorious sunshine that pierced her pupils. Christ Almighty, it had been a very long time since she’d drunk so much. Truth be told it had been a very long time since she’d been relaxed enough to enjoy herself to such a degree. And enjoy herself she had. She moved sluggishly, lifting her head gingerly from the pillow, realizing quickly that she was wearing only her underwear and that she was alone in the bed. And no wonder, the smell of stale alcohol and vomit lingered around the room.

  Oh, Lord, the fool she had made of herself last night! Flashes of Max’s magnificent chest and the feel of his luscious mouth against her raced through her mind, sending her into another merry-go-round of dizziness. She’d been so sure with all those cocktails still swilling around inside her that seducing Max was, at the time, the most epic of ideas. Puking mid-foreplay, however, had not been part of her audacious plan.

  “Nicely played, Grace,” she muttered to herself, lifting the covers and dropping her legs off the side of the bed. Dammit, he’d even held her hair back while she puked. Her face heated with embarrassment. Exhaling despondently, she noticed a glass of water on the side table, and next to it two pills that looked suspiciously like Tylenol. Grace’s chest fluttered. Max was always considerate, but it never failed to make her all warm and fuzzy inside.

  She knocked them back before staggering to the bathroom and the shower, hoping to God that the warm water would help wash away the shame of the previous night.

  By the time Grace had washed and dressed herself in shorts and a vest top, everyone was either by the lake sunning themselves, swimming, or, like Ruby and Josh, playing tennis. Ruby didn’t even look like she’d seen an alcoholic drink, let alone matched Grace cocktail for cocktail all night. Damn her. Max was nowhere in sight. She exhaled a breath of relief, not quite ready to face him.

  Aunt Fern, Carla, and Adele looked over from their loungers as she approached, smiling gamely.

  “You’re up!” Adele said with a grin.

  “Hey! Hey! Dancing girl’s here!” Buck called from the water, where he stood with Caleb, who smiled widely at her. Grace waved in humiliation. “Let’s start this party!” Buck added.

  Carla glanced at her watch. It was past noon. “I knew all that dancing would tire you out.”

  “Yeah,” Grace answered, vaguely remembering that she and Carla had become super best friends over the course of the night, conveying each other’s awesomeness as more and more drinks were consumed. Apparently, she wasn’t quite the bitch Grace had originally considered her to be. “I think the alcohol helped, too.”

  All three women laughed before Adele offered a lounger, which Grace took gratefully.

  “We’ve all eaten. Can I fix you something, honey?” Aunt Fern asked.

  Grace’s stomach rolled at the mere thought. “No. Thank you.” She held up her bottle of water. “I’m good.”

  Lying down helped. Grace sat back and closed her eyes behind her shades, enjoying the warmth and the sounds of splashing water and laughter. Despite her heinous hangover, she allowed the calm and contentment that encircled her to soak in. It was as close to peace as Grace had felt in a long time, surrounded by good people— friends—who accepted her without question.

  A low, appreciative whistle conjured Grace’s eyes open. “Goddamn, girl, I’d give my high teeth for a piece of that ass.” Adele looked over at her. “Please, tell me you’re hit
ting the shit out of that.”

  Grace followed Adele’s admiring gaze to see Max and his uncle running up the shore toward them. Max was shirtless and had clearly worked up a sweat. It glistened and enhanced the grooves of his chest and stomach. His whole body tensed and flexed as he moved, muscles working hard, his cheeks blowing in and out, as he concentrated on each stride. He sure was a vision.

  A deep warmth settled in Grace’s stomach and between her legs. Dammit, who was she kidding? Adele was right; she should be hitting the shit out of that. She managed to school her features just as he slowed to a walk and approached her, sly smile in place, looking far too delicious with his chest heaving and black hair wet and clinging to his forehead. He ran a hand through it, making it stand in all different directions, and grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler.

  “Well, good afternoon, Starshine,” he said before he gulped at his drink. He swallowed and held the bottle to his cheek. “How’s the head?”

  She grimaced. “Fuzzy.”

  He chuckled and raised his eyebrows. “I’m sure it is. A gallon of cocktails will do that.” He glanced over at Carla pointedly before fixing Grace with an intense stare. “What exactly do you remember from last night?”

  She cleared her throat and pulled at the bottom of her top. “Bits and bobs . . . puking, dancing, being an idiot.” She was hopelessly aware of there being three sets of curious eyes and ears watching and listening to their conversation. She sat up as if to lift herself from the lounger and removed her shades. “Can we talk?”

  Max’s face lost some of its playfulness. “Sure. I need a shower anyway.” He looked over at his aunt. “Won’t be long.” He turned and made his way back to the house, Grace following close on his heels. They were halfway up the stairs to their room when he spoke again. “You all right apart from the hangover?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I just wanted to apologize.”

  Max stopped short by their bedroom door. “What for?”

  Grace moved past him, entering the room with a loud sigh. She felt him follow and heard the door shut. “I’m sorry I did what I did.” She reached the bed and turned to him, fisting her hands together, trying to find the right words. “It was silly and completely inappropriate.”

  Max stared at her for a beat and lifted his shoulders. “No problem.”

  “And I’m sorry for getting so drunk. It wasn’t fair to you to have to deal with me being a drunken mess, especially with what you’re already dealing with. It was inconsiderate, and I’m sorry.”

  That was the foremost concern that had been tearing Grace up as she’d showered. She understood all too well the struggle Max faced every day with his addiction and the last thing he needed was her shoving right into his face the fact that he couldn’t have a drink.

  For a brief moment, he looked like he was going to argue, but he seemed to think better of it. He rubbed a hand across his chin and nodded. “I appreciate that, but it’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. I wasn’t a good friend to you last night. You deserve better and I promise I won’t do it again.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she continued. “I know you’ll say I’m wrong but you know I’m right. Please, just let me grovel?”

  He chuckled, his smile relaxed and beautiful. He waved a hand. “Fine. Grovel away.”

  She pushed her hands into the pockets of her shorts. Max watched her for a quiet, comfortable moment before he took two steps closer. Grace’s heart stuttered. It was doing that more and more frequently around him and she couldn’t decide whether it was amazing or terrifying.

  “I have to admit,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. It was his touching-each-other’s-fun-parts voice and it immediately did crazy things to her body. Her blood seemed to heat at the same time her organs squeezed lusciously. “Seeing you spread out on the bed in nothing but lace is an image that will live with me for a long time.” His eyes lingered down her body while he pressed his tongue to the back of his top teeth. She wanted to know what his tongue tasted like. “You looked hot as fuck, girl.”

  Her words floated on a slow breath. “I’m glad you liked it.”

  “I did.”

  “Maybe I can do it for you again sometime.”

  He smirked. “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “How about when we get back home?”

  The way the word “home” struck Grace’s chest was altogether too wonderful. “I’m sure I could arrange something.”

  He smiled wolfishly. “Outstanding. Now, please excuse me. I have to take another very cold shower.”

  She watched him walk away, grumbling to himself about hypothermia, his back muscled, the tattoo exquisite and wet with sweat, making her throat even drier. The bathroom door shut and she heard the water turn on. She fell backward onto the bed and closed her eyes wondering what it would be like to join him in there. The anxiety that rose at the thought was minuscule in comparison to how it had been, but she remained where she was. She knew that she was ready to do more things with Max, not least of all because the electric tension between them was gathering enough voltage to power a small city.

  Nevertheless, Grace also knew that her initial friendly intentions toward him were very slowly morphing into something else entirely. Something larger, scarier, something she’d promised herself, promised him that she wouldn’t allow. It sat silent yet growing in a small cavity in her chest, next to the hope of Max one day maybe feeling the same way.

  She placed her hands on her face and breathed, knowing deep down that that was never going to happen. Shit, she was in trouble.

  “Dude, I can’t do this anymore. Can I come and stay with you? Please?”

  Max snorted down the phone in reply, lying back on his bed at the boardinghouse while flicking through the channels on the wall-mounted TV. Carter had been whining for the last ten minutes about Kat and their damned wedding. Apparently, Kat’s incessant planning and organizing was slowly driving Carter beyond distraction.

  “I love her,” Carter added. “Truly. I do, but I can’t cope with any more talk of being measured for a suit—which you still need to have done, by the way, don’t think you can escape this just because your ass isn’t here—flowers, and favors. Favors, Max! I didn’t even know what a fucking wedding favor is! Do you? I’ll tell you: it’s a gift you give to the guests. A gift! I mean, why the fuck am I giving gifts to people who attend my wedding? Where’s the fucking sense in that? It’s like, yay, you came, here’s a twenty-dollar gift for your troubles.” There was a thump as though he’d dropped down onto something and he sighed loudly. “I want it to be perfect and I want her to be happy, but I didn’t know that women could be . . . I mean, she’s just—”

  “A fucking nightmare?”

  “Yes!” Carter exploded. “Shit!”

  Max swiped at the wet paint on his sweatpants. “Should have stayed single, man.”

  “Right? What the hell was I thinking?” He quieted. “Thing is, when she gets excited about it all . . . man, her face—it’s just . . . makes it all worth it, ya know?”

  “I’m sure it’ll be great.”

  “Yeah.” Carter cleared his throat. “Anyway, enough about that, what’s new with you? You have a good July Fourth?”

  “Yeah, the cabin was awesome.”

  “I bet it was. It’s been too long since we’ve made a trip up there. Everyone good? Your uncle okay?”

  “He’s really great. Still telling tales about me.”

  “Lemme guess, the pesky front-fastener bra?”

  “Asshole.”

  Carter’s laughter grew louder.

  Max grinned. “I had a good time.”

  “Yeah, you sound chill.”

  Max exhaled. He wasn’t too sure he agreed with his friend on that front. The trip to the lake had been great, of course, it always was, but his stress levels weren’t as low as they probably should have been after four days of doing pretty much nothing.

  “Uh-oh,” Carter murmured. “That doesn’t
sound good.” There was a beat of silence between the two men, the phone line buzzing with dead air. “You, um, you wanna talk about it?”

  Max made a grunting, choking-type noise in response and threw the TV remote to his side, paying no attention to the people on the screen.

  “You’ve spoken to Tate?” Carter prodded. “Or Elliot? Max, if you need something—”

  “Carter, I’m fine. Honestly,” Max interrupted, his voice softened by his friend’s concern. “Actually, it’s nothing to do with any of that.”

  “Huh. Okay. So what’s up?”

  Max frowned trying to find a simple answer to a complicated question, but the only one he could come up with on the spot was Grace. Max wasn’t really sure if he wanted to talk to Carter about Grace because, frankly, he didn’t really know what there was to say and, besides, he didn’t want Carter to get the wrong impression.

  Max’s interactions with Grace over Fourth of July had been great, but, admittedly, had also left his head in a bit of a spin. And despite their returning from the cabin three days ago and falling back into their normal working and running routine, they had yet to address the huge fucking elephant in the room every time they were alone together: they still hadn’t fucked.

  He couldn’t remember ever having such a dire case of blue balls and he hated that his patience was fraying. Jesus, the girl had been through a shitload of heartache and Max understood her timidity, but Grace’s obliviousness to her own attractiveness had him wanting to throw her down on any nearby horizontal surface and make her forget why she was afraid of sex in the first place.

  Since she’d tried to seduce him in her sexy red underwear and then proceeded to vomit up several dollars’ worth of alcohol, she’d seemingly taken a step back from him. She was still the easygoing, playful Grace whom Max had grown to know, but the caution he’d seen in her eyes the first time they’d met had returned. And, if Max was truly honest with himself, its appearance had hurt. He’d asked her if she was all right, if he’d done something to upset her, to scare her off, but she’d laughed and waved a dismissive hand at his concerns, telling him that she was fine.