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

by Sophie Jackson

  “Look,” Max bristled, his just-got-laid buzz changing into something darker, something that lay dormant only because his meds and his therapy kept it so. He pulled his hand away. “I know what you’re saying but those things that women want—love, babies, a future—I don’t have the ability to provide those.” His voice was sharp, making Grace flinch. He paused and exhaled. “I did. Once. But they were lost a long time ago and they’re not ever coming back.”

  He kept his eyes on the bed covers, praying to all shit that, now that they’d slept together, Grace wouldn’t suddenly start to want more. From the cavity in his chest that echoed with her question about kids, Max knew there was no way he could give her or any other woman anything other than his body. He glanced up, the expression on Grace’s face sad but somehow understanding.

  “Well, who knows,” she said softly. “Maybe they’ll come back when you least expect it.”

  Max didn’t believe that for a second but he gave her a small smile all the same. “I’d better go.”

  Grace blinked. “You’re free to stay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up—”

  “Hey, it’s all right,” Max interrupted, standing from the bed. “Honestly.” He bent down and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. He stood back. “Are you really okay? Was I . . . was it good?” He wasn’t looking to have his ego stroked. He simply wanted to make sure she’d enjoyed it and that the demons he knew she carried weren’t hounding her behind that stunning smile.

  That smile grew and her eyes lightened, calming Max’s anxiety. “Yes. I’m . . . great. You— it was . . . perfect.”

  “Good.” He pulled on his T-shirt.

  “Thank you, Max. Really. Thank you.”

  “It was my pleasure. You were wonderful.” He grabbed his Vans from the floor and cleared his throat. “I’ll see you later.”

  Pushing the guilt that skittered across his neck down into the darkest parts of him, Max left Grace sitting on her bed. He was unable to truly breathe until he pushed through her front door, staggering into the blazing sunshine.

  “Holy shit! Look at you!”

  Grace smiled at the loud, excited voice that echoed around her brother’s club.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes, baby girl.”

  Grace watched Sienna Kelly, Kai’s assistant bar manager, bound across the dance floor from the main entrance of the club, her tight Afro bouncing as she went. The deep red lipstick that covered her insane lips was striking and indescribably sexy against her ebony skin, while her outfit was, as always, tight and left little to the imagination. She was, in her own words, a workout maniac, and it showed. Her body was incredible. Grace opened her arms and accepted Sienna’s enthusiastic hug, laughing as Sienna kissed her cheek.

  “You look beautiful,” Sienna exclaimed, holding Grace at arm’s length. “Why the hell has it been so long since I’ve seen you?”

  “Because one of us has been off exploring the world,” Grace replied. “How was Europe?”

  “Oh my God, girl,” Sienna replied. “It was unbelievable.” She turned and leaned her hip against the fridge underneath the bar. “Paris, Rome, London, it was all fabulous. I didn’t want to come back.”

  “I don’t blame you! Paris sure beats the hell out of Washington, DC.”

  Sienna reached for a bottle of Corona and snapped off the top, holding it out to Grace. “Let me tell you, if it wasn’t for your asshole of a brother, I’d still be there.”

  Grace smiled at the affection she heard in Sienna’s voice despite her language. Grace was fairly certain that Sienna and Kai had been involved at some stage and that Sienna, contrary to outward appearances, was a little bit smitten. Grace knew that her brother could do a damn sight worse. Sienna was vivacious and sharp-tongued, but she was the most loyal and trustworthy person Grace knew besides Kai. Underneath the banter and sniping, the two of them were perfect for one another.

  “So tell me about you,” Sienna continued, sipping from her own Corona. “How’s West Virginia? Kai told me you bought a house.”

  Grace nodded and sipped her drink. “It’s great. The house is amazing. I’m working and I’ve made some really nice friends. I feel safe there.”

  “That’s awesome,” Sienna said. “I’m so proud of you.” She hugged Grace again. “So what brings you here?”

  “I have a therapist appointment tomorrow and Kai said he was understaffed.” Grace kicked at the box of beer bottles she’d been emptying into the fridge. “I thought I’d lend a hand.”

  It was kind of the truth. Grace did have an appointment with her therapist and Kai was understaffed, but she hadn’t really needed to be in DC until tomorrow. Had anyone asked, Grace would have said she was there because Holly didn’t need her at Whiskey’s until the weekend and she wanted to spend time with her brother; the truth was, she was there because she needed space.

  Since that afternoon in her bed when the scent and feel of Max’s body next to hers had forced away her panic, leaving only desire in its wake; the afternoon she’d taken control, ignored her inhibitions, and had the best sex of her life, she and Max had fooled around twice more. And Lord, what fun it had been. Seeing Max naked beneath her, mouth open, breathless and damp with sweat was now Grace’s most favorite thing. He was gorgeously animal in his passion, handling her with such care, yet giving her everything she asked for when she pleaded with him to give it harder, faster.

  Never had she seen anything as beautiful as Max when, the second time they’d had sex, she’d ridden him on her couch, her back to his chest, his breath hot on her neck, and his hands firm on her ass, shouting out his curses and coming hard with her. She loved the feel of him, so strong and solid, the way his face creased when he came, and the sound of her name on his lips as he pulsed inside her.

  Knowing that she could do for him what he did for her filled her with a profound happiness. Seeing him sated and drowsy, that lopsided smile and those dark, playful eyes focused on her as they moved together, filled her with something more, however, something heavy and hopeful.

  As Max would say, she was well and truly fucked, and spending a few days away from him and from the desire that accosted her every time they were in the same room seemed like a wise idea. She couldn’t risk Max sensing the way she was starting to feel about him. Was already feeling about him. Jesus, at the mere mention of his having kids in the future he’d paled and run from her. God alone knew what he’d do if he realized she was falling for him. Grace wanted him in her life too much—regardless of the capacity—to jeopardize what they had together. His friendship had become too important, too integral to her day-to-day life.

  The quiet times they spent together were as precious as the sexy times. Just yesterday, after she’d watched him come all over her stomach while she lay on the pale green rug in her living room, they’d lain side by side, talking about art, music, and more about her family.

  Max, in turn, spoke of his own parents. As she listened, Grace lost herself in his voice and the way his arm brushed against hers when he moved. They’d ordered pizza and sat together, half-naked as they ate it, so comfortable with each other that Grace hadn’t even bothered to cover up her scars. There was no point. Besides, the way he looked at her naked body made Grace forget about everything else anyway. Never had she felt so desired, wanted, so beautiful as when Max’s gaze was on her.

  That had only been twenty-four hours ago and already she’d started to miss him.

  “It’s fantastic that you’re so comfortable with Max,” Nina, Grace’s therapist, mused the following afternoon. “It really is; you’ve embraced intimacy again and it’s lovely to see you moving forward, taking control back, but these feelings you have . . . they may be detrimental to you both.”

  This Grace knew. Max was a fragile creature, an addict, he was vulnerable and skittish, but there was no way she was going to stop sleeping with him just because she couldn’t keep her emotions in check. She would do it. For him, she could do it.

  “Grace, thes
e steps you’re taking are excellent, it’s great news.”

  “But?”

  “But you need to be clear on what it is you’re feeling.” Nina shifted in her seat. “Tell me, when he walked out after you had sex the first time, how did you feel?”

  Grace shrugged, tracing the lip of the coffee cup in her hand with her finger. She thought back to that amazing afternoon. Max’s words and his longing for her so clear in his large Hershey’s Kiss eyes. His hard body, his skin on her tongue, the way he knew that, without her even saying, she had to be on top so she didn’t freak out. The sounds he made, and the crushing need she’d had to smash her lips to his and taste and own every groan and gasp.

  “I knew he needed to leave,” she answered, her face heating with the memories. “He was very clear on what our relationship would be when we agreed to this. I can’t expect hugs and kisses afterward.”

  “That’s what you wanted?”

  Not exactly. It had been a very long time since she’d experienced cuddles after sex, so she wasn’t expecting it now. Grace would have liked Max to have stayed a little while longer, of course, because seeing him rush out the door, although expected, had been hard. Not that she’d ever tell him. No, instead, the following day, she’d woken Max at the boardinghouse with coffee and a muffin and dragged him out on their run. Normal routine was important for both of them. It was pretty clear that Grace wasn’t the only one of them who had the potential to freak out.

  “Grace,” Nina said softly. “Getting close to Max, being his friend is one thing. Having a sexual relationship and allowing yourself to feel more is something else entirely. My question is, are you really ready and, just as important, is Max?”

  Grace sighed, not having an answer. “You’re saying I shouldn’t allow myself to feel something for him?”

  “No, Grace,” Nina said, her blue eyes careful behind her red spectacles. “I’m saying I want you to remember that you’re both brittle creatures who’ve been through a lot of trauma. To remember that it isn’t your job to fix everyone and not everyone wants fixing. I’m saying I want you to prepare yourself for what may happen here.”

  Her point was unspoken yet clear: he’ll break your heart, Grace.

  But, honestly, Grace couldn’t have cared less.

  “Oh my God,” Max complained with a shake of his head as he stood outside the coffee shop. “Did you have to bring him with you?”

  Tate laughed while crossing the street toward Max and glanced over to Riley at his side.

  “Come here, you motherfucker!” Riley called out before, with a loud whoop, he took off at speed.

  Max braced himself for the impact, knowing how heavy and solid Riley was. The air in Max’s body burst from him in a resounding oomph when Riley connected, wrapping him in a huge bear hug and tilting them to the side. Max only just managed to stay on his feet and keep his aviator shades on his face while cursing the bastard up and down.

  “I missed you, too, you ugly shit,” Riley said with a laugh, ruffling Max’s hair.

  Max pushed him away with a chuckle and shook Tate’s hand. “Good to see you.”

  “You, too,” Tate replied, slowly lifting a suspicious eyebrow. “You look well and . . .” He cocked his head. “Decidedly pleased with yourself.”

  Riley gasped, not missing a beat. “You got laid?”

  Max laughed at the two apparently telepathic brothers standing there like peas in a damn pod with their hugeness and wide, smiling faces. If Riley didn’t have his beard and Tate’s hair was longer, they’d easily pass for twins.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Max grumbled, pushing past them. “Can we eat before we start this kind of talk? I’m starved.”

  “Ha!” Riley exclaimed, following Max through the door. “See, that right there, Tate, is your customary O’Hare blow-off. He’s hiding something.”

  “Or someone,” Tate added at his side. Max turned to his sponsor to see him surveying the customers already seated with their drinks and food. “Where’s Running Girl?”

  “Who’s Running Girl?” Riley asked with a grin.

  “Her name is Grace, as I recall.”

  “Nice. She hot?”

  “Smokin’ hot,” Tate answered, biting his lip. He waved toward Max. “These two are ‘running partners,’ apparently.”

  Riley scoffed. “Yeah. I’ve had lots of those.”

  “I met her when she was trussed up in her gear,” Tate continued.

  Riley made an obscene noise. “Tight running pants?”

  “The tightest.”

  “Nice ass?”

  “Epic. Shapely, you know, tiny waist, wide hips, and these lips that just—”

  “Okay!” Max yelled as loud as was appropriate in a coffee shop on a Saturday afternoon. He waved his hands in a large T shape. “Time-out!” The brothers smiled at him in satisfaction, arms crossed over their chests. Max dropped his hands to his sides already exhausted. “Fuck. Are you always like this when you’re together?”

  “You wanna be around when it’s the four of us,” Riley snorted before adding reverently, “It’s beautiful.”

  “Four Moore brothers,” Max retorted, pulling his shades off. “Christ, your poor mother. I’m amazed she hasn’t been committed.”

  “There’s time yet,” Tate said, nonchalantly patting Max on the shoulder. “So, come on, what’s the deal?”

  Max shook his head stubbornly. He ordered his coffee and his sandwich and, once he’d paid, he sat down with his tray at his usual spot, allowing himself a quiet moment to think about Grace and what she was doing in DC. She’d been gone a couple of days and, even with a few texts sent between them and Max keeping himself busy working with his uncle and painting, her absence was still noticeable. He wasn’t sure he liked it all that much.

  Tate and Riley sat down across from him with their food, drinks, and questioning expressions, looking like the damned Gestapo. “So spill, dude, come on,” Riley said, punching his straw into a carton of orange juice. “Since when do we not share?”

  Max frowned. “Like, ever. We never share because you couldn’t keep a secret if it promised you hourly blow jobs.”

  Tate barked a laugh around his bagel, garnering a hurt glance from Riley.

  “That’s not true,” Riley grumbled toward his plate of waffles and pancakes.

  “It is fucking true,” Max replied.

  “It’s okay, Riley,” Tate said nonchalantly. “It’s obvious that Max and Grace are more than just running partners now.” He sipped his coffee. “It’s written all over him.”

  Max dropped back in his seat casually, mouth full of sandwich. “Yeah. Okay. I fucked her. So what?”

  “How many times?” Riley asked quickly, leaning forward.

  Max frowned. “What?”

  “O’Hare.”

  “Twice, why?”

  “Ha!” Riley boomed, shoving Tate’s shoulder with his own. “Pay up.”

  Tate grumbled under his breath while he pulled out his wallet and handed Riley a twenty. Max stared at the two of them in disbelief. “How— What did? You made a fucking bet?” His eyes flew back to the sandwich counter, where he’d left them both for mere moments.

  Riley laughed unashamedly. “Of course, man, don’t you know me at all?”

  Max’s attention snapped to Tate. “And you let him?”

  Tate shrugged and tucked back into his bagel. “He promised to buy me a muffin and I’m a sugar whore.”

  Max dragged a hand down his face. “You amaze me.”

  “Not the first time I’ve been told that,” Riley commented before slurping his juice hard enough to make the carton crumple in his hand. “So you two, like, a couple now?”

  Max shook his head. “No. Not at all.”

  “So friends with benefits?” Tate asked, his eyes still on his food.

  Max nodded, staring at Tate’s red T-shirt, which read “Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist” in large yellow lettering.

  “No,” Riley uttered, followi
ng Max’s line of sight. “I don’t get it, either.”

  “Thank God,” Max replied.

  “Yeah,” Riley continued. “I mean, why the fuck would you like Marvel when DC’s where it’s at?” He lifted his gray T-shirt to show the black long-sleeved top underneath emblazoned with a Batman symbol.

  “Don’t start,” Tate said evenly. “We had this conversation on the way here.”

  “Yeah, we did,” Riley answered with a smug smile, adjusting his clothes. “A conversation you lost.”

  “Well,” Tate said, patting his lips delicately with his napkin. “That depends on your definition, now, doesn’t it?”

  Max’s eyes snapped from one man to the other as if seated in center court, Wimbledon. “Dare I ask?”

  “Tate believes that, in a fight, Captain America would beat Superman, which, any true comic book fan will tell you, would not happen.”

  “Cap has the shield,” Tate said indifferently.

  “Superman’s bulletproof; what the fuck would a shield do?”

  “Who the fuck cares?” Max interrupted.

  After a beat of silence, the two men looked over at him as though he’d dropped out of the sky naked.

  “Why do we even speak to him?” Riley asked, turning to his brother.

  Tate sighed as though genuinely baffled. “I ask myself that every time I come here.”

  Max couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at his mouth. “You two are batshit.”

  Riley pointed at him. “To be continued,” he stated before he stood and made his way across the coffee shop toward the bathroom.

  Tate waited until the door of the bathroom swung shut. “So, come on.” He leaned his forearms on the table between them. “Before Boy Wonder comes back. What’s really going on? You okay?”

  Max shrugged. “Yeah, I’m okay. Good, actually.” He smirked.

  “I mean who wouldn’t be, having a hot woman to play with, huh?”

  Tate didn’t laugh along. “And she’s of the same mind? She seemed pretty fond of you when I saw you with her.”