Romance Impossible

by Melanie Marchande

  "We really should go," I said, my voice husky with disuse. I cleared my throat. "Come on. We can talk...somewhere else."

  My intention, really, was to get him back to his hotel and safely in bed. Without me. Seeing him like this, sad and regretful, all my bitterness had started to melt away. To my surprise, when I stood up and took his hand, he didn't protest. Leaning heavily on the bar, he heaved himself up onto his feet and followed me towards the exit.

  He must have been drunker than I realized.

  The server was standing by the door. As we approached, Max mumbled something that sounded like "sorry, sorry, thank you for your excellent service" and fumbled a few wrinkled bills out of his pocket. The server hesitated, glancing at me.

  I gave him a nod, and he took the money. "Thank you, Chef," he said.

  Max gave what I assumed was meant to be a dismissive gesture, and kept walking. Whatever he regretted tomorrow morning, I had a feeling it wouldn't be the generous tip to the poor young man who was just trying to do his job.

  "Where are you staying?" I asked, as we made our way out onto the sidewalk. Max shrugged. I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

  "It's not because I'm drunk," he insisted, not entirely convincing me. "How the hell am I supposed to remember these things? I stay in a different place every fucking week."

  Well, he had a point there. "Hopefully you've still got your room key, at least," I said. "Check your pockets."

  "Ah ha," he said, after a moment, producing a little white envelope. He hadn't even bothered to take the card out, which was a mercy, since the room number was written on the paper.

  "Hang on," I said, looking at the name on the card. "Let me just look up the address." I pulled out my phone, while Max stood there - not swaying, to his credit, but rather standing much too straight and still for someone who was truly sober.

  "It's amazing, isn't it?" he said, softly, while my phone took its sweet time to load the results.

  I looked at him. His face was soft and open, almost childlike, in a way I'd never seen before.

  "What is?" I asked, because it seemed rude not to.

  "Technology," he said, almost dreamily.

  Stifling a laugh, I looked back down at the glow of my screen.

  "I just don't think we appreciate it enough," he said. "That's all."

  "I appreciate the hell out of it right now, I'll tell you that." I rotated my phone to try and orient the compass. "Okay. It's not far. Just follow me, all right?"

  He plodded along silently, and I resisted the urge to reach back and grab his hand - like I thought I might lose him, somehow. The glowing sign of the hotel finally came into view, and I breathed out a little sigh of relief.

  "Look." I pointed. "It's right there. Just a little farther, okay?"

  "I'm not a child," he muttered, staring at his feet.

  "Could've fooled me."

  If the front desk staff looked up as I guided him through the lobby and into the elevator, I didn't notice. The place was deathly quiet, and Max's footsteps fell heavily on the carpet, so somebody must have noticed. But it didn't matter.

  I'd expected him to collapse as soon as he got near the bed, but he just stood there, like he couldn't remember what he was supposed to do.

  "Lie down," I said, gently.

  "I'm not tired," he said.

  Oh, boy.

  "Okay," I agreed, laying my hand on his arm. "I know. Just lie down for a minute, all right?"

  "Fine," he mumbled, sitting down gingerly, then finally stretching out on his side, with his head on the pillow. I went down to his feet and pulled off his shiny dress shoes, tucking them under the bed. I figured it wouldn't be too comfortable to sleep in a tux, either, but I was drawing the line at undressing him.

  His eyes were closed now, and his mouth had gone a little slack. I allowed myself a moment of quiet triumph.

  Why are you doing this? You could've left him there. Somebody would have made sure he got back all right.

  But I didn't want it to just be "somebody." I wanted to make sure. I needed to.

  I dimmed the lights and headed for the door. But as I passed by Max's seemingly-unconscious body, his arm shot out towards me, fingers grasping at mine.

  I stopped.

  "Don't go," he murmured - so softly that it took me a second to understand.

  "I..." What was I about to do, try and reason with a drunken chef? Just leave.

  "Don't go," he repeated, his voice a little stronger this time. "Stay."

  His eyes were still closed. Did he even know who he was talking to? Did he even know that he was talking? Doubtful. But for some reason, instead of shaking him off, I just stood there.

  "Please," he said.

  I looked at the door, and then back at his face.

  Damn it.

  There was a chair by the bed, and I sat down carefully, not dislodging his grip on my hand. Just until he lets go. It won't be long. As soon as he falls asleep, like really asleep...

  But as soon as I sat down, the adrenaline that had kept me going - all day, and most of the night - started to seep out of my bones. I felt like a deflating balloon. I was just going to close my eyes for a minute -

  Just a minute -

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Encore

  Encore. It's a lovely concept. You can always have just one more. One more taste, one more bite. One more chance to savor. One more chance at anything you like.

  - Excerpted from Dylan: A Lifetime of Recipes

  ***

  Max

  ***

  When I woke up, Jill was still holding my hand.

  I didn't put a lot of thought into that, honestly, for a while. The first few minutes of waking up were consumed with various bathroom activities that may or may not have included retching, and desperately trying to get the taste of rotten gym socks out of my mouth.

  Unfortunately, I remembered nearly everything. Maybe it would be best to pretend that I didn't.

  Jill was, miraculously, still asleep when I ventured back out into the room. She's going to have one hell of a crick in her neck.

  I went to fetch some breakfast, half-hoping she'd be gone by the time I returned, and half-hoping she wouldn't.

  Why did everything always have to be so complicated with Jill and me?

  That was a stupid question. I knew why. Because I made it that way, and I was too god damned stubborn to change. Even for a minute, even just for a woman like Jill. As extraordinary as she was, I couldn't pull my head out of my ass for long enough to just try.

  I'd written myself off, so easily, as someone who could never be what Jill deserved. I saw it now for the selfishness that it was.

  I could have at least tried, but now it was too late.

  When I got back, with two plates of assorted breakfast foods, Jill was in the shower. I set her plate down on the bedside table and attacked mine, surprised at my own ability to overcome my hangover in the presence of some chewy bacon and overcooked eggs.

  She came out in last night's dress, toweling off her hair.

  "Oh," she said, stopping in the bathroom doorway, biting her bottom lip in that irresistible way of hers. "I thought you left."

  "Just for a minute," I said, gesturing to her plate. "If you feel up to it, of course."

  She shrugged, sitting down in her appointed chair and picking it up.

  "Sorry about last night," I said.

  She shrugged again, smiling this time. "Don't be. It was funny."

  "And sorry about everything else," I said.

  Jill looked at me, skeptically. "I don't know what that's supposed to mean," she said.

  "I think you do," I said.

  "It was just a bad situation," she said, breezily.

  "But I made it worse. And I hid behind my reputation, as if that made it better." I let out a breath in a puff of air. "When you've been labeled as a bastard, it's a little too easy to convince yourself that you'll always be a bastard no matter how you act. So why not go whole hog?
Just be selfish, all the time, full speed ahead, damn the torpedoes. Don't worry about who you hurt. It's too easy to forget that you gave yourself that reputation in the first place, and you can just as easily undo it."

  "I never expected that from you," she said, softly, looking up at me. "I never wanted you to change."

  "But you needed me to," I said.

  She didn't disagree. But she bit her lip again, and looked up at me with expectancy that made my heart jump in my chest.

  "Jill," I said, feeling my pulse quicken. "Jill, if you...if you don't..." I had an insane urge to gnaw on the side of my thumb. What's wrong with me? "If you don't feel...anymore..." I stalled out, frustrated. "I don't know what I'm saying. I'm sorry."

  "If I don't what, Max?" she asked. She was pale, and it wasn't just from the hangover.

  "You felt...I know you felt things for me once," I managed to say, my voice sounding miles away in my own ears. "I know I ignored them. I know I dismissed them. I was just trying to protect you. That was stupid and I know that now. But it's been a long time, and if you...if there's nothing left of the way you used to feel, please just tell me now. Before I make an even bigger idiot out of myself."

  "Max, I..." She swallowed, trapping her lower lip between her teeth again. "Of course I still..." Her eyes were suddenly filled a pain she'd been hiding, carefully, for such a long time. And I knew the feeling. I knew it so well. "Of course. Max, I never...I never stopped."

  The air positively crackled with anticipation. I felt lightheaded. I felt alive.

  "I know I've done this once before," I said. "But please - could I take you out for dinner tonight? I need to ask you something important."

  She just watched me, and I could see her pulse fluttering by her throat. "Is it about a job?" she finally managed to ask.

  I smiled, hesitantly. "No," I said. "No, Jill, it's not about a job."

  "Ask me now," she said. "Now or never, Chef."

  Her eyes shone, and I knew I didn't really need to say anything. But I wanted to.

  I owed her that.

  "I've done a lot of stupid things in my life," I said, smiling a little. I came closer, and reached down so that I was just touching the underside of her chin. Very lightly, but her eyes closed for a moment, lingering that way before they opened again. "I don't have to tell you that. I know there's no use in apologizing for the many indignities I've put you through, but I'm going to, anyway. It's long overdue. I'm sorry, Jill, for everything - for being who I am, because you deserve better. But more than that, I'm sorry that I tried to make that decision for you. If you really think I'm what you deserve, well - that's your decision."

  The beginnings of a grin tugged at her mouth.

  "I should have given you the credit you deserved," I said. "But that would have meant admitting you were competent to manage your own life, and - well, then what do you need me for?"

  Her eyelids fluttered again. "Maybe," she said, her voice very soft, "maybe you don't always need to be needed. Maybe it's okay just to be wanted."

  I knelt down and I kissed her, then, because what else could I possibly do?

  We tumbled onto the bed at some point - exactly how, or what happened to get us there, I'll never know. She kissed so eagerly, so urgently, and I eventually gave up on my efforts to slow her down.

  We had all the time we wanted. But after all those wasted chances, I didn't blame her.

  I worked my way down her body, pushing her dress up, kissing her thigh where the skin tasted so sweet and shower-fresh. And higher up, where I discovered something that made me lift my head and look at her, shaking my head.

  "Very naughty," I said, enjoying the blush that spread across her cheeks.

  "I didn't have another pair," she said.

  "So you went without." I ran my hands up her legs, her thighs, to her waist and stomach, unencumbered by anything beneath her dress. "Well, that's only logical, isn't it?"

  I wanted to see her blush grow deeper, to watch her face transform as I kissed my way up higher, but it was impossible. All I could do was enjoy the sounds, and feel the small tremors in her legs as I worked my way to the center of her thighs.

  Really, I would have forgiven her for making some joke about food or gourmets or an appreciation for the finer tastes in life; I'd heard them all before, but she was far too lost in the sensations, and I loved her all the more for that.

  She moaned and writhed, tensing up and shuddering under my tongue so quickly that I almost didn't believe it. But when I looked up, her face was flushed and glowing in a way that was unmistakable.

  I didn't have time to react before she was pulling me down to kiss me again, sucking the taste of her off my tongue, such a sweetly filthy thing that it sent a jolt straight down, making me almost painfully hard.

  "Come on," she whispered, urgently. Always in such a rush.

  "Relax." I grinned, wriggling out of my shirt. "It's the journey, not the destination, right?"

  "God damn it." She locked her ankles around me, pressing up into me with relentless need. "You're a bastard, Maxwell Dylan."

  "I know," I said, planting a kiss on the tip of her nose. "But I love you - that has to count for something, right?"

  Her face grew serious for a moment, even through the haze of arousal.

  "I love you," she breathed, her hand resting on the back of my neck. "I swear to God I do. I hope you've finally figured that out."

  "Well," I said. "I am the smartest guy in the room."

  Jill let out a squeal of laughter, socking me on the arm before I had a chance to silence her with a long, slow kiss. Moments later, I finally gave her what she wanted. She gasped, then sighed, taking a moment to really accept it all. I'd never get tired of that.

  I didn't know what was going to happen tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next year, or...

  But we'd be together. Because we had to. Because somehow, improbably, we made each other better. I still didn't understand it, and I had a feeling I never would.

  "Chef," she breathed, suddenly, with a little hitch in the middle of the word. "You never..." Her eyes fluttered as I moved inside her. "You never asked me a question."

  "When you're right, you're right," I murmured, against her collarbone. "Well...I have a few questions...do you like it when I do this?"

  I punctuated with a sharp jerk of my hips, going deep, making her back arch and her body spasm.

  "Yes," she moaned, her head thrown back. "Were you really going to ask me that at dinner?"

  "No," I admitted, pulling back, then sliding in, slow and deep. Dragging it out. Teasing her. "I was going to ask you..."

  Her neck relaxed, and she looked at me. Waiting. Her eyes full of affection that I'd ignored for too long.

  "...if you like this." I slipped one hand under her thigh and lifted, hooking her leg up over my shoulder to let me in deeper. She gasped.

  "Max!" she cried out, her body quivering underneath me. Her neck and chest were flushed pink, her nipples peaked stiff under the fabric of her dress. "I'm...you..." She panted, grinding against me. "I've...so long..."

  "Shh, I know." I lifted her hips, quickening my pace just a little. Not as much as I wanted. Not nearly. But this wasn't about me. "I know. And I think you know exactly what I was going to ask you, love."

  Her eyes fell closed, and she let out a wordless, breathy moan.

  "Say it anyway," she whispered.

  "Christ." I groaned as her inner muscles clenched down on me, sending a spike of arousal through my body. "Demanding, aren't you?"

  "Ask me, and I'll do it again," she said, sweetly. A moment later I realized what she was talking about.

  "Jill, my darling, will you be my girl?" I teased, gently, trying to hide the fact that she was making me lose control. She tightened around me again, and I shuddered.

  "Maybe." She was biting her lip and it was driving me absolutely wild. Her eyes popped open again - wicked, and dark with lust. "If you play your cards right."

  At that, I cut
loose. Gripping her hips tightly, I drove into her harder and harder, until every breath was a gasp with moans in between, until her head tossed from side to side, wiping that stupid smirk off her face. She was grabbing the headboard when she finally screamed my name - and when I heard that, I lost all semblance of self-control. She was so hot and slick around me, and her pleasure became mine. I shuddered and jerked inside her, spilling long and deep, years of loneliness and frustration wrung out of me by the hot, insistent pulse of her body.

  I took her leg and lowered it down carefully, first, as soon as I'd recovered. Then I rested on top of her, gently, pressing feather-light kisses on her face. She had never looked more beautiful.

  "So?" I said, my voice husky. "Did I play them right?"

  She nodded, dreamily, with not a single sarcastic remark left in her.

  God, I loved that woman.

  Lying there in the afterglow, our bodies melded like they were meant to be together - and maybe, just maybe, even if you don't believe in that sort of thing - maybe they were.

  You'd be surprised at the sorts of things you can believe in, given half a chance.

  About the Author

  Melanie Marchande is a young writer who loves creating fun, flirty, and occasionally steamy stories about two people realizing they just can't live without each other. If you'd like to read more from her, please leave a review letting her know what you liked about the book so she knows what to write next! You can also connect with her online:

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