Reality Blurred

by Aven Ellis

  “Hello,” a young woman greets us, causing us both to look at her. “How are you this evening? My name is Tara, and I’ll be your server tonight.”

  Maxime doesn’t let go of my hand while Tara places a plastic basket filled with warm chips in front of us, followed by two bowls of salsa.

  Ooh! There are blue corn tortilla chips mixed in with the yellow corn ones.

  The chips look crisp and fresh, and oh, I can see the flecks of salt on them. I’ve found my happy place in Boulder.

  Absolute food porn.

  “Hello,” Maxime says, and I follow suit, tearing my attention away from the chips long enough to focus on the woman who will be serving us tonight.

  “Are you two celebrating Valentine’s Day this evening?” Tara asks, grinning at us.

  “Yes,” Maxime says, not hesitating to answer. “The lady wanted authentic New Mexican food this evening, so that is what she will get.”

  Tara looks positively swoony from Maxime’s super sexy accent. I bite my lip to keep from laughing, as I’m pretty sure I look the same way.

  “Where are you from?” Tara asks.

  “Belgium,” Maxime says, smiling at her. Then he cocks an eyebrow at her. “And where are you from?”

  Tara begins to blush, and oh, Maxime’s unexpected devilish side has to be one of the most intriguing things about him.

  “Um, Boulder,” she mumbles as her face continues to turn red. Then she goes all business. “May I get you something to drink this evening?”

  I flip the menu over and find the beverages.

  “What would you like, Skye?” Maxime asks.

  “I’ll have a margarita on the rocks,” I say.

  “Very good,” Tara says, nodding. “And for you, sir?”

  Maxime studies the list for a moment. “Which craft brown ale do you like?” he asks.

  Tara bites her lip and gazes down at the selection of beers. They discuss a couple of options, and Maxime decides on a local craft beer brewed here in Boulder. While she goes off to get our drinks, I turn my attention back to Maxime.

  “Are you a craft beer fan?” I ask.

  “I like good beers. I prefer the ones back in Belgium, but Cade has found me some good beers here in the States. That is a guy who is serious about his beer.”

  “Yes, he is. I’m more a wine or margarita girl. And if I’m eating a cupcake, I love a glass of bubbly with it.”

  I reach for a blue corn chip, as I can no longer resist, and Maxime does the same, all while keeping his other hand entwined with mine.

  I stare down at the salsa bowls, one filled with a bright red salsa and the other with a green tomatillo salsa verde, rich with New Mexico Hatch chilies.

  I can never resist a red salsa, so I dip my chip into that bowl first.

  “Mmm,” I murmur, as I taste the wonderful spicy blend. “So good!”

  “I’ll try this one,” Maxime says, loading his chip up with the green salsa.

  Before I can warn him that the green salsa verde is hot, according to the number of chili peppers next to it on the menu, Maxime pops the chip into his mouth.

  As soon as he does, his eyes flip wide open.

  Maxime starts coughing.

  “That’s really hot,” he sputters.

  He releases my hand as he continues to cough.

  I see his eyes are watering. He’s turning red.

  I go to shove a glass of water toward him, and as I do, my elbow hits the red salsa bowl, flipping it up and splattering salsa across my chest and boobs. I feel a glob resting on my cheek.

  Now Maxime is staring at me while choking, and I hear the couple at the table next to us laughing. I thrust the water at him and quickly grab a napkin as the salsa slides down into my bra.

  I’m frantically stuffing paper napkins into my camisole as salsa drips off my face and onto my hand, and the situation is so absurd I do the only thing I can do.

  I burst out laughing.

  Maxime takes a swig of his water, and as soon as I start laughing, he starts laughing, and unfortunately, the water he drank shoots out of his nose and lands on the table.

  “Oh shit!” he cries, grabbing his napkin and throwing it on the table.

  Now I’m dying. Tears are streaming down my face, and Maxime is turning blood red in embarrassment.

  He quickly reaches for more paper napkins from the dispenser to blow his nose, and I continue to blot salsa off my chest.

  At this point, Tara reappears with our drinks. As soon as she sees the mess we’ve made, her brow crinkles.

  “Is everything okay here?” she asks as she places the margarita and beer on the table.

  I take one look at Maxime, and we both burst out laughing.

  “It’s perfect,” I answer truthfully.

  “Except for one thing,” Maxime says, clearing his throat.

  “What is that?” Tara asks.

  “We need more red salsa.”

  Which makes both of us crack up again.

  Tara scoops up the mess on our table, dumping it all into the chip basket.

  “How about we start over here? I’ll bring you a new basket of chips and salsa and then your order.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Maxime says.

  As soon as she leaves, Maxime grabs another napkin, but this time, he reaches across the table and gently blots the side of my face.

  “How about we start over here?” he asks.

  I shake my head, and a piece of onion flies out of my hair and lands on Maxime’s hand.

  He grins as he flicks it off.

  “We will absolutely not start over,” I say firmly. “This was fantastic. Perfect. Hilarious.”

  “Real.”

  I see the intensity shift in his beautiful eyes.

  “Yes,” I say, nodding. “It was real.”

  I take the napkins off my chest and drop them to the side of the table. Maxime relinks his fingers with mine, and the butterflies take off in full force.

  And I can’t think of a better start to our dinner than this one.

  ***

  “This was the best meal ever,” I declare happily.

  I put my fork down, having polished off an entire plate of stacked enchiladas, topped “Christmas” style with both red and green sauce and a fried egg.

  “I can’t tell by your plate,” Maxime teases.

  I grin. “I told you this was my idea of a great date: casual dress, hole-in-the-wall spot, and amazing home-style New Mexican food.”

  Though the food wasn’t the best part.

  Maxime was.

  We laughed at ourselves and shared details of our lives. I learned that Maxime grew up in Belgium, but his passion for hockey took him around the world. He has two siblings, like I do, and is close to his family like I am.

  I was amazed at how much he opened up, telling me how he loves reading fantasy books and can quote passages from anything written by Tolkien. The two places Maxime can leave everything behind is in a book or on the ice.

  Maxime shared how much the game means to him. No matter what is going on in his life, hockey is his one constant. When he steps onto the ice, everything that is bothering him disappears and the game is all that matters. He loves the speed of the game and how his brain is challenged by how fast things happen. He enjoys the rush of beating a good defenseman to score a goal. Maxime stressed the need to stay calm in pressure situations, to think of solutions, and to point out mistakes made by younger players to help them improve. I can easily see how his quiet, calm demeanor made him an easy choice for alternate captain this season.

  There were many things I didn’t know about being a professional hockey player. Maxime normally follows a nutrition plan, laid out by the team nutritionist, and tonight’s burger was an exception to that plan. On off days, he has practice and goes early and stays late to work on his weak points with the coaches.

  I have a feeling hockey is the thing that distracted him from his broken heart after his relationship with Juliette
ended. I can see how that could happen. When Tom dumped me, I didn’t have a job. All I had was the media and fans reacting to every moment of my relationship as it aired on TV, and all I could do was re-live it.

  Now I’m in a different spot, as is Maxime. He’s the alternate captain of the Denver Mountain Lions and one of the best players in the league. I’m starting my new reporter job next Monday, I’m blogging, and I may even get a book deal.

  We’ve both moved forward.

  And we’re moving forward with each other.

  “Do they have any desserts that won’t make my throat burn?” Maxime teases, interrupting my thoughts.

  “We could get sopaipillas,” I suggest. “It’s deep-fried dough that puffs up, and it’s served with honey.”

  Maxime reaches for the menu again. “Is there anything with chocolate?”

  “You’re a chocoholic, aren’t you?”

  Maxime smiles at me. “Yes. You know how you love sprinkles? That is how I feel about chocolate.”

  He glances down at the dessert section of the menu, and a cute, crestfallen expression passes over his gorgeous face. “They have a chocolate cake, but they put red chile in it.” Maxime puts the menu back. “You win.”

  Tara reappears to sweep up our plates, and Maxime orders sopaipillas, tripping over the pronunciation of the word and melting my heart in the process. As soon as Tara leaves, he sighs heavily.

  “Why ruin a chocolate cake like that? I don’t understand,” he asks aloud.

  I can’t help but giggle at the adorable expression on his face. “Maybe I’ll have to make you some chocolate cupcakes. I can’t bear the disappointed look on your face.”

  “You can make them for me when I get back,” Maxime says. “I leave for a road trip through Canada this week.”

  “How long are you gone?”

  “Eleven days.”

  My heart sinks into my stomach. Eleven days? I’m having the best first date ever with him, and now I won’t get to see him again for ELEVEN DAYS?

  “Oh,” I say, knowing my face is giving away the emotions I’m feeling inside.

  Maxime reaches for my hand, once again linking his fingers through mine. “I’m sorry. It’s one of our longest trips of the year, and I hate that we’re having this great date and I have to leave so soon.” He pauses for a moment and clears his throat. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

  My heart soars from his words.

  “My calendar is fairly open, I think,” I say, already knowing I’m free tomorrow.

  “Would you want to go to the game? Maybe we can get a late dinner afterward?”

  I squeeze his hand. “I would love that.”

  Maxime flips my hand over and begins drawing his fingers across my palm, causing heat to burn though me from the sensual feeling of his fingertips dancing across my skin.

  “Good. I’ve got to get my time in before I leave. You might meet some guy and forget me while I’m on the road.”

  “True,” I say, smiling at him. “But this new guy I might meet—he probably wouldn’t have Dutch chocolate sprinkles in his pantry. That’s an unforgettable quality in a man.”

  “I see,” Maxime says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What else is unforgettable about me?”

  “Your accent,” I say, feeling myself go weak as he continues to stroke my palm. “Your aversion to spice.”

  Now he’s grinning.

  “It’s pretty hard to forget a man who shoots water out of his nose on your first date.”

  “Or a girl who has salsa all over her sweater and camisole.”

  “So, we’re meant to have a second date tomorrow.”

  “Absolutely.”

  A basket of piping hot sopaipillas is brought to the table, along with a bottle of squeeze honey and some wet wipes, as they can be sticky to eat.

  I breathe in the scent and stare at the golden puffs of dough in front of me, beckoning for a drizzle of honey.

  My food porn continues.

  I let go of Maxime’s hand and eagerly pick up the bottle of honey, squirting it all over the top of a sopaipilla before handing the bottle to Maxime.

  “I should have warned you these are messy, but I find some of the best things in life are,” I say, taking a bite as the honey drips down my fingers.

  I glance across the table, and Maxime is watching me eat with abandon.

  “Messy is good,” he says slowly, his gaze dropping to my mouth.

  Suddenly, I don’t want dessert anymore.

  I want him to kiss me.

  The urge is strong, and it’s all I can think about. What would it be like to have those full lips on mine, exploring me for the first time with a kiss? I want to feel his hands on my face. I want to slide my hand up his neck. I want to feel his hair underneath my fingertips. I want to breathe in that bourbon-vanilla cologne I know is lingering on his skin. I want to feel his breath on my face. I want it all.

  Now.

  From the look in his eyes, he’s feeling it, too.

  We each manage to finish a sopaipilla, and Maxime pays the bill.

  “I’ll go start the car,” Maxime says as he rises from his seat.

  “No, I want to go with you.”

  “You’ll be cold,” Maxime protests.

  No, I won’t, I think, staring back at him.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, rising and slipping into my coat.

  I come around the side of the table, and as I do, Maxime puts his hand in mine. My heart is racing with anticipation as we leave the restaurant and go out into the snowy landscape, my mind whirling as we walk to his car.

  Will he kiss me? It’s a first date. Maxime might not make that move.

  Or he could leave me with a simple goodnight kiss.

  I begin anxiously running my fingers through my hair as he opens the car door for me. I slip inside, wondering what will happen next.

  Maxime comes around to the driver’s side, climbs in, and starts the car. My heart is pounding so hard I can see my velvet camisole move. I begin to shake, but it’s not from the cold. It’s from a sudden fear that grips onto me.

  I shouldn’t want this so badly. I promised myself I’d be cautious. Is it normal to want a kiss so much that I feel like I can’t breathe? That I need to taste his lips and feel his skin and be held by him so soon, and that I’ll feel incomplete if it doesn’t happen?

  I turn to look at him, and Maxime is staring at me.

  My heart is now roaring in my ears. I shake when I see the look in his eyes, a look that tells me he wants this moment as much as I do.

  He places an un-gloved hand on my face, cupping it gently.

  “You’re cold,” he murmurs.

  “I’m not,” I whisper back.

  Maxime moves closer, and I can smell the sensual cologne lingering on his skin. I draw a shaky breath, and he carefully tangles his fingers through my hair.

  “I believe in the moment more than the place,” he says softly, lowering his forehead to mine. “I told myself if I felt it was right, I’d give you a kiss goodnight at the door. I wasn’t going to let attraction drive things with you, and if it wasn’t the time, I wouldn’t do it. I had to listen to my gut, to my head.”

  I swallow nervously as I dare to reach up and touch his face. My pulse soars as I feel his warm skin against my fingers when I brush them against his strong cheekbone, all the while keeping my forehead to his.

  “What does your head say?” I whisper.

  “My head says what matters is that I like you, Skye. I like you. I like that you make me laugh and that you are genuine in who you are. I couldn’t forget you from that moment I saw you in the café. When I saw you again, I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know what to make of seeing you again, or your TV fame, but it didn’t matter because I was sure I’d never see you again. When I saw your picture this week, I had to do it. I had to reach out to you. It turned out to be the best decision I’ve ever made.”

  I lift my head so I can look at him.
“I’m glad you did. I told myself I wouldn’t take a chance on anyone unless I thought they were worth it.”

  Maxime continues to stroke my hair. He lowers his lips dangerously close to mine.

  “Am I worth it?” he whispers as I feel his warm breath against my flushed skin.

  I lick my lips. “Yes. You are.”

  I dare to move my hand to his chest, feeling the fine fabric of his cashmere sweater and more than that, how his heart is racing like mine.

  “Tu es splendide,” Maxime repeats, telling me I’m beautiful. “My head says this is the place. This is the time. I need to kiss you right now.”

  Then his lips find mine.

  Chapter Eleven

  Maxime parts my lips, his mouth desperate to explore me. Heat surges through me as I feel his tongue slide against mine in a slow, sensual rhythm, kissing me deeply. His hands move through my hair, and he takes hold of it and sexily winds his fingers through the strands as he continues to kiss me.

  I lift my hands and cradle his face as I lose myself in this kiss, this kiss that is turning my world upside down. It’s sexy, it’s exploratory, and it’s drugging all my senses. Our mouths move together, increasing the intensity, wanting to take more and more with each kiss. I love the way Maxime is kissing me. It’s not a shy, tentative kiss, but the kiss of a passionate man who knows what he wants—and that is to bring me to my knees with his sensual mouth.

  My heart pounds as his lips take more command. Our mouths are caught up in a frantic need to stay connected and never break apart. I’m burning up. I’ve never been kissed like this. I move my hands to his wavy locks, and Maxime moans as I glide my fingers through his silky waves. His hair has a glorious scent, one that I want imprinted in my memory.

  I realize he likes having his hair touched, so I move my hand through his thick locks, down to the nape of his neck, and lightly graze my fingertips across the back of it. Maxime responds by drawing me closer to him, his hands skimming down to my waist and pushing my coat aside. I gasp as he finds my camisole, his fingers touching the curve in my waist, and I shiver against him, which causes Maxime to kiss me harder.