by Aven Ellis
“Why don’t you go find JoJo and let her put up with your annoying self?” Maxime jokes.
Cade laughs. “I’m just glad I can finally tease you about someone.”
With his words, the lump in my stomach becomes a heavy boulder.
“So where is my girl?” Cade asks, oblivious to my torment. “I thought you’d all be together.”
“She’s in the lounge with Jude and Sierra,” I explain. “I came out to get some air.”
“Are you feeling okay, Skye?” Maxime quickly asks, assessing me for any sign of illness.
No, I think, staring at him. I’m not okay.
“Skye?” Maxime asks again.
“Um,” I say, the words sticking in my throat because my heart doesn’t want to let them out, “can you walk with me, Maxime?”
I feel Cade’s eyes on me and then Maxime.
“We’ll wait for you guys in the lounge,” Cade says, taking his cue.
“What is it?” Maxime asks, closing the gap between us and putting his hands protectively on my face. “Are you sick? Do I need to take you home?”
The second he touches me, I know this is the last time I’ll ever have the warmth of his hands on my face or feel the roughness of his skin against mine. It’s the last time I’ll see him gaze down at me with nothing but concern for my well-being.
To my surprise, tears flood my eyes. I shouldn’t be this upset. I’ve had one date with him, one. How can I have a feeling of loss like this?
“Skye?” Maxime asks, his voice growing with alarm. “What’s happening? Tell me.”
People pass us in the corridor, and I don’t want any of his teammates to see this.
“Is there somewhere private we can go?” I get out, my voice shaking.
Maxime furrows his brow and looks around. Next to the family lounge is a media room, which is vacant since the players have already done post-game interviews.
He puts his arm around my shoulders and escorts me to the vacant room. There are white tables and folding chairs and bright fluorescent lighting. It’s cold and unwelcoming, and I’d rather be anywhere but here, having to say what I need to say to Maxime.
“You should sit,” Maxime says, moving in front of me and unfolding a chair.
“Maxime, no,” I say.
He stops and stares at me.
“Maxime, I’m not sick,” I begin. A huge lump swells in my throat, and I can’t speak. I swallow hard several times before I can. “I don’t think we should go out again,” I say softly.
He stares at me in disbelief. One hand grips a folding chair as Maxime freezes in place.
“What?” he asks.
“I’ve thought about this a lot tonight,” I say. “Maxime, please understand that I like you. I like you a lot, which is the problem.”
My heart catches as Maxime doesn’t move. I see his chest rise and fall, his beautiful eyes a sea of confusion.
“I don’t see a problem,” he says simply.
“That part is not, but I am,” I say, my voice cracking. “We’re very different people. I’m afraid we won’t work in the long run.”
Maxime’s hand has tightened on the chair. I think I’m going to throw up.
“Usually women wait to get to know me before making that assessment,” he says as his knuckles turn white.
“Maxime, no,” I plead. “You’re an incredible man, the most incredible man I’ve ever had the honor of going out with.”
Maxime drops the chair, and I jump back from the sound of it clattering on the concrete floor.
“I don’t understand,” Maxime says, his eyes searching mine for an answer. “Everything was fine last night on our date, and in our conversations today. You kissed me like you meant it. So, yeah, I’m confused right now. What happened to make you change your mind?”
“You have done nothing wrong; this is all about me. I just don’t think our lifestyles will match up in the long run.”
Maxime exhales loudly. “You’re making it very clear it’s me. The way I live would eventually bore you. I’ll bore you. I should thank you for picking up on it now rather than later. I’ve been there. I won’t go through that again.”
Juliette, my brain calculates. Something went wrong after Maxime fell in love with her.
“No, no, that’s not it,” I say urgently, not wanting him to think this.
“Don’t humiliate me by lying. If you don’t want to see me, you don’t have to. We can be friends. That’s what you are going to suggest next, right?”
“I’m not lying,” I cry, shaking my head. “Do you really think I want this?”
“You’re the one asking for it,” Maxime snaps, raking his hands through his hair in frustration. “Of course, you want this.”
My carefully controlled emotions suddenly erupt from me.
“You will hate me if we start dating!” I blurt out.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Do you want to be on the cover of tabloids? Do you want awful things written about you just because you are dating me? Because you will. I like you so much that I have to think about the ramifications on your life if we continued to date. If you are with me, people will talk. They will take pictures and gossip, and you guard your privacy so fiercely. It will all go to hell if you date me. Even when the tabloids get tired of the story and move on, it will never end on social media. I can’t do this to you because I do like you. After that one date, I like you a lot, more than I should, and I know if I keep seeing you, that will grow. As much as I want to date you, and, believe me, I want that more than you could ever know, I won’t destroy your life like that. As much as this kills me now, I would rather stop seeing you than see resentment in your eyes when you look at me. This is the truth. I can’t ruin your life like this. I won’t.”
I’m shaking as I turn and walk toward the door. I’ve said more than I wanted, but my heart did all the talking. I’m leaving Maxime behind, when all I want to do is run to him. I blink back tears, the what-ifs of what we could have had haunting me before I leave the room.
I could have fallen for you, Maxime Laurent, I think as I reach the doorframe. Now I’ll never know what that could have been like.
I’m just about to step through the door when Maxime slams the door shut angrily with one hand. I gasp in shock, and Maxime turns me around and presses my back against the door, framing my face in his hands.
“I’m not walking away from you,” Maxime says urgently.
I fight back tears. “Maxime, please. You should.”
“No,” he says, his voice strong. “I’m not. Not now. Not after that date. Not after what you just said. I’m a man. I can handle what I choose to handle. And I choose this. Us. I choose you.”
Then his mouth urgently closes over mine.
Chapter Fifteen
Maxime’s kiss is deep, his tongue desperately seeking mine, with a passion telling me there is no way this man is walking away from me now.
Hunger for him takes over, and I thread my fingers through his thick hair, kissing him back with the same urgent need. I feel tears slip from my eyes, mingling with his skin as his lips burn against mine. Heat burns within me, a fierce need to be with him taking over. Maxime’s body is pressed against me as his mouth continues to take all that he can, all that I can give. His hands move my leather jacket aside so he can touch my blouse. I instinctively take his hand and move it under the silky fabric so I can feel his hand on my bare skin, with nothing between us.
A groan of desire escapes his throat. He seizes my lower lip with his teeth, lightly biting it, and the move is so hot, a violent tremor runs through me.
“Oh,” I gasp, closing my eyes as his lips go to my collarbones. Maxime responds by running his mouth across my neck with hot, powerful kisses that cause me to break out in a sweat. I lift my leg, wrapping it around him, and then Maxime lifts me up and pins me to the door as he finds my mouth again.
I’ve never wanted anyone as much as Maxime. This man wants me. All
of me. He’s possessing me with his tongue and his mouth, and I want more. I could do it right here, against this media room door, and have no regrets.
Maxime’s hands span across my lower back, caressing my skin. I feel him go hard against me. I kiss him fiercely. I breathe in his vanilla and bourbon scent and allow myself to dip my head to his neck. Then I allow myself to taste him, the rich cologne, my lips greedily opening and allowing my tongue to flick across his skin.
“God,” Maxime groans. “I can’t take this.”
I continue to kiss him, harder and harder, sucking on his neck as Maxime shivers violently against me.
“I love the way you taste,” I murmur into his golden skin.
“Je voudrais t'embrasser. Maintenant,” Maxime says urgently, his mouth reclaiming mine as he tells me in French he wants to kiss me. Now.
I’m lost in this moment, in this kiss—the sexiest, steamiest kiss I’ve ever had. We both have all our clothing on, but it doesn’t matter. We’re connecting through these intimate kisses, and I find it both sensual and romantic.
“Anybody in here?” a voice calls out, followed by banging on the door. I nearly let out a startled cry, but Maxime silences me by kissing me again on the mouth. Then he throws one hand up against the door while holding me in place.
“Yes, just finishing up,” Maxime yells back, and I stifle a laugh. “Be right out.”
“Okay, thanks,” the voice on the other side says.
I cradle his face in my hands. Maxime is gazing at me with nothing but affection, and my heart soars as a result.
“You should probably put me down now,” I say, smiling at him.
Maxime brushes his lips against mine again, but this kiss is slow and gentle, telling me he cares about me and enjoys kissing me just as much this way, too.
He breaks the kiss, and I feel him smiling against my mouth.
“Okay,” he says, gently lowering me to the floor.
Maxime takes a step back from me but reaches for my hands and draws me to him. “I think that kiss tells you I will handle any attention we will get, Skye.”
For a moment, reality fights through my happiness.
“Maxime, this will be intense,” I say, lacing my fingers through his. “Please believe me when I say you don’t know what it’s like until it’s too late. You will not have the same life you have now if we’re together. I don’t want you to ever resent me for taking away your peace. It would break my heart if that happened, if I hurt you in any way.”
Maxime is silent for a moment, and his expression turns to one of both softness and seriousness.
“We’ve both been hurt,” Maxime says slowly. “We’ve both made miscalculations with the opposite sex. If you had told me I would want to go out with a TV personality a year ago, I would have run. But that was before I met you.”
He pauses and affectionately grazes my cheek with his fingertips. “I have my own baggage, Skye. You might decide the guy who is a homebody and hates parties is too boring for you. The logical side of me should be terrified I’m taking this chance, knowing that could be the outcome. I’ve been wrong before. Wrong in a way that devastated me. You could leave just like Juliette when you’ve had enough.”
I search his face, knowing that none of that matters. I’m about to say so when Maxime continues.
“Your actions tonight, the fact that you wanted to spare me pain, that you were willing to do something that hurt you to protect me, tell me I have to take this chance. You’re sexy and beautiful and smart, but more than all of that, you have a beautiful heart. I’m going to take this chance. I need to see where this goes. If you still want that, Skye.”
I blink away fresh tears. “I don’t have the best judgment,” I say, my voice thick. “But I’m trusting it now. I want to see where this goes, too.”
He draws my hands to his lips and presses a warm kiss across my knuckles. “Do you still want to have dinner with our friends?”
I nod. “I do.”
“Afterward, we can lay out our plans for dating during the next eleven days.”
I laugh. “I love that we’re already long-distance dating.”
“See? You have tabloids, and I play a game that takes me away for eleven days at a time. Mutual baggage.”
I squeeze his hands. “It’s not, but I adore you for framing it that way.”
“Come on, let’s go,” Maxime says, holding my hand as he opens the door.
Elation doesn’t describe what I feel as I walk down the hallway with Maxime. All seemed so lost a few minutes ago, and I was so close to losing the chance to date Maxime. While there is no guarantee where this will go, we have a chance.
I’ve decided my judgment of Maxime’s character is right. My judgment that this could be something different and wonderful is right.
Now we’ll just take our time and see where it goes.
***
Celebrate Life with Sprinkles—The Blog
Starting the Day off Right
Everyone knows a good breakfast is a great way to start the day, right? I love all kinds of breakfast. Overnight oats. Steel-cut oats. Eggs and bacon. A new favorite, and follow me on this readers, is butter-slathered brioche bread with Dutch-chocolate sprinkles covering it from top to bottom. You all know I love sprinkles, but these imported ones raise the game to a whole new level. I know, you’re skeptical. You don’t trust it. But sometimes life is about putting your judgment aside until you try it. You might be surprised and find something magical as a result. XO Skye
“You know, I should be angry with you,” I say to Maxime. “It’s freezing outside, it’s eight o'clock in the morning, and after spending half the night making out with you and then texting you when I got home until I fell asleep, you take me out for breakfast. We should be in bed snuggled under the covers.”
Maxime shoots me a wicked grin. “We should be in bed?”
Oops.
I blush furiously. I’m sitting across the table from Maxime at an old-school breakfast café in Boulder, and I’m lucky enough to have a breakfast date with this sexy Belgian man.
“Snuggling with you in a warm bed with an electric blanket would be nice,” I admit.
Okay, that’s the blurred-reality version.
The real version is much more X-rated and would include me snuggled up against his bare chest, running my fingertips down the trail of hair that leads to the waistband of his boxer-briefs. That’s what I’d really like to do, but I’ll keep those details to myself.
“Electric blanket? I’d sweat to death. Though I am used to having dogs all over the bed.”
“Would there even be room for me?” I flirt back.
Maxime’s eyes dance at me. “We can find out when I get back from my road trip.”
Ooh!
Our server appears and places two menus in front of us. I order a cup of coffee, Maxime requests a cup of tea, and she leaves to let us study the menus.
Despite plowing through all that sushi last night, I’m ravenous.
“So, no coffee for you?” I ask, knowing the exact reason why.
“If I wanted water, I’d ask for a cup of coffee.”
He flashes me that cute smile, and my heart melts in response.
I begin studying my options. “Pancakes sound good. I think I’ll have those.”
“American pancakes are crazy,” Maxime says, shaking his head. “They are the size of my SUV tires.”
I shoot him a quizzical look. “You act like this is a problem.”
Maxime grins. “You’re cute.”
I feel warmth in my cheeks. “Thank you. I think you’re kind of cute, too. So much so, I’ll share my huge pancakes with you.”
“Ugh, no, you can keep your huge pancakes. They sit in my stomach like rocks.”
The server returns and places a steaming cup of coffee in front of me, which I use to warm my hands, and we place our orders. After ordering pancakes, I listen as Maxime goes through his order.
“I’d like three eg
gs, scrambled. Wheat toast, no butter. One bowl of oatmeal. A side of fruit,” he says, pausing as he continues to read the menu. “Turkey bacon. Oh, and a side of potatoes.”
“I think the only thing you didn’t order is pancakes,” I tease.
The server laughs and leaves to place our orders. As I watch her walk away, I notice some people a few tables over recording us with their cell phones.
My stomach drops out. I reach up for the end of my braid, a sick feeling washing over me.
I turn toward Maxime, who is studying me with a concerned look on his face.
“What’s wrong?”
“How do you know I’m upset?”
“You play with your hair when you are upset.”
“Maxime, you know me better than people who have known me for years. How is that possible?”
“I can’t explain it, but I do.”
He reaches for my hand across the table, but knowing we’re being filmed, I move it away.
“Skye, you haven’t changed your mind, have you?” he asks, anxiety rising in his voice.
“Oh, no, no,” I say, shaking my head firmly. I lean closer. “There are people filming us a few tables over. I’m sorry, Maxime. If I could change this, I would.”
“How do you know they aren’t filming me?”
I laugh. “Fair point. You’re a hockey star and incredibly sexy. I’d film you, too.”
A pink tint sweeps across his chiseled cheekbones, and my heart dances the second I see it.
“You blush,” I say in delight.
“I do not,” Maxime insists, ripping open his tea bag and dunking it into his mug.
“Oh, yes, you do! And if we weren’t being filmed, I’d caress those blushing cheekbones.”
Maxime’s expression turns to one of seriousness. “Touch me.”
“What?”
“I don’t care if we’re being filmed.”
“But, Maxime, when people take pictures of you in public, it’s different. They end up on Twitter or Tumblr, Instagram or Connectivity, and that’s it,” I say softly. “With me, you could end up on a tabloid in a supermarket or on TV in a reality show update. On Is it Love? blogs. Why do we want to give that to them? We’ve only had three dates. You don’t want that onslaught now, Maxime.”
