by Lexi Ryan
“Spoken like a woman smitten,” Krystal says.
“But why loneliness?” Hanna asks. “Are you lonely?”
So lonely. But I say, “No. I just said loneliness because ‘horny’ is an ugly world, and I’m a sucker for alliteration.”
My joke works, and the girls laugh. Thank goodness. I really don’t want them hung up on that loneliness thing.
“So why not?” Maggie asks.
Because I can’t get my heart broken again. But I don’t say so. I don’t want to admit—not even to my friends—that I’m already in deep enough with Max to know he could break my heart. How pathetic that after one night together I already know that’s true.
“Ooh,” Krystal says. “Is he bad in bed?”
Hanna snorts. “Hardly.” When we all turn to her, she blushes and wrinkles her nose at me. “That’s the weirdness you were referring to, isn’t it?”
I clear my throat. “Pretty much.”
She blushes and lowers her voice. “Don’t tell Nate I said that.” Then she shakes her head and grins. “Or maybe you should, and he can do that thing where he gets all jealous and determined to prove he gets me off like no one else. And he does, but I do enjoy it when he takes up that particular mission.”
Krystal props her hands on her hips. “Wait a minute. It’s still a legitimate question. Just because he was good in bed for Hanna doesn’t mean that he was for Nix. Sex is . . .” She waves her hand as if she’s looking for the word.
“Fun?” Maggie says.
“Underrated?” Liz puts in.
“Emotional?” Hanna suggests.
“Subjective,” Krystal says. “God, when did my little sisters become such hussies?”
“I’ve always been a hussy,” Maggie says.
Liz nods. “Yeah, me too.”
“Back to the point at hand.” Krystal turns her attention back to me. Then they’re all staring again.
Cally cocks her head. “We’ve all shared. Now it’s your turn. Dish. We want to know about Max’s skills between the sheets. With you.”
But, technically speaking, we never made it between sheets. Nope. He just took me right there in the garage, the humid air making our skin slick with sweat. Then he took me to my bedroom, and when I lay on top of the quilt, he gave me that mischievous grin and parted my legs.
I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my lip.
Maggie hoots. “She’s turned on.”
My eyes fly open. “What?”
“Look at you!” she says. “You’re turned on just thinking about Max. Your cheeks are pink. Admit it. He. Was. Good.”
“I never said otherwise,” I grumble.
The thing is, I didn’t expect much from a guy like Max. I didn’t think beautiful men could also be amazing lovers. I mean, sure, my friends have gorgeous men and constantly sing their sexual praises, but I thought the girls were just too inexperienced to know their beautiful men were truly just average lovers.
In my experience, no man is as good in bed as one who feels grateful to have you there, and there’s an indirect correlation between a man’s sexiness and how giving he is in bed. Meaning that pasty-faced computer nerd who’s a little soft around the middle may just be the guy to rock your world.
But when it comes to any expectations I had about Max, oh hell, was I wrong.
The girls squeal in delight, and Hanna claps her hands. “I love this. I love this so much. Max deserves someone good, and so do you. You guys could be great together!”
I force a smile, but I’m not the kind of someone good she wants for Max. “Well, thanks for your opinion, but don’t get your hopes up. Now, can we get out of here before he thinks I’m the world’s rudest neighbor?”
Liz grins. “Yeah, we don’t want to keep her from Max.”
Krystal glances longingly toward the dining room, where they were spying on the firefighters across the street. “I guess.”
Five
Max
“How’d the date go?” Will asks.
I cover the grill with burgers and avoid his eyes. “Fine.”
“Max had a date?” Sam asks.
“Yeah,” Will says, “but he won’t tell me who it was with.”
“It doesn’t matter. Nothing’s going to come of it.”
“Why not?”
I shrug. It’s not that it wasn’t a perfectly pleasant date. She’s a friend of a friend who lives out west, and she called me, told me she was coming to town, and asked me to take her somewhere nice for dinner. When I picked her up, she was dressed to kill in this black-and-white skirt that hid nothing and a top that exposed the strip of skin below her navel. She was gorgeous and sweet¸ and I brought her back here and we had wine on the patio and talked.
But every time that shirt would shift and I’d see that perfectly smooth skin of her stomach, I’d think about Nix and what she’s hiding under her shirt.
“Listen,” I tell my friends. “She’s going to be here tonight, but play it cool, okay? We’ve only been on one date, and I’m not even sure I’m interested. I don’t need you idiots making a big deal out of it.”
“Hey there!” Janelle Crane steps out the back door and onto the patio and smiles at my friends. Then she saunters over to me and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Hey, sexy. You need anything?”
I feel the guys staring at me, but I refuse to look at them. Janelle Crane is an actress brought to New Hope when her brother, Nate, moved in with my ex-fiancée, Hanna Thompson. It’s shit from the daytime soaps, I swear, but my drama aside, Janelle’s sweet and sexy, and the guys are totally pissing themselves with envy because she was my date last night. “No, I’m good. Glad you could make it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it! Nate just got here with the twins. Mind if I go inside and play with my nieces?”
“Make yourself at home,” I say.
The silence turns stereo as we watch her walk back into the house.
“Janelle Crane?” Sam asks when she’s gone. He and Will are both staring at me as if I’ve grown a second, then third head. “You’re trying to figure out if you’re interested in Janelle Gift To Men’s Eyes Everywhere Crane?”
“Keep it down,” I growl.
“Is this about Hanna?” Sam asks, and I groan.
“It’s not about Hanna,” Will says, matter-of-fact.
Sam’s eyes narrow, as if he’s trying to get a read on me. “There’s somebody else, isn’t there? You fell for somebody else and you’ve kept it from us.”
“Nobody can keep secrets in this town,” Will says. But the corner of his mouth twitches with his grin. That I know your secret grin.
Bastard.
“Who is she?” Sam asks.
“There’s nobody else.” I turn to flip the burgers. “I’m just not sure I’m interested in a long-distance relationship.”
“But it’s Janelle Crane.” Sam clutches his chest. “Come on, man. You owe this to us. Let us live vicariously.”
I arch a brow. “So if you had an opportunity to go home with her tonight instead of Liz, you’d do it?”
“Fuck no,” Sam says.
Then I look to Will. “And you’d risk what you have with Cally for a chance with a hot actress?”
“Hell no.”
Sam laughs. “But you pretty much just admitted there’s somebody else.”
Fuck. I did. “There’s not.”
A chorus of female laughter pulls my attention away from the grill and over to the group of women entering my yard.
It’s hot out tonight, and they’re dressed for it, all of them in flip-flops, tanks, and short skirts or jean shorts. In other words, there’s enough soft exposed skin in my backyard right now to give a teenage boy mental material for months. But my eyes are drawn to only one of them. And it’s not Hanna. I would have given anything to be with Hanna just two years ago, but Sam is wrong in thinking I’m still hung up on her.
My gaze is drawn to Phoenix Reid, whose long legs are exposed in a pair of cutoffs.
“Lord
have mercy,” Sam whispers beside me.
“There’s a sight for sore eyes,” Will says, leaving us to go to his woman.
“The doctor?” Sam asks as I tear my eyes off Nix.
I look around, but we’re alone for the moment. “What?”
“You and Nix? When did that happen?”
Fuck. I follow Sam’s gaze across the yard to where Nix is laughing at something Krystal said. “It’s nothing.” God, I feel like I’m in high school again. This is ridiculous. “She’s not interested. So it’s nothing.”
“But it was,” Sam says. “It was something? Enough to make you hem and haw about dating Janelle Crane?”
“Drop it,” I mutter.
He rocks back on his heels and his lips twitch. “Sure thing.”
“Don’t you need to go feel up your woman or something?”
“She’s inside playing with her nieces. That woman loves those babies like they’re her own.”
“Yeah? And why don’t you give her some of her own?” I’ve had enough of the third degree tonight. Might as well turn the tables.
But instead of squirming and dodging the question, Sam just smacks me on the back and says, “I plan to just as soon as she’ll let me. Now go ask out your doctor.” Smirking, he takes the spatula from my hand.
Instead of arguing, I head toward Nix, if for no other reason than to not have to listen to Sam’s shit anymore.
Okay. There’s another reason. Those legs. Holy hell.
My eyes lift to meet hers. She’s standing by William and Cally, already watching me, worry etching her features. Before I get to her, she ducks her head and darts off in the opposite direction.
* * *
Nix
The food table is nearly empty and the air is filled with laughter. Any fears I had about Max approaching me again tonight have been put to rest. He’s kept his distance—not that I can blame him after the way I practically ran away. Anyway, there are at least twenty people here, so it’s not like he’s avoiding me. He’s been spending his whole night playing host—grabbing beer and making sure there’s enough food to go around. Up until he went inside to tuck her into bed about fifteen minutes ago, he had Claire to contend with as well.
I’m relieved we haven’t been cornered into an awkward conversation. Or I should be.
Clouds slide across the moon and the ground shakes with a clap of thunder that isn’t so much heard but felt.
My eyes go to the sky just as it opens, and sharp needles of rain slice into my skin.
“Everybody get in the house,” Max calls from the door.
The table is littered with beer bottles, martini glasses, and tumblers. I’m not so worried about the beer bottles weathering the storm, but the wind is picking up, and I don’t want it destroying Max’s nice glasses, so I gather what I can into my arms and take them into the house.
Everyone is gathered in Max’s kitchen, laughing, joking, and dripping wet. The rain isn’t going to slow this party down.
I head straight to the counter. A second later, Max is behind me, his arms also full of glasses.
“I’m in your way,” I say by way of an apology.
He slips his gaze from my face to my damp tank top and back up. “Not at all. Thanks for helping.”
“Here.” I take the glasses from his arms and set them on the counter one at a time. I feel really shitty for avoiding him earlier. I moved here determined to live life on my terms, but the truth is I’m letting my demons rule my decisions. If I’m ever going to give a guy a chance, I couldn’t do better than Max—nor could any woman who enjoys that whole tall, dark, and charming thing. It’s just that it feels like my past is creeping back in on my life. And I’m scared.
When did I become a coward?
“Thanks,” he murmurs. He steps away from me, his face unreadable, then disappears into the living room on the other side of his throng of guests.
Safe to say I screwed that up.
Krystal left early, and my other friends are wrapped up with their men, so I’m not sure what to do with myself. I could leave, but I feel like I need to talk to Max before I go—if for no other reason than to thank him for inviting me.
But maybe more? Maybe I’ll tell him I hope he’ll ask me out again sometime.
The thought terrifies and exhilarates me all at once.
After filling the sink with hot, soapy water, I set to work washing the dishes, busying myself as people slowly make their way to the door. When just about everyone is gone, I spot Max on the other side of his kitchen, in the hallway opposite the remaining guests.
Showtime.
I turn off the water but stop when a gorgeous brunette joins him, tucking herself between his hard chest and the wall. I blink because that’s Janelle Crane, and there’s something proprietary about the way she’s touching Max.
I force myself to pick up a glass and get back to the task at hand.
“So are you going to ask me out again?” she asks. “Because I’m running out of excuses to stay in town.”
The glass slips from my hand and falls with a crash into the sink, but Max and Janelle are too engrossed in their conversation for the sound to disrupt them. Even so, I bow my head and hide the horror I know is all over my face.
No way can I hide how I feel about Janelle asking Max out. I just can’t. That’s like trying to keep a blank face when someone slugs you in the gut. Yet my eyes won’t mind their own business, and I find myself watching their exchange anyway.
“Be my date for Asher’s bonfire next weekend.” She rises onto her toes and presses her mouth to his in a kiss that’s neither chaste nor passionate. “Please?”
“Sure,” Max says. “I’ll pick you up at your brother’s?”
I tell myself not to think about it, and fish through the sudsy water for the drain so I can clean up the broken glass. “Shit!” I draw my hand to my chest and hold it tight, wrapping my opposite hand around my bleeding fingers.
This time Max hears and walks toward me. “Are you okay?”
No. Fuck no. I’m not.
I nod and escape to the bathroom, where I sink to the toilet seat and close my eyes.
Time to face facts. I’ve been lying to myself, convinced I didn’t want anything with Max. Just when I admit maybe that’s not true, Janelle steps in and takes what I was too much of a coward to.
Max might have been willing to give me a chance after our night together, but there’s no way in hell I can compete with sex symbol actress Janelle Crane.
The bathroom door creaks open then shut and I tell myself to breathe.
“Jesus, Nix.”
I open my eyes and see Max, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, his blue eyes narrowed in on my chest. Not that I have much of one but—no, not my chest. He’s staring at the growing circle of blood on my white T-shirt.
He turns into a model of efficiency, running the tap and collecting first-aid supplies. Taking my hand, he leads me over to the bathroom sink and holds it under the water. The bathroom is small and my back is pressed to his chest as he stands behind me and tends to my wound.
This man smells amazing. Like clean, hot-blooded male. If sex appeal had a scent that could be bottled and sold, the cologne companies would need to study Max.
God, I’m pathetic.
“I don’t think you need stitches,” he says softly into my hair.
“That’s my line.”
He grunts. “Right. Here, turn around.” He steps back as much as he can and spins me so I’m facing his broad chest. “How’s that feel?” he asks.
“What?” Oh. My hand. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
He grunts softly in disbelief and sinks onto the toilet seat. “Come here. Let me wrap it up.”
I step between his legs as he wraps gauze around my hand. I wonder if he and Janelle will get married, if she’ll move to New Hope and help raise Claire. They’d make a beautiful family.
His expert fingers have me bandaged too soon, and then he’s frown
ing at me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Really.”
Then he smiles. Really smiles. And my tense and worried insides melt into a puddle of want. That. Smile. “Thanks for your help tonight, but you don’t need to do my dishes.”
I open my mouth to tell him I can finish them, that I don’t mind, but then I remember my hand is wrapped in gauze. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“You’re welcome. Always.”
I wish I weren’t too proud to pretend to faint in his arms. It might be worth sacrificing a large chunk of my pride to feel Max hold me.
Unable to think up any excuse to linger, I step away and out of the bathroom, say my goodbyes, head home, and change out of my bloodstained shirt.
The rain has stopped, so take a beer to my back porch, dump a puddle of water off a chair, and sit. My ass will be wet, but I don’t care. It’s still drizzling, so I’ll just be damp all over.
“Hey. You want some company?” At the edge of Max’s yard, Hanna’s heading toward me, a glass of water in her hand.
I have a sinking feeling she’s here to talk to me about Max. I hope I’m wrong.
“Come on over,” I say. “The water’s fine.”
She smiles and wipes the water off the chair next to mine before sitting. She’s so gorgeous. Long, dark hair and curves she carries with pride. And she’s an amazing person—sweet and caring, and unfalteringly optimistic. It’s no wonder Max fell for her.
“He’s a good guy,” she says.
“I know that.” I turn my hand in my lap and stare at the bandage. Max is the kind of guy who stitches you when you’re cut, picks you up when you’re down, and gives you company when you’re at your loneliest.
“I don’t know what’s holding you back,” Hanna says, “but if it’s me, I’ll tell you now to cut that crap out. I have enough guilt where Max is concerned. I’m not going to be the reason he can’t find some happiness with someone as awesome as you.”
“It’s not really about you, Hanna.” I swallow hard. “I don’t know how you guys do it. You’ve been hurt and you put yourself back out there.”
