Max

by Tara Crescent

  “Five years ago, I made the biggest mistake of my life. I was terrified of being in a real relationship, and instead of talking to you about my fears, I ran away.” He gulps. “I didn’t mean to. But with each passing day, calling you seemed more and more difficult. I’m ashamed to say I took the easy way out.”

  “You couldn’t have been that ashamed,” I say, an edge in my voice. “It’s taken you five years to approach me.”

  But his words hit me like a thunderclap. I was terrified of being in a real relationship, and instead of telling you my fears, I ran away. Dominic did that to me five years ago. And last week, I did the same thing to Max. Dominic left one morning and never came back home. I snuck out in the middle of the night. Different details, same hurt.

  I can’t breathe. My stomach churns as I contemplate what I’ve done.

  I can’t leave things as they are with Max. I have to see him and explain. He might not forgive me. He might hate me forever, but Max deserves to know why I left. I have to overcome my fear and do the right thing.

  I look across the table at the man who broke my heart so thoroughly five years ago. “Dominic,” I say, “I don’t know why you are here and why you felt need to reach out now. It doesn’t matter, because you’ve helped me realize something important, and I’m grateful for that.”

  “I was hoping we could try again,” he says. “I miss you, Charlie.”

  I shake my head. I can appreciate how much courage it’s taken Dominic to approach me. But there’s only one guy that matters, and it’s not the one sitting in front of me. “I’m sorry,” I say gently. “There’s someone else.”

  His face falls.

  I rise to my feet. There’s no point prolonging this, and I’m really impatient to find Max. “Goodbye, Dominic.” I walk up to the bar with my burger in hand, hoping Joe will package it for me.

  At the exact moment I reach the counter, Max walks into the bar.

  * * *

  I stop breathing, because he’s walking toward me, an intent look on his face. He’s holding a bunch of the palest pink roses in his hand, and when I see them, my heart pitter-patters with hope.

  I can’t tear my eyes away from Max as he draws up to me. “I need to say something to you.”

  “Are the roses for me?” I ask faintly.

  He rolls his eyes. “Yes, Charlie, the roses are for you. Can I get on with my speech now?”

  I bury my face in the flowers, and smell their sweet fragrance. I’m a sure thing, Max, I want to shout. Just say the words, and I’m yours. “Yes,” I mutter instead. “Please.”

  Max looks nervous. His hair is rumpled, and his t-shirt is on inside-out. “I thought I’d be okay without you in my life, Charlie, but I’m not. There’s no flavor anymore. I’ll take anything you’ve got. Be my friend. Be my lover. Be my girlfriend. Be anything, but be something, because I’m empty without you.”

  I rarely cry. The weird prickling in my eyelids must be an allergic reaction to the flowers, that’s all. “You didn’t want me.” My voice is small.

  “What are you talking about, Campbell?”

  “That night, at your place, after the barbeque at your sister’s. You pushed me away.”

  He gives me a blank look, and I hasten to add an explanation. “We’d had sex three times, and the fourth time, you weren’t interested.”

  “Charlie.” Max sounds exasperated beyond belief. “Are you telling me that you doubted us because I had too much to drink and couldn’t get it up one night? You know how ridiculous that sounds, right?” His gaze turns sharp. “Wait a second. That’s why you broke up with me?”

  Okay, when he puts it that way, I sound completely unhinged. I can’t meet his gaze, so I stare at the flowers instead.

  “Charlie,” Max says, giving me a tender look. “The next morning, I woke up with a raging hard-on and couldn’t figure out why you weren’t in bed with me.” His fingers lace in mine. “Why couldn’t you talk to me?”

  “Because I’m a coward about relationships. I don’t take risks. I did once, and it didn’t end well, and it left me scarred. But I was wrong, Max. I shouldn’t have left.”

  “I shouldn’t have let you leave,” he replies. “Not until I found out what the problem was.” He puts his arm around my waist and draws me close. “Will you take a risk now, Campbell? I’m crazy about you.” He looks into my eyes. “This is the bar where I’ve broken up with dozens of women. But I never want to let you go.”

  “Max.” I put my hands on his face, one on each cheek, and lean toward him so our noses are touching. “You’re a great guy, but you have one flaw.”

  “I do?”

  My lips curl into a smile. “You’re not very observant, baby. Did you notice I didn’t throw your flowers back at you?”

  He flashes me a cheeky grin before wrapping a hand around my neck and pulling me even closer. Our lips touch, collide, linger, and my heart knows it’s come home. “Hey,” he whispers. “I want credit for remembering what your favorite flower is.”

  Joe approaches the two of us. “My bottom line suffers when my regulars don’t show up,” he grumbles. “Are you two finally together?”

  My insides do a little dance of joy. “We totally are.” I take the take-out container Joe’s holding, and slide my burger and fries into it. “See you next week.”

  Max squeezes my ass with a wicked grin. “Want to head home, Charlie?” he asks. “I hear Love Actually is playing on TV, and we never did watch it.”

  I beam in reply. “To be honest, I prefer Kill Bill.”

  He wraps his arm around my waist, and I rest my head against his shoulder. “A girl after my own heart,” he says approvingly. “Let’s go home, Charlie.”

  Boyfriend by the Hour

  Synopsis

  This steamy, romantic story contains a dominant hero who’s pretending to be an escort, and a sassy heroine who’s given up on real relationships.

  Sadie:

  I can’t believe I have the hots for an escort.

  Cole Mitchell is ripped, bearded, sexy and dominant. When he moves next door to me, I find it impossible to resist sampling the wares.

  But Cole’s not a one-woman kind of guy, and I won’t share.

  Cole:

  She thinks I’m an escort. I’m not.

  I thought I’d do anything to sleep with Sadie. Then I realized I want more. I want Sadie. Forever.

  I’m not the escort she thinks I am.

  Now, I just have to make sure she never finds out.

  1

  Sadie:

  It’s ten at night. I’m watching ‘When Harry Met Sally’ for the thirteenth time, with my ginger cat Blue curled up on the couch next to me, and my beagle Devil lying on my lap, when I hear thuds from the hallway. Most of the inhabitants on my floor are in their seventies and eighties, and they tend to be in bed at eight, so I assume the noise is my neighbor Mike.

  I haven’t seen Mike for well over a week. Ever since he started dating his girlfriend Eva seriously, he’s been spending more and more time at her place. “Might as well return Mike’s flashlight, Devil,” I tell my dog.

  Talking to your pets is an occupational hazard when you work from home.

  I pause the movie, push Devil aside and get up. Blue jumps off the couch in disdain, her back arched in protest. “Yes, yes,” I soothe her as I walk to my front door. “It’s terrible how I treat you, Madam Cat.”

  But when I open my door, it isn’t Mike I see in the corridor. The greeting I’ve started to form freezes on my lips, and my mouth falls open.

  Because the man standing in front of Mike’s door is drop-dead gorgeous. He’s wearing a grey t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscled forearms. White linen pants hug his firm ass. His hair is chocolate brown and slightly longer than the norm. His face is covered with stubble, yet somehow, the scruff just makes him look hotter. And his eyes? As green as a dewy leaf at the crack of dawn.

  Right now, they gleam with amusement. He’s laughing… at
me.

  Holy shit on a stick, I’ve been staring at him. With my mouth open, and I can’t rule out the possibility of drool. And I’m wearing an old white t-shirt and my brightest pink pajama bottoms, a gift from my friend Anna for my thirtieth birthday, covered with images of Dumbo, the cartoon elephant.

  As first impressions go, this one's a doozy.

  You think I’d correct it with the second impression, right? Wrong. Because I open my mouth and quite possibly the dumbest sentence in the world emerges. “You’re not Mike.”

  The hot stranger grins. “No,” he agrees. “I’m Cole.”

  Up close, he looks like he’s been drinking. He’s slightly unsteady on his feet, and his eyes are bloodshot. Rather belatedly, my suspicions are aroused. A strange guy is forcing a key into my neighbor’s door, and so far, I’ve been too busy ogling him to realize that he might be breaking into Mike’s place.

  “Cole, huh?” I put my hand on my hip, and try to inject menace into my voice, something that isn’t particularly easy to do when you are only five feet and three inches tall. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  My sudden hostility doesn’t appear to startle him. If he’s a burglar, he’s a smooth one. He straightens and leans against the wall. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asks. “I’m trying to get in.” He flashes me a charming grin before looking at the key in his hand in a distracted manner. “I can’t seem to fit the key into the keyhole.”

  “No shit,” I mutter, low enough that he can’t hear me. I’m surprised he can even see the keyhole. “Why?” I ask him in a louder voice.

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you trying to get into this apartment?”

  “Because I live here,” he replies, as if it’s obvious.

  “Bullshit, buddy.” He looks like sweet sin, with his wickedly sexy grin. My body, deprived of male company for a very long time, is definitely paying attention. His hotness is making me stupid, but I’m still not that stupid. “I know the person that lives here, and you aren’t him.”

  “Right.” He nods at me slowly, as if I’m the idiot in this conversation, not him. “That’s Mike. He’s moving in with his fiancée and he’s letting me live here while he gives his sixty days’ notice.” His lips twitch and his eyes dance with merriment. “I’m your new neighbor.” He holds the key up in my direction. “Can you help me? My hands aren’t very steady right now.”

  Oh. For the third time in our conversation, I feel foolish, like some kind of vigilante neighborhood watch shrew. My cheeks heat with embarrassment, and to avoid looking at his smirking face, I take the key from his hand and open the door for him.

  “Thank you,” he says when I’m done. “I’m Cole Mitchell, by the way.”

  I refrain from pointing out that he’s already introduced himself. If he’s going to be my neighbor for the next sixty days, there’s no need to get bitchy. Not unless he starts playing the saxophone in the middle of the night. “Sadie Sterling,” I reply.

  “Sadie,” he repeats, as if he’s testing the words on his tongue. He winks at me. “I’m sure Mike will be touched when he hears how protective you are about his space.”

  With that sly wink, my temper flares. I’m getting teased by this jerk because I tried to do a good thing? Bite me. I flip him off, whirl around and enter my own apartment, slamming the door with a loud bang.

  And I pretend I can’t hear his chuckles on the other side of the door.

  2

  Sadie:

  A week later, I’m not thinking of the impossibly-hot Cole Mitchell. I’m facing my two best friends with the same enthusiasm I’d greet a firing squad, and I’m cursing myself inwardly. I should have known better than to tell Patti and Anna about my plans to go to London in the fall.

  It’s the fault of hot yoga, I swear. The steam acts as a truth serum. After an hour of sweating in that super-heated studio, all the blood leaves your head, causing you to say and do dumb things.

  “London?” Anna stops halfway in the middle of getting dressed and peers at me through her glasses, giving me the same look she gives people who talk too loudly on their cell phones in the library. “Again?”

  There’s a wealth of meaning in that one word. Again.

  The three of us are in a corner of the yoga studio’s changing room. The normally crowded space is almost empty, a side effect of the warm summer evening. Only the most committed chakra-seekers can subject themselves to yoga on a day like today. More sensible people have abandoned inner peace for a pint of beer on a patio.

  “But Sadie,” Patti frowns at me, “you swore you’d go somewhere else this year.” Already fully dressed, she eyes her reflection critically in front of a mirror, before she rummages in her bag for a tube of mascara. “Somewhere new. Somewhere different.”

  “I know,” I try to explain, winding a scarf around my neck and zipping my jacket up. I’m always cold right after hot yoga. “I was thinking of going to Barcelona, but…”

  “But you chickened out.” Anna’s voice contains a mild rebuke.

  “I don’t speak the language.” The three of us fall into lockstep as we head out in search of our own pints.

  “So what?” Patti shrugs. “I travel all the time. You just need to learn how to order a drink, and you’ll be set.”

  She makes it sound so easy. Patti is the likeliest one of the three of us to hop on a last-minute flight and head halfway around the world with no luggage and no hotel reservations. I need to carefully woo adventure, one baby-step at a time. Patti? Adventure buzzes around her like fruit flies around an unguarded glass of wine.

  “How about here?” Anna stops outside a bar with a sign announcing a special on nachos, and I nod my agreement.

  Seats are found and drinks speedily ordered. Once that’s taken care of, Anna turns to me with a look of determination in her eyes. “Bring out your resolution book, Sadie.”

  Uh-oh.

  I’m an unrepentant resolution maker. Every year, starting in October, I think long and hard about what I want to achieve in the upcoming year, and I write these goals down in a notebook that I carry around everywhere I go. I’ve known Anna and Patti all my life, and there’s no point trying to pretend the book isn’t with me. Reluctantly, I reach in my bag for the leather-covered journal and pull it out.

  “Open it to this year’s resolutions.”

  Damn Anna. I grimace as I find the page, knowing without even reading it what I’m going to find. When the list of resolutions is found, Patti leans forward. “Resolution Number 10,” she reads aloud. “Go somewhere adventurous on vacation. Barcelona. Istanbul. Marrakesh. Do NOT go to London.” She gives me an accusing look. “Remember that, Sadie?”

  “That was in December,” I argue. “It’s August now. I’m allowed to change my mind.”

  “Forget this year’s resolutions,” Anna says, sweet as a kitten, and just as lethal. “What about last year’s? Find those.”

  Damn it. I was hoping they wouldn’t remember, but these two women have memories like elephants. I sheepishly turn the pages to last year’s goals and before Patti can read the shame-inducing resolution out loud, I do it myself. “Go somewhere new on vacation,” I intone. “Not London.”

  “Exactly.” The waitress delivers our beers and all conversation ceases as we take our first long sips. Hot yoga is a thirsty business.

  I think rapidly. Beer won’t keep Patti and Anna quiet forever. Once the immediate desire for a cold beverage is satisfied, their attention will turn back once more to my vacation plans, and I need a distraction. “There’s a party in my building tomorrow night,” I say casually. “I’m thinking of going.”

  That gets both their attention. “You, Sadie Sterling, are voluntarily going to a party?” Anna asks skeptically.

  “She’s just trying to distract us from London and the conversation we are going to have with her about taking risks,” Patti guesses astutely.

  Time to pull out the big guns. “Sure,” I admit. “I don’t want to talk about London
. But there’s another reason. I have a new neighbor, he’s really hot and I’m hoping he’ll be at the party.”

  Bingo. They both lean forward, wearing identical shocked expressions. “You thought a guy was hot?” Patti asks disbelievingly. “So much so that you’re going to a party hoping to run into him?” Anna’s voice is pitched high with surprise.

  I think about Cole Mitchell, my not-really-a-burglar neighbor. The breadth of his shoulders, the muscles that corded his arms, the laughter in his eyes. I haven’t seen him since the night I accused him of breaking into Mike’s apartment, and I’ll be honest, I’m a little disappointed. “Maybe a little,” I mutter, aware that my pink cheeks are giving me away.

  “Fine,” Patti concedes. “I’ll quit nagging you about London if you go to this party. But if your hot neighbor isn’t there, you’ll have to come up with another way to approach him, okay?”

  “Okay,” I agree. Anything to avoid the ‘be bold and take more risks, Sadie’ conversation.

  3

  Cole:

  For the first time since I returned back home to Toronto, I feel like I can relax. Finally.

  “Thanks for the apartment loan, dude,” I tell my best friend Mike gratefully. “The idea of living at my place while the contractors are tearing it up…” I shudder with horror. I’ve never been accused of being a neat freak, but even for me, the chaos was starting to get overwhelming.

  Mike’s fiancée Eva, shakes her head at me, laughing. “Cole,” she says, “you have to remember you are rich now. You probably could have bought this place.”

  Since I do open my royalty statements, I can confirm her theory. It’s all a little surreal. Eight months ago, in my spare time while tending bar on a beach in Thailand, I wrote a comic book about a nerd superhero. For reasons that still elude me, it became a bestseller. Now, it’s been optioned by a movie studio, and word on the street is that they are talking to Chris Pratt about the lead role.