by Abby Brooks
Like, never ever.
Adventurous? I’m going to have to go with hell no. I pick up my menu and frown down at the long list of unfamiliar names and exorbitant prices.
Max chuckles. “I’m going to take that as an indicator that you’re not feeling like stepping outside your comfort zone.”
Somehow, his words sound like a challenge. I might not be adventuresome, but I am competitive as all hell.
“Nope, just getting the lay of the land before I make my final decision. It’s best to be informed, you know.” I close the menu and place it on the table in front of me
“I see.” Max steeples his fingers and touches them to his chin. In this moment, he seems way more financial mogul than rugged cop. The juxtaposition sets me on fire. “And where did you land, after your little informational excursion?”
I giggle and decide to drop a great big honesty bomb on the table. “This isn’t at all how I envisioned this evening.”
All traces of joviality drain from Max’s face. His eyes go hard and that little muscle in his jaw pulses, just once. A warning. “Yeah?” One word, strangled by stress.
Shit. That reaction right there is much more like how I envisioned the evening, but I hate the fact that I pulled it out of him when he was in such a lighthearted mood. Something tells me he doesn’t do lighthearted very often.
“I’m enjoying myself. Like, a lot. I just … wasn’t expecting all this.” I wave my hand around the restaurant and glance down at my sexy little black dress.
Max smiles and looks relieved while I practically melt with relief. “What were you expecting?” he asks.
“Well, honestly? Something a little more affordable on a public servant’s salary.” I hold up my hands as his eyes go wide. “Not that I’m judging. Not even a little. It’s just…”
“You thought maybe we’d be more sports bar and beer and less suits and sushi?”
“Exactly.” Plus, I kind of expected Max to be more broody and grumpy and way less approachable and fun. But there’s no way I’m saying that out loud because I’m really enjoying this side of him and I refuse to chase it away.
Max opens his mouth like he’s going to say something just as the waitress arrives with a polite bow of her head and a soft-spoken request for our drink orders. I haven’t even looked at the wine list, although I’m typically pretty easy going and just go with a low to mid-priced red of some sort.
“What do you think? Adventure?” Max quirks his head to the side in question and, after a brief pause to consider, I finally take the plunge and agree. He orders something in Japanese and our waitress smiles and disappears.
“You speak Japanese?” I’m utterly flabbergasted.
Max laughs, a warm sound. “No. Not at all.”
“That totally sounded like Japanese to me.”
“I ordered our drinks. A ‘chu-hi’ for you. It’s very delicious, fruit juice mixed with a Japanese alcohol called shochu. And for me? Just plain old shocu, served straight, on the rocks.”
I raise my eyebrows and make a face. “Is it strong?”
“A little. Don’t you like things strong?” Max lets his eyes smolder into mine and suddenly I’m not so sure we’re talking about drinks anymore.
“Oh, believe me.” I bite my lower lip. “Strong is good.”
“What about bold? Do you like bold?”
Electricity wings its way through my body. “I’ve not had a lot of experience with bold.”
“That’s something else we’ll have to remedy, then.”
Our waitress reappears with our drinks and Max orders for us, a long string of complicated names and combinations, while I take a sip of my chu-hi. He’s right. It’s delicious. Strong and bold and probably going to go straight to my head.
“So, is it a turn off?” asks Max after our waitress heads back towards the kitchen. “The fancy atmosphere and the whole not getting what you expected thing?”
“No. Not even a little. It makes me want to know more about you. The man who takes speeding tickets as seriously as murder charges…”
“Hey, the law is the law.”
“And who swears he’s not hurt when he’s walking around on a torn meniscus…”
“Can’t be hurt and do my job. Life lives where you put your attention.”
“Well,” I continue. That gruff guy turns out to work with children and adopt dogs on death row…” I hold up a finger. “And rehabilitate them, of course. And then shows up for a first date dressed like…” My gaze sweeps down his face and across his broad shoulders. “Well, like that.”
“And these are all good things?”
“Yes, silly. I can’t define you and it’s got me very intrigued.”
Max drops his gaze to his drink, swirls a finger around the rim of his glass, and then takes a drink. “My parents had money. My grandmother had money. When they died, it went to me.”
There’s something raw in his voice. A confession. A deep truth delving into darker secrets. I want to ask for more but I don’t want to chase him away. But in the meantime, what do I say?
I take a drink to buy me some time to think. Do I comment on the money? If I heard it once, I heard it a thousand times growing up. It’s rude to talk about money. Do I reply with a typical I’m so sorry about the passing of his family? A question? Oh God. What’s the right response here? I take another drink.
“When did you lose your parents?” I ask, randomly deciding that is the safest question.
“When I was young. Six.” Max clears his throat. “Lived with my grandmother after that until she passed when I was ten. Ran out of family members and into the foster system I went.”
So many explanations for so many things in that one short explanation. I have about a million questions. How did they die? What was it like in the system? It was bad. I’m sure it was bad. It’s always bad. Is that why he’s not big on family? I take another drink and the bold and the strong are doing a number on me but I’m not sure I care.
“What about you?” Max asks. “Family?” Ghosts are dancing in his eyes, but he’s trying to hide behind a light smile and polite small talk.
“Oh yeah. Two sisters who double as best friends. My parents were supportive and pushed me to succeed. Or, rather, are supportive and continue to push me to succeed. Both of them are doctors, a little disappointed that I slid off the London family path and fell into physical therapy, but since I’m so good at what I do, I think they forgive me.”
We fall into comfortable conversations, avoiding landmines like family and focusing mostly on work. Max tells me a bunch of stories about things he’s seen pulling people over and before I know it, I’m laughing about the time he pulled a guy over and walked up to the window just in time to watch the guy come in a prostitute’s mouth.
“You’re kidding,” I say, hand to mouth, suddenly very distracted by the thought of Max and blowjobs.
“Not even a little.” He straightens the items on the table in front of him, a naughty gleam in his eyes.
“What did you do?”
“I wrote them a ticket for the reckless driving and the indecent exposure and then got the hell out of there.”
We laugh together and our food arrives, a decorative array of items I don’t recognize and rituals I don’t know. Max explains everything to me, shows me the right way to handle the sauces and the oftentimes unwieldy rolls. Most everything turns out delicious, although I am not that big a fan of anything with tuna in it. It’s just too fishy and I’m not comfortable with the texture in the least. But we eat and we drink and we talk and we laugh and before I know it, hours have passed and it’s time to go home. Max pays the bill and leaves hefty tip on the table.
Our breath puffs in front of us as we step out into the cold November night. My heels click on the pavement and Max’s hand is at the small of my back, his eyes darting side to side, taking in all there is to see as he leads us back to his car. I snuggle in close to him, enjoying the way it feels to be tucked in close to his wa
rmth. The sheer size of him making me feel safe.
The ride home is over too fast. We talk some more, laughing and joking about everything and nothing and I realize how long it’s been since I’ve just let myself be free. I hold myself so close, push myself so hard, ask more and more and more out of my days. I barely have time to breath. I barely have time to smile.
Hell, I barely have a reason to smile.
My life has become work and succeed and work some more to succeed some more and I think that has just hollowed me out. I am an empty shell on auto-pilot. When was the last time I did anything simply because I wanted to rather than because it was what I should do? When was the last time I did something spontaneous? Adventurous? I mean, if the most adventurous thing I can think about in the last couple months is letting Max order my drink and dinner for me then I think it might be time for me to loosen the hell up.
When he pulls into my driveway, I’m immediately certain of what I want to say. Immediately certain that I am going to throw caution to the wind and invite this man into my house for a drink. Not only am I not ready for the evening to be over, but I’m also not even close to being ready to be alone again.
No. that’s not quite right. What I’m not ready for is to be without Max. I don’t want to say goodnight to this man because I want to sit down so close to him on my couch. Touch him some more. Get to know him some more. The little tidbits I discovered about him tonight have only intensified my desire to know more about him. And if I’m being all kinds of honest, I want him to kiss me. I want my hands on his body and holy shit, do I ever want his hands on mine.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” he says and kills the engine.
I pull my keys out of my purse as we head up the walk. “I’m not really ready to say goodnight. Would you like to come in for something to drink?”
“I’d love that. I really would. But the dog doesn’t do well if I leave her alone for extended periods of time.” He takes my hand. “But I had a really nice time tonight.”
I tilt my face up to his. “Me, too.” There’s no way he knows how hard it was for me to invite him in. That I’ve never done anything like that before. That it took some huge dose of courage. That it was a testament to how much I enjoyed being with him.
I step into his space. Tilt my face up to his. Let my lips part. His eyes go to my mouth, hungry and hooded. One hand on my hip, pulling me close. Another on my cheek. So tender. Chills and goosebumps.
He presses his lips to mine and that is the end of me. I sigh, something unraveling deep inside me. Tension I didn’t know existed uncoiling into this molten pool of need and relief. As if, in this one kiss, this moment of connection, all the answers to questions I didn’t even know I was asking are answered.
Well, all except one. Who is this man? That question just got bigger and more important than anything in my life.
His kiss is tender yet bold, his hand snaking up into my hair and grabbing it in his fist. His other hand presses my hips into him, closing the gap between us while his lips caress mine, his tongue darting out to taste me. It’s a dichotomy of power and pleasure and I am totally undone.
He pulls back. “Can I see you again?”
“Only if you promise to keep kissing me like that.”
“Sold,” he whispers and his mouth is back on mine, more insistent this time, the space between our bodies non-existent.
As I melt further into him, sliding my hands up his back, ever so aware of how amazingly broad it is, I feel him tense through the thick wool of his overcoat. He pulls back a fraction of an inch, his lips grazing mine as he speaks. “Don’t move yet, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper, our breath mingling.
He pulls me in closer to him, crushing my body to his, and yet, his focus is very clearly not on me anymore. “There’s a car parked down the street. Saw it when I picked you up. Do you recognize it?”
Max pulls back, smiling, his eyes like weapons boring into mine. He spins me a little so he can lean against my door, pulls me back into him and tilts my chin so he can kiss along my jawline and I can get a better look down the street. Goosebumps flare across my body. His lips are wonderful, kissing the sweetest spot, my favorite spot. The spot that makes my eyes roll back into my head with pleasure.
And it’s been so long since anyone’s been there.
But the goosebumps are intensified because there’s someone in that car. And yes, I’ve seen it before and no, I don’t recognize it and somehow it seems ever so ominous. Even more so when the headlights come on, and the engine roars to life, and the car speeds down the street, the guy behind the wheel staring us down the whole way.
I’m shaking. Trembling like a leaf, almost sagging in Max’s arms. “What was that about?”
“Could be nothing,” he says, smoothing my hair back away from my face.
“You don’t look like you think it’s nothing.”
Max swallows hard and takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring. “Cop senses.” His eyes are tight and watchful, taking in the area around my house. He lifts his jacket and I catch sight of a gun tucked into a holster in his waistband. My eyes go wide despite myself. Of course he’s armed. He’s a cop. That’s what they do, right? But wow. This whole evening, I was sitting across from a man with a gun and never knew it.
“I’m going to go into the house with you and take a look around, just to be safe.” I let him in, turning on every light I can get my poor trembling hands on. He moves through the small house quickly and efficiently, making sure that I stay with him, but behind him. After he deems the interior safe, he goes around the outside, leaving me perched on the couch in a mess of emotions I can’t process.
He comes back inside in a gust of chilled November air, his back so straight and his shoulders so square he looks almost impenetrable. “Everything looks okay out there, but I want you to keep an eye out. Don’t let anyone in. If something looks suspicious, I want you to call me first, then the police, okay?”
I nod. “Do you think I should be scared?” Because I’m scared. Max’s reaction alone is enough to unnerve me, his cop sense going off, the realization that I’ve been seeing that car more and more lately, followed by its very abrupt departure when the guy sitting in the cold car in the dark realized that we had noticed him.
“Don’t be scared. Just be wary. Pay attention.” He sits beside me on the couch and takes my hands in his, his skin still chilled from the time he spent outside.
I don’t want him to go, but I’m afraid to ask him to stay. He already turned me down once.
He stays anyway. Takes off his coat and settles into the couch, pulling me into him. Close, so close and good, so good. We don’t say much. I’m too wound up and he’s gotten very quiet, but I appreciate the fact that he stays until I’m not trembling anymore.
When he finally goes home, I lock the door and check all my windows before climbing into bed. Even with the covers pulled up close to me, I’m chilled, although I couldn’t tell you if that was because I’m actually cold or because of the way I keep remembering the way the guy behind the wheel of the car looked at me as he sped off down my street.
Chapter Fourteen
I wake up the next morning in a pool of warm light, sliced into thin lines by my blinds, and streaming in through my window to land on my bed. Gone is all the worry and tension from the night before. In its place? The slightest hint of Max’s scent left on my skin. The memory of his warm lips on mine. The way he stayed to make sure that I was not only safe, but also sane. Sitting with me until he knew my fear had dissipated and I knew I was going to be okay before he left.
It makes me warm from the inside out.
I grab my phone off the bedside table to check the time and find the notification light blinking. A text from Max.
Woke up thinking about you.
Well damn if that doesn’t feel good. I sit up and stare down at those five simple words, smiling like I just won a million dollars while I tap out a response.
Wok
e up thinking about you, too.
It’s nine, which is late for me, and I’ve got a couple errands to run. I bound out of bed and wash my face, brush my teeth, and get dressed. My phone buzzes while I’m trying to decide if I’m comfortable going out with a baseball hat and ponytail so I don’t have to do my hair and makeup or if I should just suck it up and spend the time getting ready. I check the phone, putting off the decision.
Drove by your house this morning in the patrol car. Didn’t see anything strange. You text or call if you see anything. Okay?
There’s this brief flash of disappointment. When he said he was thinking about me, I instantly assumed he was thinking about, you know, me. Our date. That he had fun. That he wanted to do it again sometime. Not that he was busy being a protective cop who was worried about a woman with a suspicious car outside her house. But then my phone buzzes and what he has to say obliterates all the disappointment.
When can I see you again?
Soon, please.
Maybe that makes me sound desperate, but I’m really hoping it sounds more along the lines of honest.
Promise?
Tonight?
My breath catches a little. Should I have been so forward? But the answer is easy. Hell yes, I should be forward. I need to go after what I want, and what I want is Max Santoro.
Tonight sounds great. What sounds like fun?
Ohhh … I can think of a lot of stuff that sounds fun, but none of it is exactly appropriate for a second date. Never mind the fact that I’ve been seeing the man once a week for the past month and a half, that was a purely professional relationship. My sister Dakota would probably be brave enough to just jump right in there and say what she’s thinking, but me? Nah. I’ll wait and let Max set the pace on that.
