Chapter 16 - Naomi
“What do you mean?” I know what he means, but I’m stalling.
“About this whole thing. About us—about me. When I left you yesterday morning, you looked like you were going to say no. And then after you saw your mom, you told me you’d do it.”
I pull my hand away from his, grabbing my wine glass and taking a sip. When I put it back down, the waiter appears with our second course. I try to listen to him explain what the second course in front of me is, but most of it doesn’t look like any kind of dinner I’ve had before.
We thank him, and he leaves.
Max is still staring at me, and the question hangs between us. I’m not sure what to say. I hardly know this guy—should I tell him about my mom? We’ve agreed to do this crazy engagement, but the whole thing could blow up in my face.
Do I trust Max enough to open up to him?
I take a deep breath, looking at him again. His eyes are soft, and he’s waiting patiently for me to speak. A wave of comfort washes over me, and I think about what he said when we first got here. If this whole charade is going to work, we’re going to have to act like a couple.
I’m going to have to open up to him.
“I found out my mom has breast cancer,” I say, staring at my plate. There’s a single asparagus balancing on what looks like a fancy meatball. “She told me when I confronted her about foreclosure notice I found on Sunday.”
My voice chokes as the words stick to my throat. I clear my throat, washing down the pain with a sip of wine.
“I’m so sorry,” Max says. He looks down at the table between us, staring at nothing. “I’m sorry. If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have—I don’t want to put you in this position.”
“No!” I say, maybe a bit too loud. “This is helping me out. I—” I want this? “I need the money.”
“Right.”
“And plus,” I say, stabbing the fancy meatball. “Hanging out with you is alright.”
His eyes flick up towards me and a grin appears on his perfect lips. How is it possible for one man to be so handsome? He forks his own meatball and nods to me.
“Hanging out with you isn’t so bad, either.”
I laugh, blinking back the tears that had misted my eyes when I mentioned my mom. “Good. That means we’re miles ahead of half the married couples out there already.”
The meatball tastes incredible. I don’t know what they’ve done, but it’s so packed with flavor that I can’t help but close my eyes and grunt in satisfaction. I’ve never tasted food this good.
“So last night,” I start. “Your parents.”
“I’m so, so sorry about that,” Max interrupts.
I laugh. “It’s okay,” I say, shaking my head. “To be honest, it looked like it was as hard for you as it was for me.”
Max blows the air out of his mouth, leaning back in his chair and running his fingers through his thick, black hair. His eyes look almost navy in this light, and the candlelight is making his jaw look like it’s chiseled from marble. A delicious tingle of energy passes through my spine and settles in the base of my stomach.
“Why do they want you to get married so badly?”
“I’m not sure,” Max says. He looks at me, cocking his head to the side. “They’ve always been putting pressure on me, but this time…”
“What?” I ask gently when he stops.
“I don’t know. I feel like there’s something else going on. I can’t put my finger on it. I mean, they’ve always been… overbearing? That’s not the right word. They’ve always been involved, I guess. But they’ve never shown up without warning or told me that I needed to get married or get fucking disowned.”
He chuckles bitterly, shaking his head.
“I mean, I shouldn’t complain. It could be worse.” He looks at me, and I smile sadly.
“Yeah.”
The next couple of courses are as delicious as the first two, and our conversation turns to lighter things. He tells me about his work, and his knee, and about college football. I tell him about Meg and Ariana, and about how I got into physical therapy.
Conversation is easy. We laugh and joke. He gets my sarcasm, and quips back whenever I say something snarky. It’s fun.
By the time dessert comes, he’s talking about his injury.
“I was supposed to be in the NFL the year after. We were winning the championship and then I got tackled from behind and my knee just snapped. It wasn’t just my knee,” he says, staring into his wine glass. “I mean, my whole future was destroyed. NFL, football, my girlfriend left me,” he sighs. “It was a hard time.”
“I’m so sorry, Max,” I say, reaching over to put my hand on his arm. Even though I told him I didn’t want to do anything sexual with him, the electricity courses through my body when we touch. He puts his hand over mine, and we stay like that for a few minutes.
This dinner—it’s intimate. I’m enjoying it more than I thought I would. We haven’t discussed the business arrangements at all; we’ve just basically been on a date.
I should be worried about that, or worried about what that means, but all I can think about is how much I’m enjoying just being with him. And how much I’m enjoying the heat of his broad palm against my hand.
Max smiles at me, shaking his head. “It’s fine. I’m tough.”
I grin. “Right.”
“I bounce back, you know. Land on my feet.”
“Like a cat.”
“Exactly.”
We laugh, and my heart squeezes. This is so easy.
It’s too easy.
Too easy to slip into something else—something beyond a simple transaction. Too easy to make this complicated, and messy.
Too easy to do all the things I’m dying to do, to give in to the temptation that’s buzzing through my body anytime he’s around.
He pulls his hand away, and I clear my throat, smoothing my hands down the front of my dress.
“Should we go?” He asks, and I nod. I don’t trust my voice right now, so I just gather my things and take his outstretched hand, following him back to the car.