Chapter Eight
The girls left a few minutes before Manny called to say he had the car waiting for me downstairs. Nerves kicked in as I walked through the lobby of my apartment building. Through the windows, I could see Max’s black SUV parked next to the curb. Manny was standing outside the rear passenger door, waiting for my arrival. After navigating through this city for years on foot, it felt awkward getting into a vehicle. I’d dodged many run-ins with crazy drivers throughout my years. So, while driving might be a blessing for people like Max, it always made me feel like we were seconds away from T-boning another vehicle. Some people feared flying; I feared riding in vehicles in NYC. Even the subway felt safer, as long as you didn’t look directly at the crazies talking to themselves.
The summer heat greeted me as I stepped outside and smiled at Manny. “Hey, Manny.”
“Miss Gonzalez,” he said, nodding as he opened the door.
I climbed into the backseat and thanked him before he shut the door behind me. He maneuvered around the vehicle and got back into the driver’s seat. We both buckled up, and he steered us into traffic. The awkwardness crept in as I sat in the backseat, but that’s how one was chauffeured when they had a driver. Sitting in the back was normal when taking a cab driven by a stranger—not so normal when it was my date’s driver whom I’d already met.
“So,” I stated nervously, tapping my fingers along the armrest on the door’s interior. “How long have you worked for Max?”
“A few months,” Manny said, eyeing traffic cautiously.
“Not long then.” I nodded and tried to think up more questions to make the ride less awkward. “In the past few months, has he done this a lot?”
Manny’s brows furrowed. “Done what a lot?”
I shrugged my shoulders and gazed through the tinted windows at people walking on the sidewalk. “You know . . . Had you pick up a woman to bring over to his place for dinner?”
Manny chuckled softly. “No, Max has never asked me to do this before.”
“Really?” I asked in disbelief.
“Yeah,” he stated, smiling back at me over his shoulder as we idled at a red light.
A little part of me felt bad for asking Max’s driver about him, but what else were we supposed to talk about? The weather? It was summer and hot. The end.
Resting back into my seat, I relaxed, knowing our impending date wasn’t one of Max’s signature moves he pulled on women. I changed the subject to Manny, and asked the one question I’d always wondered when I thought of celebrities being chauffeured around. “What do you do while we’re on our date? Do you just sit at the curb in this nice vehicle all night? Are you allowed to go home? Or do you just drive around and waste gas until you get the bat signal from Bruce Wayne to come pick me up and take me home?”
Manny laughed hard and shook his head, completely amused but never once taking his eyes off the road. “Tonight, I’ll go home. I live a few blocks away from Max. But it usually depends on what Max is doing. If we know a time limit and it doesn’t require more security, I’m free to do whatever until he contacts me.”
“Interesting.”
Manny pulled over to the curb and I gazed up at the brick building. The exterior wasn’t the sleek, expensive high rise that I’d imagined Max living in. In fact, it was a short drive here—just past Washington Square Park to the Village—that only reiterated how easily I could have walked it.
Manny could’ve had the night off.
“I could have walked,” I stated firmly, exiting the truck. “It probably took us longer to drive here, with the lights and traffic, than it would have for me to walk it.”
The smile on Manny’s face grew. “I don’t get paid to argue with the boss.”
“Well, I can,” I quipped, sliding my purse up onto my shoulder. “And he is definitely going to be hearing about this.”
“He’s up on the top floor,” he offered. “Apartment twenty-three.”
“Of course, he is,” I said sarcastically as I stared up at the brick, anxiously delaying my alone time with Max. “Is it a bachelor pad? Please tell me it’s not a bachelor pad.”
“No,” Manny mused. “Max is actually the only tenant who doesn’t have any children. It’s a family building, and he’s very respectful of that. It’s why he chose to live here.”
I gazed back at Manny and smiled, grateful for his company and insight. “Thank you, Manny. You’ve been very helpful this evening.”
“Just doing my job, Miss Gonzalez.”
I rolled my eyes. “Please, call me Whitley.”
He nodded and then led me to the building and held the door open for me. “Have a great evening, Whitley.”
***
By the time I got up to the top floor, I already knew which apartment was Max’s without looking at the numbers. Max had his door already propped opened, his powerful body leaning against his doorjamb, waiting for my arrival. Some of my nerves lessened at the sight of his own relaxed apparel. Black basketball shorts hung from his hips, while a black, sleeveless hoodie showed off his ripped arms. He appeared laid-back and confident, but when didn’t he? A sexy smile lingered on his lips, and the excited gleam in his eyes welcomed me before any words exited his perfect mouth. His gaze trailed down the length of my body, taking in my own comfortable outfit.
“You look beautiful,” he stated, waving me into his place. “Please, come on in.”
“Thank you.” He closed the door behind us and led me down the small foyer into the kitchen. “Manny could have had the night off and made this date a little more normal.”
I turned around to face him and his brow perked up in amusement.
“You know,” I continued with a laugh, “where I nervously walk a few blocks, psyching myself up for the date.”
A chuckle left him as he took my purse from my hand and hung it on the back of a kitchen island barstool. “What kind of margarita do you prefer: on the rocks or frozen?”
I noticed all the ingredients on the island and my smile widened. “Frozen, preferably with—”
“A salted rim?” He interjected, holding up a glass with the rim already salted.
“Yes,” I said, impressed. “And mango if you have it.”
He masterfully made me my favorite drink and then handed it over to me. He clinked his margarita on the rocks with my frozen one and smiled. “Now, let’s get something straight. There’s nothing normal about dating me. And I don’t mean that in a cocky, narcissistic way. I just mean, if I want to take precautionary measures to make sure you’re safe, please don’t argue with me about it.”
Damn, I thought. When he put it like that, in his sexy baritone voice, it was hard to dispute.
“So, we’re dating already?” I teased, brows raised, grinning over the rim of my glass. “Not even finished with my drink and you’ve already determined we’re dating.”
“Well, yeah. I didn’t plan on this being a one and done.” He grabbed my drink-free hand and led me into his large living room. Glancing back at me over his shoulder, confidence radiated from him. “I’m sorry you didn’t get your nervous walk in, though.”
“Hush,” I said, shoving him in the shoulder.
He laughed and led us to the plush sectional couch. The scent of my favorite meal hit me like a slap in the face, and the sight of the dinner he’d made for us was like a shiny beacon in the night. Laid out before us on the coffee table was a shrimp taco bar, and it made my mouth water. The smell of warm, soft taco shells and grilled shrimp greeted me, and my stomach growled. There were bowls filled with different toppings for the tacos. Chopped avocados and tomatoes, corn, rice, coleslaw, sour cream, guacamole and what appeared to be a chipotle sauce. The setup was more than anyone had ever done for me, and I didn’t know which I wanted more, to kiss him for it or to devour the amazing spread of food.
He laughed lightly, breaking me out of my hunger-induced spell. “I wasn’t sure what you might like on your tacos, so I tried to do a little bit of everything. The rice is a cilantro lime rice recipe I found on Pinterest.”
“How—” I shook my head and peered back at him, astonished. “How did you know that shrimp tacos are my favorite?”
“I really didn’t,” he admitted honestly with a shrug. “But I may have asked Justin what type of food you favored. He mentioned you liked shrimp.”
“Liked is a total understatement,” I said, taking a drink. “Shrimp tacos and I are in a serious relationship. There might not be room for you.”
He laughed wholeheartedly and handed me a plate. “I know I have that big, fancy dining table just off from the kitchen, but I thought eating in the living room would make this more fun and less formal.”
“I love it,” I said, setting my drink down. And I really did. I loved how one of the most famous guys in the world didn’t hire a fancy chef to make us dinner, and that he didn’t have us seated at his formal dining table set with his nicest china. Simple and easy impressed me more than any expensive meal or furnishings.
“Dig in,” he said, lining his plate with three taco shells.
Both of us filled our plates with food and then relaxed back into the couch, facing one another as we ate.
A moan fell out of me after finishing my first taco. “Seriously, this has to be one of the best meals anyone has ever made for me.”
Maybe that made me sound pathetic, but I really didn’t care. He’d done something nice and he deserved to know it.
“I’m glad,” he said, before taking a drink of his margarita. “So, tell me about you. I want to know everything. Where you grew up, what your parents did, and how you’ve gotten to where you are today.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” I teased, shaking my head. “You’re going first on the telling of our life stories.”
He scoffed and pointed to the coffee table. “But I just slaved over a meal for you for most of the afternoon.”
“I am impressed you didn’t hire a chef to make us dinner tonight,” I admitted.
“What?” he said, pretending to be offended. “You didn’t think I could cook?”
With a shrug of my shoulders, I pressed my lips together and smiled.
“You didn’t,” he mused, shaking his head. “I’ll have you know that I was raised in a big household where we all had to help with dinner and cleanup and whatnot. We had chores, and we didn’t get an allowance for doing them.”
“Tell me more,” I said, hoping he’d delve deeper. “How many siblings do you have?”
“Well, none, actually,” he stated. “I had a ton of different siblings, but none of them were biological. I was put into the foster care system when I was five.”
Resting my hand on top of his, I sighed. “I’m sorry.”
He tangled his fingers through mine and smiled. “I’m not. I ended up with really great foster parents, Gordon and Annette Barrs, who I consider my real parents to this day. I haven’t seen my biological parents since I was taken from them. I probably wouldn’t be alive if I hadn’t been removed. They were just two people who shouldn’t’ve had a kid.”
“It’s awful how that works, right?” I said in agreement. “There are couples out there who shouldn’t have children and couples who physically can’t, wishing they could.”
“I know.” He brought our entwined hands up to his mouth, kissed the top of mine, and then continued. “Anyway, I grew up in the Bay Area, and lived a pretty normal childhood. I did sports but found out I enjoyed theater more. I enrolled in an arts college here in New York, where I studied acting.”
“How’d you become a model then?” I asked curiously.
He chuckled softly. “I have a talent agent to thank for that. She spotted me on campus one day and asked if I’d want to try modeling. It was for an underwear ad. Did I really want to do it? Not really, but it helped me get my foot in the door to one day become an actor. That’s why I took the job, to hopefully help launch my acting career. I ended up modeling for a few famous fashion designers before landing some auditions for commercials, soap operas, TV shows, and eventually movies.”
“You modeled underwear?” I asked incredulously, my cheeks flushed with heat. “I didn’t know that!”
“Hey . . .” he stated defensively. “It was for Calvin Klein, so it wasn’t like it was some unknown weirdo putting me in tighty-whities and taking a bunch of pictures of me. It was professional.”
“Like Marky Mark!” I cheered, tightening my grip on his hand. “You were once the face of Calvin Klein just like Mark Wahlberg. That’s so hot.”
He rolled his eyes and playfully pouted. “Everyone remembers Marky Mark’s pictures but not mine.”
“Oh whatever,” I said, dropping his hand. “You’re the Sexiest Man Alive. I think you’ve made a name for yourself.”
He ate the last of his remaining taco and swallowed. “I guess so. It all comes at a price though.”
Taking our empty plates, I set them on the coffee table and curled back into his open arm with my drink in my hand, my legs tucked underneath my body. “What do you mean by that? It’s not everything you ever wanted?”
“At first, I thought it was,” he started, taking a sip of his drink. “The notoriety and fame really went to my head. I had an agent and a publicist who taught me that even bad publicity was good publicity, and I’ve learned that’s not the case at all. I’ve done some stupid things that have landed in the press, and I’m not proud of them. They put my friends and family in danger, and I really didn’t take the threats serious until something bad actually happened.”
He didn’t look at me as he spoke.
“Harper was attacked because I kissed her in Paris. She’d always been a friend, nothing more. But I thought maybe once I hit it big with my acting career that we’d become this powerhouse couple. Her with her fashion, me with my acting. She’d just started dating Maverick when we went to the Paris premiere of my movie together, and I admit, when I first saw them together, I was jealous of him. I wanted to make her forget about him, so I kissed her in a public restaurant, and all hell broke loose from there. She’d started receiving more threats to stay away from me, but I didn’t take them seriously. Her security team did, but I didn’t enforce mine or have them look into it further. She made it clear that she wasn’t interested in being any more than friends, and she was upset that I didn’t respect her relationship with Maverick. She had every right to be pissed at me.
“It’s been over a year since she was attacked, but sometimes I still can’t look at her without seeing the bruises and cuts she received at the hands of a psychotic fan of mine. If I’d just taken the threats more seriously, maybe I wouldn’t have put my best friend and her baby at risk of losing their lives.”
“Max,” I said, resting my arm on his forearm. “They’re both okay. Harper never blamed you for her attack.”
“I know,” he said with a nod. “But I blame me. If I’d been less selfish and more cautious about the dangers that come along with a career like mine, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. But it did and it changed me. At first, not in a good way, but now, I have a new agent and publicist, and I’ve beefed up my security for not only my friends and family, but myself as well. It’s just another reason I made Manny pick you up tonight. The other residents in this building have signed non-disclosure agreements, so they can’t talk to the press about me, but also for their own protection. When the media knows they’re not going to get any info from anyone here, they don’t come around as often. Same goes for fans.”
I nodded silently.
He finally looked me in the eyes, and it was evident how much guilt he still carried. “I want you to know that I don’t have feelings for Harper anymore. I don’t think I ever really did. I think I liked the idea of us more so than the reality. We’re too good of friends to be anything more. I hope you know that because I want this.”
He tangled his hand with mine again and squeezed.
“I want you. I want what Harper has with Maverick. I’ve never been the guy to serial date, jumping from woman to woman like they don’t matter. I’ve had four girlfriends my whole life and never once treated them badly. We just grew apart and ended up breaking up. I love being in a relationship. I love spoiling my woman with the things she likes. And I want that woman to be you.”
His words made me feel like the ice melting in my frozen margarita. Hell, I’d dreamed of hearing something similar most of my life, from a man who was truly good. And now, here he was, right next to me, and I couldn’t find the words to respond to him.
Instead, I brushed my fingertips along his rough jaw and gave him a weak smile. “Maybe you should hear my life story first.”
“Your past isn’t going to change the way I feel.” He turned his face into my palm and pressed his lips to my skin.
Resting my head against his shoulder, I felt relaxed and safe with my body curled up next to him. So, I opened up.
“My parents are not good people,” I started, tracing the stitching on his shorts. “They sold drugs and trafficked women regularly. That was how they put food on the table and kept a roof over my head. It wasn’t until I overheard my dad talking about using me to help their operations once I became an adult that I really became scared. They had people working for them who were scary and mean, but they’d never threatened me. I was the boss’ daughter, so I was off limits in a way. But the night before my birthday, I heard Dad and Mom arguing about me working for them. Mom was against it, and Dad was for it. What they would have me do, I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t want any part of it. I knew what they were doing was illegal. So, I packed up as much as I could and ran away on my eighteenth birthday.”
“And ended up in a homeless shelter,” Max stated for me.
“Yes,” I said, nodding. “I went to the first homeless shelter I could find near Brooklyn Heights, but it was mostly for men. They offered to let me stay one night, but I didn’t feel comfortable around a bunch of male strangers.”
Max’s grip tightened on me.
“But I eventually found a shelter that made me feel safe. They helped me get a part-time job waitressing at a nearby restaurant, as well as my GED since I’d dropped out of high school. They prepared me for adulthood more than my parents ever did. And it was the shelter that introduced me to Adam Eichler. He was a high school senior who volunteered regularly at the shelter. All the other volunteers and residents teased us both about liking each other. He eventually asked me out on a date, which turned into a relationship.”
I took a deep, shaky breath and exhaled it. It was hard talking about Adam with someone who didn’t know him. He’d made the wrong decision the night he died, even though most deemed him a hero after I recounted the story of his death.
Max rubbed my arm, consoling me. “Hey, you don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do,” I said in a strong voice, blinking back tears. “It was a few months before his graduation when I found out I was pregnant. I was so scared to tell him; all I could think about were the different reactions he could have. But I had nothing to be afraid of. He was ecstatic about becoming a father. He didn’t care how young we were or the fact that I was living in a homeless shelter. He talked about us getting our own place after he graduated. He had such big dreams for us. But God took him from us much sooner than any of us expected.”
“What happened?” he asked.
I peeked up at him and then went back to staring down at my lap. “It happened just the way Zane told you. Adam was in a mom-and-pop store one night when a man came in to rob the place. The older woman who owned the store hid behind the counter because the man had a gun. Adam tried to stop the robbery from happening by trying to offer the guy his own wallet and talk some sense into him. The woman told us that Adam pretended to be a worker of the store and distracted him long enough for her to dial 9-1-1, but when the guy heard the sirens in the distance, he turned to run. Adam tackled the guy, but he pulled the trigger, putting three bullets into Adam’s chest. The cops arrested him, and he’s in jail for second-degree murder and attempted robbery. But Adam died, and he never got to meet his son.”
Max sighed. “I’m so sorry, Whitley.”
“Me too,” I said, allowing the weight of his death to once again roll off my shoulders. “He died doing what he did best though, helping someone in need. We’ll always miss him, but Zane never had the opportunity to know him. So, we—Adam’s parents and myself—do talk about Adam a lot around Zane.”
“As you should,” he said, nodding. “Have your parents met Zane?”
“No,” I answered curtly. “And they won’t. I left and they never came looking for me. The cops found me right after I’d had Zane and told me my parents had been arrested. I ended up testifying against both of them as a witness of their illegal activities. They’re doing time in Rikers now.”
“God,” he said, shaking his head. “Parents are the worst sometimes.”
“I know,” I agreed, nodding. “But Adam’s parents are two of the best. I’d never met them until his funeral. Simon and Julia are two of the most generous people I know. When they found out I was pregnant, they immediately took me into their home and helped me get my nursing degree and raise Zane. They own the shelter and renamed it in honor of Adam. I had no idea that Adam came from a wealthy family until after he died. They ended up giving me Adam’s trust fund he would have gotten once he graduated. Zane and I mostly live off of that and my income. I don’t know what I would have done without them. We live in a nice home, and I have a job I love because of them. I used to be a nurse before taking over Julia’s job as volunteer services director after she retired. I still volunteer as a nurse when needed. My son is happy and comfortable. I’m very grateful for Adam and them. I really didn’t know what good truly was until they showed it to me. Now, I just try to give back as much as possible because I know how it can change someone’s life because it changed mine.”
Max tilted my chin up so that I’d look at him. Pride radiated from his beautiful eyes, and I knew my story had affected him in a good way. Some heard my story and couldn’t believe the baggage I carried as a single mother, but I didn’t think of it as baggage. Sure, life hadn’t been easy at times, but I couldn’t change what had happened. I could be Zane’s mom—a greater parent than either of my own. I could give back just as much as Adam, helping those whose shoes I once wore. I could be anything I wanted to be, because I had learned a long time ago that my past didn’t define me.
I am woman, hear me do more than roar.
And here I was, being Max’s woman.
Max’s hands cupped my face and slid down to my neck. The longer we went without saying anything, the more awkward the silence became.
“Say something,” I whispered, smiling.
He leaned his forehead against mine and sighed. “I think your story is way better than mine.”
Laughter burst from my lungs and I threw my head back laughing so hard tears welled in my eyes. “I didn’t know it was a competition.”
“Well, it’s not,” Max laughed, tugging on the end of my ponytail. “I just think your story is beautiful, like you.”
I beamed at his compliment and gazed around at his huge apartment. I hadn’t really taken in my surroundings until now. Floor-to-ceiling windows covered the north wall, overlooking Washington Square Park. Beautiful oak covered the floor. It was obvious that a decorator designed the space, but I actually liked that about his place. Instead of filling his home with a bunch of masculine decor, he and his designer had gone for a comfortable and homey atmosphere. Picture frames filled with his family and friends adorned the living room. Wall art in the form of old, framed movie posters warmed the space and gave it a pop of color. The simple fact that we’d eaten in the living room made me feel like I could accidentally spill my drink and not feel awful about it. I appreciated homes that were lived in, and Max had certainly spent time here.
Peering back at him, I shot him a smile. “By the looks of this place, your story gave you the opportunity to chase after your dreams and build the life you wanted. You should be proud of that, proud that you’ve achieved your dreams.”
“Not all of them,” Max admitted, pulling me up off the couch.
“What are some of your other dreams? Directing? Producing?”
“Nah, although those would be cool to do someday,” he stated, leading me out of the living room. “I’d like a wife and kids someday. That’s the one I’m working on now.”
“Kids? As in plural?” I stopped short and dropped his hand, causing him to look over his shoulder. “How many kids? Like a handful of them? A football team?”
He swaggered up to me in an arrogant manner and bent down so his lips were right next to my ear as he teased me. “Does that scare you?”
I scoffed. “It scares my vagina. It’s not a bowling ball returner. Just because you shoot some sperm down the lane doesn’t mean a baby should come out every time.”
His shoulders shook hard with laughter. “That’s the best baby-making analogy I’ve ever heard!”
“You didn’t answer the question!” I exclaimed.
“I don’t know the answer,” he said, shrugging it off. “Now, come on, I’m giving you a tour of my place.”
“You . . .” I muttered in a soft voice, following behind him. “You’re so infuriating sometimes.”
“Did you plan Zane?” he retorted.
I rolled my eyes again. “Obviously not.”
“See,” he stated, grabbing my hand again. “Some of the best things in life happen without a plan.”
“Gah!” I tilted my head back dramatically and shrieked. “You can’t say things like that!”
“What?” he asked seriously. “Why not?”
“Because that’s how babies are made!” I said, shaking my head. “Just give me the damn tour, and no more talk about babies or baby-making.”
Walking down the hallway just off of the dining room, he opened the door to the first room on the right and showed off a simple full bath, decorated in different shades of blue. Dark gray tile lined the floor, but the hues of blue throughout the room gave it a less masculine feel. The large, zero-entry shower was equipped with a rainfall showerhead and a bench, and a light blue striped shower curtain provided privacy.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, following him back into the hall.
“The room across the hall is the guest bedroom.” He opened the door and an array of grays and greens greeted us. An evergreen bedspread adorned the king-sized bed, topped with gray and green throw pillows, and identical wood nightstands sat on either side of the bed. In the corner, a matching wood dresser gave guests the option to unpack and stay awhile. The gray area rug centered in the room warmed the space. Gray curtains decorated the two large windows overlooking the park, and a TV framed in the same wood as the furniture hung on the wall across from the bed.
“If this is your spare, I don’t even want to know what your room is like,” I teased, awestruck.
He chuckled softly, leaning against the doorjamb. “I wanted a room for my parents. I hate the idea of family coming to visit and having to stay at a hotel; it’s just so impersonal. So, when I was looking for a place to live, I knew I wanted room for more than just myself.”
“I like that,” I said, exiting the room with him. We continued down the hall, and I confessed. “I have to admit, I thought your place was going to be a total bachelor pad.”
He smiled over at me. “Is that so?”
“Yeah.” I stopped at the next door. “I thought you were going to be this cocky, self-centered celebrity, who lived in some womanizing lair.”
He laughed harder, reaching for the doorknob. “I used to be that way, but I’ve changed my ways.”
“Lucky me.”
He opened the door and showed off the next room. “I know it doesn’t really look like an office, but that’s what I call it.”
Entering the room, I gazed around completely stunned. One wall was lined with built-in bookshelves filled with books and movie memorabilia. A rectangular, glass desk and a plush chair sat on the opposite side of the room, across from the bookshelves, housing his Mac computer. He had framed posters of his movies and photos of him with other celebrities hung up on the wall. Comic books—some even autographed—lined the shelves, still in their plastic packaging to protect their authenticity. He had a personalized San Francisco Giants jersey pinned up, autographed by all the players, along with other baseball memorabilia. But all I could think about as I peered around the room was Zane.
“Zane would go nuts in here,” I commented aloud, shaking my head. “He loves comic books and baseball.”
“I got to throw out the first pitch of Game Three during the 2014 World Series,” he said, admiring the jersey. “That was probably a dream come true for me, to throw out the first pitch in my hometown. I grew up watching the Giants, so to see them win it all was awesome.”
“That is amazing,” I said, fingering the comic books. “Zane’s comic book collection is almost this big, although most of his aren’t signed.”
“There are a few unicorns I’m still looking for,” he admitted.
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to a large three-ring binder on the shelf.
Excited, he grabbed it and opened it up. “It’s my baseball card collection. I started it when I was maybe Zane’s age. It’s probably stupid that I still have it, but these are actually worth a lot of money. I couldn’t just throw them away.”
The binder was full of nine-pocket sheets, each pocket holding a different player’s card. “That’s impressive.”
“Really?” he asked incredulously, putting the binder back in its spot. “You don’t think it’s childish?”
“No way,” I said, shaking my head. I reached for his hand and smiled up at him. “I didn’t grow up getting to collect things. I didn’t have anything I cherished so much I couldn’t get rid of it. So, no, I don’t think it’s childish that you’ve kept a piece of your childhood with you.”
“I still shop around for cards though,” he admitted proudly, leading us out of the office.
I laughed. “That’s okay, too. It’s good to have a hobby.”
“Hmm,” he mused, eyeing me playfully. “You like my nerdy comic books and baseball card collection. Remind me not to let you get away.”
“That’s right,” I said confidently. “I am one of a kind.”
He laughed and led us to the last door at the end of the hall. He pushed it open and the bright lights of the city took my breath away. In Max’s bedroom, one wall held floor-to-ceiling windows, just like the ones in the main living area, overlooking the city. Two sets of curtains were pulled off to the side—one gray and the other sheer white. White paint stained the other three walls of his room. A gray and white bedspread covered his king-sized bed and matched his gray upholstered bed frame nicely. A gray upholstered bench sat at the foot of the bed with a folded blanket resting on top of it. The two nightstands and his dresser were made out of barn wood, but they had been whitewashed to match the room’s decor. The doors to his bedroom matched perfectly, crafted of the same barn wood with the same whitewashed finish. He slid one to the left and showed off his walk-in closet, and then he went over to the double barn doors across the room and slid them apart. I swear the heavens sang as the pristine bathroom appeared.
“Holy shit,” I muttered softly, stepping into the large master bath. White tile lined the space along with a double vanity made out of marble. A beautiful chandelier made the room even brighter. The claw-foot tub looked perfect for a bubble bath, and the shower was encased by glass with the same rainfall showerhead as the guest bathroom. Gray mats and towels lay around the room, waiting to be used. It was the cleanest, most magazine-photo-shoot-ready bathroom I’d ever seen.
“I think this is my favorite room,” I praised, running my hand along the edge of the tub. “I’ve never bathed in a claw-foot tub before.”
“It’s good for a nice, long soak, and it’s even better when you turn the lights down to about fifty percent and leave the doors open, letting the light from the city filter in.”
He painted a beautiful picture—one I could imagine myself in with him. Goose bumps pebbled my skin as I felt him come up behind me and take my hand away from the tub.
“But that’s for our third or fourth date,” he said with a wink. “Let me show you my favorite room.”
“It’s not this one?” I teased, silently saying good-bye to his luxurious bath.
“Nope. It’s the roof.”
***
The rooftop area that Max rented rivaled his master bath. The views of the city from each direction were stunning, and in the clear night sky, with the warm summer breeze wrapped around us, we could actually see some stars shining down on us. Stargazing wasn’t something one could easily do in the city, with light constantly polluting our skies. I couldn’t remember the last time I stared up and saw stars.
“This view is gorgeous,” I said, leaning back on the railing.
“Yeah, it is,” Max said, pulling my attention away from the night sky.
His gaze was set directly on me—not the stars, the city, or anything else—and all the emotions from our night came rushing through my system. Sharing our pasts and knowing the effort he put into the wonderful dinner he made for me proved how eager he was to get to know me. I also enjoyed how open he was with me. By giving me a tour of his home and showing me his collections, I felt like I knew a part of him that most people didn’t. The fact that he’d kept us away from any of his fans or the media reminded me how much he cherished his privacy, his alone time with me. It’d been years since I’d been taken care of in such a way that made me feel desirable, and the way Max looked at me now made me want to walk right up to him and kiss him.
Moving closer, Max caged me into the railing with his bulky arms. “You want to kiss me, don’t you?”
Cue blush. I turned away from him and gazed out at the city below us, embarrassed by my obviousness. “Not anymore. Way to ruin the moment.”
He laughed softly. “I didn’t ruin anything. You can kiss me.”
“I don’t need your permission,” I quipped.
“I know you don’t,” he agreed, his warm breath tickling my ear, causing goose bumps to rise along my arms. “I was just encouraging you to go for it. Turn around and cover my lips with yours.”
Go for it, Whitley.
So, I did.
Inspired, I grabbed his face and pulled him down to me, and our lips met. His strong hands grasped my waist and flushed my body up against his, sweeping me into a hot, eager wonderland where no man had ever taken me. Soft lips and tongues explored. Tasting and teasing and oh, so arousing. I could barely breathe. The man made a mean margarita, but no amount of tequila could make me this tipsy from a kiss. It was all him. His gentle hands, combined with his sweet, skillful mouth made me feel wanted in a way I hadn’t in a long time. My teeth teased and bit his bottom lip, and the deep, sensual sound of his groan filtering up from his throat caused my insides to tense, desperately needing so much more.
“Whit,” he said, taking a quick breath before diving right back in for another taste. “God.”
“I know,” I agreed, stealing a third kiss from him.
By the fourth, one of his hands cradled the back of my head and the other slid down and grabbed my ass cheek. “I can’t stop.”
“Me either,” I said, holding onto him tighter with the fifth.
“We probably should though.”
A sixth.
“Yeah, I probably—”
He shut me up with the seventh.
“You interrupted me,” I muttered against his lips, before going for an eighth. “I should probably leave.”
“I know,” he agreed, running both hands along my sides. Titillation led us to the ninth. “I don’t want you to go though.”
“I don’t want to either, but we’ll probably end up in that bed of yours if we go back down to your place and keep kissing. And don’t even get me started on all the things I want to do in that tub of yours.”
The tenth was neither eager nor needy, but sweet and gentle, lips sliding against one another, tongues tangling in a careful caress that slowed us down.
“Probably.”
We stared at each other, eyeing the other’s mouth, our lungs laboring for oxygen. I reached up and rubbed my lipstick off his bottom lip.
“You had lipstick,” I stated quietly.
“Figured,” he said amused. “Since you’re no longer wearing any.”
We laughed softly, basking in the solitude of the rooftop.
“You know, we can take this at whatever pace you want,” he said, locking his arms around my waist. “I don’t want to pressure you into something you don’t want to do.”
Leaning back, I gazed up at him in disbelief. “Max, my lips are thoroughly swollen because I very much enjoyed doing what we were doing.”
He smiled. “I know. I just . . .”
“You’re being a gentleman,” I said, finishing his sentence. “And I appreciate that because it has been a long time for me. I’ve been busy raising a little boy—one who already adores the hell out of you. So, we do have to be smart about this. It’s not just about us. But don’t ever worry that you’re pressuring me.”
“Okay,” he said with a nod. With his arm around my shoulders, we walked down the stairs together, back to his apartment. “By the way, I adore your little boy, too. I know I haven’t been around him much, but from what I’ve witnessed, you’ve done an amazing job.”
“Thanks,” I stated proudly. “But he mostly takes after his father.”
“That’s not true,” he stated, brows furrowed. “He rolls his eyes just like you do.”
“Really? I hadn’t really noticed, but I do catch Zane rolling his eyes from time to time. Adam never did that. I was usually the one always rolling my eyes at Adam’s behavior.”
“Maybe you notice Adam’s traits more because he’s no longer here, and I think that’s a good thing. But Zane’s definitely got some of his mama in him, too.”
Back in Max’s apartment, I grabbed my purse and freshened up in the bathroom. My cheeks were still flushed from our rooftop make-out session, but I swiped on some lip gloss and fixed my low ponytail. Max wore a baseball cap that he said was only for disguise purposes. By the time we got to the lobby, Manny was already waiting for us curbside. We rode back to my apartment in silence, hands intertwined, eyes stealing glances at one another the whole way. When Manny pulled up to my building, I exited the truck with Max right behind me, and he walked me up to my place.
With my back against my door, I smiled up at him. “Thank you so much for the wonderful dinner and evening. I had a really great time.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, his fingers twisting with mine. “I’d love to do it again sometime soon.”
“Well, if you’re not busy tomorrow night, you’re welcome to come over for dinner,” I offered, taking a risk. “I mean, the meal won’t be as fancy since an eight-year-old will be present, but—”
“Hey,” he interjected softly. “I’m dating all of you, and that includes your motherhood. I’d love to have dinner with you guys.”
And then we ended the night with a really, really long eleventh.