“So this is kind of exciting, right?” I ask Max as I stand a few feet away from the stylist chair he’s sitting in. He looks extremely uncomfortable with a plastic drape secured around him while the hairstylist works some magic on him.
Not that he needs magic, because he could roll out of bed and easily win the hottest sports bachelor title, but apparently he needs some type of special makeup for the camera—which has already been done—and his hair needs some trimming, which I disagree with. If he didn’t look so miserable, I’d have to laugh, but I can’t do that to him.
“That’s not the word I would use to describe this,” Max responds flatly and I have to fight with myself not to grin at his sullenness.
I take a look around. The photo shoot is being done in a downtown Raleigh studio, with nothing but a plain white backdrop and Max. Well, there will be a few different outfits, or so we’ve been told by the reporter from Sports World magazine who is overseeing the shoot and will interview Max at some point. I’m really looking forward to the one that will just be done in training shorts with him curling some dumbbells and flexing his eight-pack, but I don’t tell him that because he would not get a kick out of me getting a kick out of this. So I try to look as somber as he does while the stylist runs clippers over his neckline.
I didn’t realize there would be this many people here for the photo shoot. In addition to the stylist currently working Max over, there’s a makeup artist who is at the next station organizing her implements and a wardrobe specialist who is currently choosing Max’s outfits from a clothing rack on wheels. There’s also the photographer and his assistant who are right now working on lighting, as well as another woman, who appears to be a general gofer of sorts, but for the most part she hangs in the background and does a lot of texting on her phone while Max gets beautified.
The studio door opens and two women walk in. Both are tall and thin with long flowing hair—one brunette and the other auburn—and without them even saying a word, I know they’re models. They’re two damn beautiful to be anything else.
“Leigh…Amber…” the makeup artist says as she spies them. “One of you hit wardrobe, the other go to my chair and we’ll get started.”
The brunette veers off toward the wardrobe person, who I now see is pulling what looks to be tiny little bikinis off the rack. The blonde heads our way, giving a slight smile to me as I stare at her, then her eyes connect to Max’s through the mirror he’s facing while his hair gets styled.
His eyes immediately come to mine through the mirror, both eyebrows raised, and he gives me a little shrug.
I give him a little shrug back.
Guess he’s going to have some models in the shoot with him.
“Okay,” the hairstylist announces as she whips the plastic cape from Max. “You’re all done and you can head to wardrobe.”
Max shoots out of the chair as the stylist calls out, “Amber…I’m ready for you.”
Amber takes three hangers of bikinis from the wardrobe person and spins our way, walking quickly to the stylist. She looks again at me, then Max, giving a nod with a smile, and takes the seat he just vacated. I have to wonder what in the hell the stylist and makeup artist will do to these women, because they already look perfect to me.
Max steps into me and his hand goes to my lower back. He starts to push me along with him over to the wardrobe rack. His head leans down to mine and he whispers, “I hate this shit, just so you know.”
I struggle not to laugh but merely give a grave nod. “I know, honey. It will all be over soon.”
His hand slides up my back, curls around my neck, and he stops me in mid-stride. Bending down, he brushes his mouth against mine lightly before saying, “Thank you again for coming with me.”
I turn in to him, bring my hands to his chest and peer up into those fabulous hazel eyes. “You never have to thank me for being there for you. It really is my pleasure, babe.”
He grins down at me before his hands encircle my back and he pulls me in close. He lays a quick kiss on top of my head and then releases me before heading over to the wardrobe rack.
It really is quite impressive how everyone seems to move with efficiency, almost like an assembly line of beautiful people getting polished to make them über beautiful. While the wardrobe stylist starts going over the outfits with Max—again, the training shorts being my favorite—the reporter comes up and starts the interview, asking just some basic short questions to get the process started. I take that as my cue it’s time for me to get out of the way, so I head over to a long couch up against the back wall, where the woman I pegged as a gofer continues to type on her phone.
When I approach, she looks up and gives me a welcoming smile. She’s young…maybe late teens, early twenties, and really pretty. She’s got long blond hair that seems naturally wavy and she’s dressed super trendy in black skinny jeans and ankle boots. She has on a white dress shirt with a tight-fitting light gray sweater over it, the bottom of the shirt sticking out. On her head sits a black fedora, and she has a plethora of Alex and Ani bangles on both wrists.
“Hey,” I say as I take a seat on the opposite end from her.
Her smile gets bigger and she turns to face me, crossing one leg over the other and resting her phone facedown on her thigh. “Hey. I’m Camille. This is my dad’s studio.”
“Oh,” I say, clearly having pegged her wrong. “So your dad…he’s the photographer?”
She glances over at him, her lips curving upward and her eyes shimmering with adoration. “That he is. I’m just hanging out with him this evening and then we’re going to catch a late dinner together.”
“Cool,” I say with a nod and then point a finger at myself. “I’m Julianne but I go by Jules to most everyone.”
She tips her head Max’s way. “I’m guessing girlfriend, right?”
I give a soft laugh even as my cheeks go pink a little, because I think that’s the first time I’ve been referenced by someone as Max’s girlfriend. It kind of feels nice.
“Oh, my gosh,” she says as she taps my forearm with her hand. “You’re adorable…how that just got you a little embarrassed.”
My eyes shoot to Max, who looks extremely bored with everything, and then back to Camille. “Well, it’s all still a little new and overwhelming to me.”
“How long have you two been dating?” she asks, sliding a little closer to me with a look that says, Hey, let’s dish about hot guys.
“Just a little over six weeks,” I tell her. “But it seems like just yesterday we met.”
“So how does one go about meeting a famous hockey star?” she asks with a grin. “Because I want to go hang out there.”
I laugh and lean in a little closer to her. “We met at a convenience store where I was working.”
“No fucking way,” she says, her eyes going round.
I nod with a chuckle. “Yeah…two rednecks were harassing me and Max sort of ran them off.”
“Oh my God…that’s so romantic.”
Sighing, I slide my eyes back over to him and keep them there when I tell her, “You don’t even know the half of it.”
“Well, we’re in for a lot of photos and wardrobe changes and I’m not going anywhere. I want to hear all about it,” she says with a grin.
Over the next hour, Camille and I watch from the couch as Max poses for photo after photo. The two bikini models were only used in one setup and that was where he was in his training shorts and nothing but his training shorts. I know it probably should have bothered me, watching Max flex his biceps while each skimpily clad woman flanked his sides, but I couldn’t find it within me. They were extremely professional, and in between sets, Max only had eyes for me.
Camille entertained me with stories about famous people she’d met through her dad’s work and I learned that she was a senior at the University of North Carolina. She was also very knowledgeable about photography, taking the time to explain some of the lighting and posing techniques.
Finally, when it was all done, Max practically bolted to the bathroom to scrub all the makeup off his face, and when he came out, he looked utterly exhausted and for the first time I felt bad for him. He’d had a really long day, flying back from Pittsburgh and straight into a photo shoot, and while I had my fun teasing him a little bit, it was time to get him home and to bed.
“I want to stay at your place tonight,” Max says in the car as we head out of the downtown area.
“Baby…you’re exhausted. You should sleep in your own bed tonight. As much as I love having you with me, your body’s going to suffer for it.”
And that’s the truth. Max stayed at my house on Saturday night after the “Dwayne fiasco” and again on Sunday, and because Annabelle sleeps in my bed, that meant he slept on the couch.
It also meant I slept on the couch, and while couches are great for cuddling and snuggling for movies or something else that lasts no longer than two hours, they are not great for getting a good night’s sleep. In order for both of us to sleep, we had to press ourselves close to each other, which is great in theory but not so great in practicality when you’re constantly trying to shift to get comfortable and the temperature of your two bodies together rises to about a thousand degrees Fahrenheit.
“You’re probably right,” he mutters and then punctuates that with a yawn. Yeah, he’s exhausted and needs a good night’s sleep. “Maybe you and the kids could stay at my house sometimes,” Max suggests.
My nose wrinkles slightly and I tell him straight up, “I don’t know. How do we explain that to them? I mean…is it kosher to bring them to my boyfriend’s house for an overnight? For them to see us sleeping in the same room together?”
“They saw us sleeping on the couch together,” he points out, and I giggle when I think about Sunday morning when Annabelle ran out of the bedroom and jumped on top of both of us when she saw us there.
“Let me think about it,” I hedge, because while I would love nothing more than to take him up on his offer, I’m just not sure morally that’s the right thing to do.
My heart becomes heavy as I realize that Melody would know what to do. She was such a good mom and always seemed to know exactly what her kids could handle and what they needed to be shielded from.
“You know,” Max murmurs, breaking into my thoughts. “You could move to a bigger apartment. A three-bedroom.”
“Maybe,” I say thoughtfully, and on its face, that would definitely give Max and me more time together as he could stay the night. But on the flip side, again…is that cool to do with young kids in the house? Again I hedge. “I’d have to check the cost out and see what I could afford.”
“Speaking of things you can and can’t afford,” Max says in a slight change of subject, “I did something that might piss you off.”
My head snaps to the left and I look at him across the dim console. He turns his head briefly and glances at me but it’s too dark to see much. When he looks back to the road, he says, “I bought you a TV. It’s being delivered tomorrow.”
“What?” I blurt out.
“Your TV is broken and you need a new one, so I bought you one,” he says, and I note there isn’t an ounce of apology in his voice.
“Max,” I exclaim. “I do not need you buying TVs for me.”
“You wouldn’t buy it yourself,” he points out.
“Because I can’t afford it,” I retort.
“And I can,” he says simply…and again, unapologetically.
“I can’t accept,” I say firmly, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring out the window.
“You can,” he says.
“I won’t,” I promise him.
“Fine,” he says with a shrug. “Just don’t accept the delivery. They can leave it outside your door. I’m sure someone in the apartment complex could use it. Figure it will get stolen as soon as the sun goes down.”
I growl low in my throat and turn in the seat to face him, my eyes narrowing, which is completely lost on him since he’s paying attention to the road. “Max…it’s too expensive. Too extravagant.”
“Are you not worth it?” he asks quietly. “What’s the difference between that and buying you a pretty piece of jewelry because you’re my girl? If I do that, Jules…you going to throw that back at me too?”
I open my mouth to tell him yes, that’s exactly what I’ll do, but then overwhelming shame hits me. Here Max is trying to do something nice for me—and let’s face it, he’s doing it for the kids too—and I’m being a bitch about it.
With a sigh, I mutter, “I’m sorry I’m being this way. It’s just…hard for me to—”
“Whoever taught you that it’s wrong to accept help, baby?” he murmurs. “Would you not help another person if you had the means to do so? I mean, haven’t you done that in the past?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“You pay it forward, Jules,” he says, and that causes a jolt of awareness to pulse through me. “I was taught to give and help, not only by my parents but when I’ve had others help me out when I needed it.”
Of course you pay it forward. I know this. It’s a great philosophy in life. But I hate that it makes me feel awful to have Max do this for me, because I never want to be viewed as a charity case.
I feel his hand slide over my shoulder then up my neck, where his fingers curl gently around the other side. He gives me a slight squeeze and says, “I’m not going to lie, Jules. From the start, your plight touched me like it would any human with an ounce of compassion, but what you have to realize is it’s more than that with me. I’ve got a vested interest in making you happy because that makes me happy, so you got to know…I do this as much for myself as I do it for you. It makes me feel like your man when I can do things for you, and while I’ve sat back and let you figure things out on your own and stubbornly work your fingers to the bone, we’re at the point in our relationship that I should be able to do nice things for you and not have you freak out.”
“Max—” I say as I turn my head to face him.
“Jules,” he cuts me off softly. “Give this to me, okay?”
God…this man.
This utterly beautiful man with a heart made of pure gold and a soul guaranteed to ascend to Heaven the minute his time is up on this earth.
This man who is mine and who cares for me like no man ever has before.
I reach my arm up, wrap it around his wrist and pull his hand away from my neck. I bring it to my mouth, where I turn it and press a kiss to his palm.
“I’ll give you anything you want, Max,” I tell him quietly. “Anything at all.”
And I mean that.