TWENTY-ONE

Afterglow

It took a heartbroken mother, an asshole father, and over a decade of conscientious numbing to build a fortress around my heart. And it takes Max one day to demolish it.

For so many years I’ve thought love would weaken me; make me shapeless and weak in a jagged, unforgiving world. But after truly letting Max in and owning up to how I feel about him, it seems the opposite is true. Being with him makes me feel like a goddamn superhero. Every sweet touch and tender look, every time he smiles at me like he can’t believe I’m real, every whispered curse as I pleasure him, fills me with so much adrenaline I could probably outrun a train.

Part of me feels idiotic for being so afraid of this feeling for so long, but there’s still a stubborn thorn of cynicism that needles me, whispering that I’ve stupidly climbed onboard the Love Express, even though I know all too well where it’s going to end up. In these moments my brain gets loud and aggressive, like a drunk squaring up for a knock-down, drag-out bar fight with my heart. In the utopia of Max’s arms, the drunk passes out before doing any real damage. But honestly, I wonder who would end up winning if Max wasn’t with me, constantly reminding me he’s in my heart’s corner.

Maybe it’s this fear that makes me decide to selfishly spend the whole day with him. In between phone calls to the hospital to check on Nan, he cooks for me, showers with me, and keeps me safe and warm. But most of all, he spends a great deal of time entwined with me, showing me time and again how much he loves and needs me.

Apparently, we have lot of sexual frustration to work through, because just when I think we can’t possibly fuck anymore, he’ll give me a look, or kiss me, or walk around half naked, and the smoldering embers of our lust burst into flame again. Yes, I’m getting sore, but the discomfort is nothing compared to how I feel when he’s moving inside me. Connecting that deeply with him is euphoric every time, and a little chafing can’t dampen my passion.

So now, I’m lying in bed staring at him as the early-morning sun peeks over the Manhattan skyline. He’s sprawled on his stomach, his arms wrapped around a pillow; the sheet barely covering the curve of his ass. Too full of thoughts and feelings to sleep, I gently run my fingers over the muscles in his back before pushing some hair away from his forehead. Then I do something I never thought I would with a man: I sigh. As girly and romantic as it is, it’s the only reaction that seems appropriate right now. This beautiful man is mine. How bizarre is that?

My first instinct is to call Asha to download my epic emotions, but right now she’s probably tongue deep in a gorgeous Frenchman, to that’s not an option. However, I still need an outlet, and there’s one sure way for me to purge all of these thoughts that will also help my professional situation.

I lean over and press a soft kiss against Max’s head before climbing out of bed, pulling on one of his giant tees, and going into the living room to take a seat at his desk. There’s a huge iMac front and center, and when I touch a key, it blinks to life.

I open up a blank document and begin typing. The things I’ve learned from Max need to be known by others, and right now, writing them down seems the best way to do that. As with any writing, the best stuff comes directly from the heart, and that’s what happens as I fill the pages detailing my experiences with Mister Romance. It’s not the story I set out to write, and it’s nothing like what Derek will be expecting, but it’s the truth, and it feels good to speak of something so pure in a world that seems to thrive on mockery and criticism. I write about my pre-conceptions of Max’s motives and how wrong they were, I write about his clients and how I misjudged them, but most of all, I write about Max and how he left behind the person he was raised to be and transformed himself into the man so many people needed him to be.

By the time I finish my final paragraph, the sun is fully over the horizon. When I hear Max yawning in the bedroom, I quickly save the document and put the monitor to sleep. I figure I should discuss what I intend to do with it before he reads it, just in case he gets the wrong idea.

When I get back to the bedroom, Max is mid-stretch, and I don’t miss that the sheet is barely covering his epic morning wood.

“Good morning,” he says, his voice muffled with sleep as I climb under the sheet and curl into his side.

“Morning.” I glance down at his erection. “Seriously? Doesn’t he ever get fatigued?”

He pulls the sheet up a little, but the outline is still clear as day. “Not around you, that’s for damn sure. Believe me, I had no idea he had this kind of stamina until you came along.”

I prop myself up on my elbow and look down on him. “Well, don’t get any ideas. I have to go be with Nan first thing this morning, and if you start putting that thing anywhere near me, we both know I’ll be here for hours.”

He pulls me down for a kiss then pulls back to study my face. “Just promise that if you leave today, you’re not going to freak out while you’re gone and second guess us.”

“I can promise I’ll try not to.” I give him a soft kiss and hope there are no freak-outs in my future, considering I’m an official member of the Love Cult. Right now I could write volumes of poetry about the tenderness of his eyes, the luscious curl of his lips, and the masculine perfection of his body. I’m so full of love for him, Eden from a month ago is in an alternate timeline rolling her eyes so hard, she glimpses brain.

As for Max, he just breathes deeply and stares at me, serene and vindicated. As usual, he can tell what I’m thinking, and he’s patting himself on the back for turning the hardened cynic into a lovesick fool.

“You hate how much you’re feeling for me, don’t you?” he asks, his smile spreading.

“God, so much! It was just never in my life plan to feel like this.”

“Same.” He traces his fingers around my face. “You disrupted my entire world, Eden Tate. I’m used to being the one in control. The one people fall in love with. I’m not supposed to fall in love.”

“Still, you must feel good that I fell for your antics hook, line, and sinker.”

He watches his hand as he runs it down my neck and onto my chest. “I didn’t have any antics with you, but I did go above and beyond what I’d usually do on dates. Everything was more real with you.”

“Because you were trying to kill the story?”

He frowns a little. “In part. I needed you to understand what I do and why I do it so you’d stop thinking I was an asshole, but more than that, I wanted you to see me. Know me. Do you think I can write a song for just anyone? Only for you, and only as Caleb.

I run my fingers through his hair, and when I graze my fingernails across his scalp, he hums his approval. “You couldn’t just be yourself?”

His smile falls. “No, because I’ve spent so many years trying to change the man I used to be, I had no clue who I was anymore.” He sits up, so now he’s the one looking down at me. “And yet, no matter what character I was playing, I always felt like a better person when I was with you. For so long I’ve felt like no one, and you made me feel like someone again. Someone who didn’t need to hide behind fake personalities to be a good man.”

He leans down and kisses me, and after several minutes of slow, passionate making out, things get way more heated than I have time for.

I push him off and laugh when he groans in disappointment.

“Eden, come on. I’m in pain, here.”

“Me, too. So you keep that giant dick in your pants until later, and by then Regina may have recovered enough to accommodate him again.”

He flips onto his back and covers himself with a pillow. “Damn, being this attracted to you is torture.”

I smile and climb out of bed. “Ditto.” I walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower. “So, want to meet up for dinner tonight? If we do, I’d like to go back to the hospital afterward. I feel guilty as hell I’ve had nearly a dozen orgasms instead of sitting by Nan’s side, but still ...” I glance out the door at him as I wait for the water to heat up. “We could hang out for a couple of hours.”

It’s ridiculous that after the amount of sex we’ve had, I still feel nervous asking him to dinner. My heart is hammering like I just invited the quarterback to prom.

He sits up and stares at me for a few seconds. The tiny silence that follows feels like a lifetime. My brain concocts dozens of reasons for his hesitation, and not one of them is good. Still, I hold my breath and wait for his reply.

“Eden, I’d love to, but tonight ... I’m working.”

“Oh. Working as in ...?”

“I have a date.”

My stomach turns to lead. “Right. But I thought you weren’t seeing clients while we were ... well ... whatever we’re doing.”

“I wasn’t, but I have bills that are past due. Plus, a few of my clients are having a hard time recently, and they could really use my support.”

I want to say that I’m sure none of their grandmothers is comatose, but that would be petty, not to mention unfair. He hasn’t worked for weeks because of me. I can’t begrudge him making a living, even if it does hurt to think of other women getting his affection.

“Of course. No problem at all.”

“We can see each other tomorrow night. I’ll take you to dinner.”

I smile. “Yeah, sure. Sounds great.”

“Eden ...”

I know he’s going to apologize, and I really don’t want him to. “Max, please don’t worry. I’m fine. You have bills to pay. I totally understand.”

I strip off before climbing into the shower. The water is too hot, but it feels good right now. I let it run over my skin as I try to release the tension in my muscles.

Realistically, I was prepared for this. I’ve always thought a relationship would contain some degree of disappointment and compromise. Max’s work is important to him, and rightly so, but that doesn’t make it easier to accept that if I go all-in with him, I’ll be a possibly unemployed journalist whose boyfriend services a large percentage of New York’s gorgeous socialites. I need to find a way to be okay with that.

When I turn around to wet my hair, I jump when I see a shadow on the other side of the shower curtain. I pull it aside to see Max there wearing a troubled expression.

“Dates are just work,” he says. “They don’t change how I feel about you.” He steps closer. “With everything coming out in the article, I don’t know how long this ride is going to last, and I need the money. I’m a college dropout buried under massive debt. I’m never going to be able to earn this much doing something else.”

“I know. And I don’t want you to quit. You’re amazing at what you do, and those ladies need you.”

“But it bothers you, doesn’t it?”

I turn off the water. When he hands me a towel, I step out and wrap it around me. “Max, if the thought of you romancing and kissing other women didn’t drive me insane with jealousy, then you should be concerned about the depth of my feelings.” I stretch up to kiss him. “Listen, I knew what you did for a living and fell in love with you anyway. I’ll figure out a way to deal with it, okay?”

He stares at me, unblinking for a full three seconds, and I wonder if I’ve just committed some sort of relationship taboo I wasn’t aware of.

“Max? Are you okay?”

He swallows and nods, and I see the muscles in his jaw working overtime. “Yeah, you just ...” He looks like he’s struggling to keep himself together. “You just told me you love me for the first time, and I thought I was prepared for it, but it turns out I’m really not.”

He pulls me into his arms and buries his face in my neck. “Say it again.”

I laugh and squeeze him tighter. “I’m in love with you, Max Riley. Stupidly, sickeningly, revoltingly in love. Does that make you happy?”

I can feel him smiling against my skin. “More than you can possibly fathom.” He pulls back and looks down at me. “For the record, I’m also revoltingly in love with you, so I guess we’re doing this.”

I smile. “I guess we are.”

We’ve been so wrapped up in the bubble of pleasure in which we’ve been living, we haven’t thought about what will happen when we leave this apartment. But now that our feelings are out there, larger than life and scary as hell, we have to find a way to make this thing work in the real world.

“And you’re sure you’ll be okay with me going back to work?”

He studies my face for a reaction, and I strive to keep my smile sincere.

“Definitely. Now, get out of here before I do things to you that will require me to take another shower.”

He gives me a quick kiss and a swat on the ass, but as he walks out into the bedroom, I get a twisting feeling in my stomach that this fresh, shiny relationship we’re building is being constructed on shaky ground.

* * *

By the time I’ve blow-dried my hair and slipped into Max’s robe, I can already smell he has breakfast underway. When I get to the kitchen, there’s a plate of food on the counter that looks like it was made in a restaurant. Max is bustling around in just his jeans, making real coffee from the vintage espresso machine. I take the moment to gaze at him in awe.

He catches me staring. “What?”

“Just wondering if there are things you suck at.”

“Of course. Too many to mention.”

I sit on one of the metal stools in front of the stainless-steel-topped island. “Hit me with a few, just so I know you’re not lying.”

“Okay. Accounting. I’m terrible at it, and it bores me out of my mind.”

I scoop some eggs into my mouth. Predictably, they’re delicious. “Welcome to the club. And ...?”

“Bowling. I’m king of the gutter balls.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s all small potatoes. Anything major?”

He brings over a perfectly made cappuccino and places it in front of me before sliding his arm around my waist and pulling me against him.

“Yes. Staying away from the woman who makes me harder than steel. I’m freaking terrible at that.” He leans down and claims my lips, and despite there being minimal pressure and zero tongue, the wave of desire that rushes through me has so much power, it could launch a city-sized satellite into space.

I touch his face as we both just stand there, lips pressed together, breathing rapidly.

When we pull apart, I stare up at him. “I have to finish getting ready, evil man.”

“Not yet.” He kisses me again, deeper this time, definite tongue, and if his intention was to make me forget what I was about to say or do, he’s successful. When he pulls back, his breathing is just as screwed up as mine. He cups my breasts though the soft fabric then grunts in frustration and steps back. “Eat your breakfast. Maybe if your mouth is busy, I’ll forget about all the things I want it to do to me.”

I make quick work of my plate of food as he cleans up, and I gaze at the wonder of his back. He’s gone quiet and seems deep in thought, so I head off to finish getting ready.

When I finally emerge fully dressed to face the day, I’m shocked to find Max sitting in front of the computer. His forearms are on the desk, and he’s leaning forward, his face illuminated by the giant screen.

He looks over when he hears me approaching. His expression is a little guilty, but there’s something else I can’t define.

“You wrote the story this morning?”

I nod. “I couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts.”

“This is what you think of me?”

His tone is impossible to read, so I bite the bullet and go with honesty.

“Yes.”

He points to the final paragraph then reads it aloud. “Everything is ordinary until someone loves it, then it transforms. Suddenly it’s beautiful. Incredible. Priceless. Everyone deserves to feel priceless at least once in their lives. Despite his troubled past, Max Riley has created a business out of making women feel that way, and it says something about the state of our image-obsessed society that his business is booming. Maybe if there were more people like Mr. Riley to spread the soul food of romance, the world would be a better place.”

He goes quiet then turns to me. “Eden ... this article is ...” He shakes his head. “I’m not worthy of it.”

“Yes, you are. I wouldn’t have written it otherwise.”

He leans back in the chair. “When will it be published?”

I step closer, nervous about how tense he is. “It won’t. I’ve decided to tell Derek I’m pulling it.”

I expect to see relief on his face, but instead, he seems conflicted. “This piece is ... brilliant, Eden. Seriously. I couldn’t have dreamed you’d write something so beautiful about me. Philosophical, even. This article could make your career.”

“Yes, but at the expense of yours, and I’m not willing to do that. I feel better for writing it all down, but Max, you know as well as I do that if I publish this, your business goes up in flames.”

He reaches over and takes my hand, and I stand between his legs as he looks down at our fingers. “In the beginning, this decision was so simple. It was either you or me. A fight for survival, but now ...”

I stroke his hair. “I know what you mean.”

He leans back in the chair, and we stare at each other. There’s no easy answer here. No matter which way we turn, someone is going to be ruined. My stubborn, selfish side doesn’t want it to be me, but then I think about hurting him, and it makes me feel sick. Is this what love has reduced me to? Giving up my dreams to protect the man I love?

Maybe Derek will be merciful and not fire me. And maybe I’ll be wrong about Max’s work tearing us apart.

I don’t think either of those things is likely, but I at least have to try.

“This is what relationships are about, right?” I say, sitting on his lap. “Sacrificing what you want for the person you love?”

I lean over and close the document, and Max puts his hand on top of mine on the mouse.

“I wish there was another way.”

I sigh. “In a perfect world we could both get what we want, but I know that’s not possible, so ...” I give him a smile before sending the document to myself as an email attachment. “I promise, this is for my eyes only. I just want a copy, so whenever I feel like a talentless hack, I can remind myself I once wrote something decent and profound.”

When a whooshing sound announces the email has been sent, I delete the document, and then to make it extra painful, I empty the trash.

“Derek’s away in Europe for two weeks, but when he gets back, I’ll tell him I’m dropping the story. If I beg hard enough, he might let me go back to writing memes.”

When Max looks at me in sympathy, I run my fingers over his furrowed brow. “I don’t want this to come between us.”

“I just hate that you had to do this,” he says. “Thank you doesn’t even start to cover how grateful I am. Will you be okay?”

“Sure. Have you forgotten that I now have a superfine boyfriend for emotional support?” I shudder a little. “Wow, it feels bizarre to say that.”

He makes a noise in his chest and pulls me tighter against him. “Maybe you need to say it again, just to get used to it.”

“Hmmm. My superfine boyfriend seems to like it when I call him that.”

“Fuck yes, he does.”

He pulls me in for a kiss, and it’s just what I need before I leave our love-bubble to face the real world. Maybe everything will be okay with him by my side. If anyone can make me believe that, Max can.