Chapter 5 - Max
Of all the bars, in all of New York City, she walks into mine.
Or I walk into hers. Or we both walk into the same one.
Whatever.
This isn’t Casablanca, it’s real life. And right now, Naomi Rose’s hand is clasped in mine as we walk out of the crowded space. The fresh air hits us as soon as the door opens. It’s the end of September, and the chill has well and truly set into the air in New York City. Naomi takes a deep breath, slipping her hand out of mine and running her fingers through her fiery red hair.
“It’s hot in there.” I watch her chest rise and fall as she fans her face, flicking her eyes back towards me. Her look almost knocks me back. I don’t know if it’s her makeup, or hair, or that emerald green, skin-tight dress she has on, but looking at her is doing all kinds of things to my body.
“It is,” I reply, trying not to stare at her. I nod to her sash. “Whose idea were those?”
Naomi runs her finger along the sash, looking down at the gold writing. She chuckles, shrugging. “Not mine.”
“Not into weddings?”
“Not into marriage, really,” she replies with an arch of her eyebrow.
“No? I thought girls loved weddings.”
Naomi rolls her eyes, planting a hand on her hip. “Right, because all women are just one monolith who share all thoughts and opinions.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I grin.
“That’s a stupid stereotype anyways.”
“What’s that?”
“The one where women are all these wedding-crazy bridezillas who plan their wedding from the day they’re born.”
“I’ve met lots of women who love weddings.”
Naomi huffs, shaking her head. It feels like the wedding talk has struck a nerve, but I don’t know how to steer the conversation away from it.
“I’ve met lots of men who want to get married,” she says. “It takes two to tango, you know. I refuse to believe that all these men are just being dragged to the altar against their will.”
“True.”
“I hate that ‘ball and chain’ saying. If you don’t want to get married, then don’t get married! It shouldn’t be joked about like it’s a life sentence. Why is there so much pressure on us to tie the knot?”
“You should talk to my parents,” I laugh. “Maybe you could convince them to come around.”
She glances at me, cocking that pretty head to the side. Her eyes soften.
“Do they pressure you to get married?”
I snort, glancing down the street as a car zooms past. I rub my hands together to warm them up as I shake my head. “They’re brutal. They’ve been asking me when I’m going to get married since I left for college.”
“That makes me glad my mom is the way she is,” Naomi replies, following my gaze to the street. I steal a glance at her and my chest squeezes. Her body looks unbelievable in that dress. It makes her skin look milky white and her hair look like it’s made of pure fire.
I clear my throat as the heat flows between my legs. “Your mom’s not into marriage?”
Naomi snorts, looking at me. Her eyes are gleaming under the streetlights. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, shaking her head.
“My mom is pressuring me not to get married.”
“Must be nice.”
“I guess,” Naomi laughs. “She never got married, and I think she instilled this idea in me that marriage was a way to keep women under control.”
“Do you believe that?”
Naomi is quiet for a while, and I take a step closer to her. She shivers, and I run my hands over her arms. She must be freezing in that dress.
She closes her eyes and lets out a soft sigh that makes my body thrum with desire. When she opens her eyes again, she tilts her chin up to look at me. Her lips look soft and kissable and her tongue darts out to lick them. I resist the urge to groan.
“No,” she finally responds. “I don’t believe that marriage is evil. I think it’s not for everyone, but I do think that people can get married for love and that it can work. But I think that people rush into it.”
“You can say that again.”
My hands are still on her arms, and the touch is making my heart beat faster. I desperately want to kiss her. I want her to flick those pretty, green eyes up at me, and I want to crush my lips against hers.
“Why did you leave your fiancée at the altar?” She asks, looking up at me as her eyebrows draw together. I drop my hands and take a deep breath.
My failed engagement is like a constant reminder of how things just never seem to work out for me. It didn’t work out in college, when I thought I would marry Farrah. And then it didn’t work out again two years later, when I realized I couldn’t spend my life with Heather.
Maybe the problem is with me, not them.
Naomi is still waiting for an answer, so I shrug.
“I guess it’s just what you were saying. We rushed into it. I gave in to the pressure from my parents. I thought it was the right thing, and then I realized it wasn’t. Or maybe she wasn’t the right woman.”
“And it didn’t occur to you before the day of your wedding? I mean that poor woman…”
“I know, I’m an asshole.”
Naomi grins. “I never said that.” She shivers again, and I wish I had a jacket to lend her. Instead, I just wrap my arms around her and pull her close. She sighs into me, leaning her head against my chest. My heart is thumping, and I hope she can’t hear it.
“You want to go back inside?”
“Not really,” she mumbles into my chest. “But I guess we should.”
“I thought you weren’t the kind of woman who does things just because you think you should. Isn’t that what all the hatred of weddings is about?”
Something flashes in her eyes as a grin spreads across her face. She pushes away from me, keeping her hands on my chest. “Mr. Westbrook, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were mocking me.”
“Me? Never.”
She takes a step back, searching my face. Her lips part for a moment and I see desire flash in her eyes. Then, Naomi swallows and her expression changes.
“This is probably inappropriate,” she says, laughing nervously. “I’m half drunk, hugging my client. All the while my boss is inside for her bachelorette party. I could probably get fired.”
“For talking to me?”
She chews her lip, staring at my face and letting her gaze drop down my body. Her look sends a thrill straight down my spine, and all I want to do is wrap my arms around her again, tilt her chin up towards me and taste those soft, pink lips of hers.
Finally, Naomi shakes her head. “Let’s go back in. They’re probably waiting for me.”
“They’re probably still drunkenly dancing and haven’t even noticed you’re gone.”
Naomi grins, smacking my arm and shaking her head. I wrap my arms around her and she melts into me. It feels so good to have her near. My whole body is drawn to her like a magnet. She puts her hands on my chest and slowly pushes herself away. She bites her lip and the fire in my belly ignites.
I want her so fucking bad.
“You’re trouble,” she grins.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
Instead of answering, she just shakes her head and laughs, turning back to the door. She looks over her shoulder, nodding towards the sound of the music.
“You coming?”
“I was thinking we might get out of here,” I reply. Naomi’s eyes widen and she turns towards me. I take a step closer to her, running my hand over her hip. She shivers, leaning towards me slightly. When she opens her eyes, she’s got a sad smile on her face.
“I can’t,” she says, shaking her head. A sharp, burning pain passes through my chest. Naomi puts a hand on my chest and sighs. “We work together. It would be wrong. You’re making such great progress with your knee, I don’t want to do anything that might jeopardize that.”
“Are you saying you care more about my knee than you do about me?” I ask, forcing a smile on my lips.
“I guess so, yeah. I am saying that,” she laughs. She slides her hand to my shoulder and stands up on her tip toes. Her soft skin brushes mine as she lays a kiss on my cheek. She’s so close it’s making my head spin.
“Sorry I asked,” I reply. “Maybe I’ve had too much to drink. I didn’t mean to… you know. Proposition you or whatever. I’ve put you in an awkward situation.”
“Under any other circumstances, I would have said yes.”
My eyes widen as my whole body throbs for her.
I watch her turn back towards the door. The music gets loud and soft again as the door opens and closes behind her. I run my fingers through my hair, groaning.
That was the nicest rejection I’ve ever had, but it still stings. She’s right, obviously. It would be a terrible idea to sleep together. I’d probably end up sabotaging the whole thing and have to find a new physical therapist right as my knee is starting to feel better.
But as much as I repeat that to myself, I can’t forget the way her body feels in my arms, or how the heat in my veins ignites whenever her skin touches mine.