Chapter 33
MAX
“What time is it?” Paige sits up too quickly as I walk into her bedroom. “Oh, God, I moved too fast.” She places her hand on her head and lies back down. “Why does the room keep spinning?”
“That’s because you’ve barely eaten anything for three days.”
“Three days? What? No. I’ve never taken a full day off work before, why three? This is terrible. And why are you still here? I thought I told you to call my parents.”
“They were here again today to check on you, but they’ve been and gone.”
I called them on Paige’s cell phone as soon as we got to her place, and they came right over. They believed me when I told them I was her boyfriend. She’ll hate me for that, but she’s hated me for worse, so whatever.
They helped me put Alfie to bed on the first night Paige was sick, showed me how to change diapers, make a bottle, and bathe him. I managed just fine by myself tonight.
They were determined to stay, but I refused to let them.
I couldn’t risk either of them getting sick.
Having a dad in a memory care home, I know how vulnerable he is now that he’s older, and his immunity isn’t what it used to be.
I didn’t want to risk Paige’s parents getting sick either.
If it was bad for Paige, I can’t imagine what it would be like for them.
And like I said before, this baby stuff is a piece of cake. I’m doing great. If there’s a competition for the best dad—well, not dad, but you know what I mean—then I’m winning this shit, and I’m going to give Nathan a run for his money. I’ve had court cases harder than this.
I place a fresh chilled bottle of water on her nightstand, then the baby monitor, and sit down on the edge of the mattress.
“Where is Alfie?” Paige asks, moistening her lips.
“Sleeping.”
“Why? What time is it?” she asks groggily, her voice weak.
“Nine o’clock at night.”
“I’ve slept all day.” She sounds disbelieving as she tries to pull herself up again, but I’m right here to help her this time, propping her up with pillows behind her. “Thank you. This is so embarrassing. I feel like a baby.”
“Oh no, Alfie is a dream to look after; you’re worse than a baby,” I joke, teasing her.
“Shut up.” She rests her head back on the fluffy pillow and closes her eyes, blowing out a breath. “I think I puked my entire life up.”
“You sure did.” I honestly thought I might need to take her to the hospital when she was retching so hard. “Do you think you can walk to your bathroom to brush your teeth tonight before bed?”
Nodding slowly, she confirms she can. “Yeah. I want to take a shower. I feel disgusting.” She pinches at the neckline of her T-shirt and pulls a repulsed face.
I lay my hand on her forehead to check her temperature. “Your temperature has come down.” She’s over the worst of it.
She pops one eye open and looks at me suspiciously. “What are you after?” she asks. Her voice sounds rough, like it’s been dragged through gravel. Her throat must hurt from being sick multiple times.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Opening her other eye, she glares at me. “You’ve been taking care of me and Alfie for days. You’re after something.”
“I promise you, I’m not.” I care about her. Not that I can bring myself to tell her that because I’m baffled by it myself.
“Mmmm,” she hums, not believing me. “I need to pee.”
“You should get up and take a shower now.”
A long sigh leaves her throat. “I should.” As she tilts her head to the side, I can tell she wants to ask me something but can’t bring herself to do it.
“Do you want me to help you?”
Her shoulders drop in defeat. “Yeah, could you, please? To make sure I don’t fall or hurt myself. I feel so weak.”
“Give it a couple of days and you’ll feel like yourself again.”
“I hope so. When Alfie had it, he bounced back and was chasing after the next-door neighbor’s cat; well, crawling after it.”
“He did the same today.”
“You were in the yard?” Her lips part in surprise.
“Yeah. He loves the inflatable kiddie pool.”
“Did you fill it up?”
“Yeah, I found it in the garage.”
“You’ve been in my garage?” She quirks an eyebrow questioningly.
“Yeah. I built the backyard playset that was in there, too. That thing is fucking huge. When did you get it?”
Narrowing her eyes, she takes some time to answer. “Ages ago. I just never got around to building it.”
“Well, it’s done. Alfie loves the swing and the window on the playhouse.
He’s in plastic heaven.” He thought it was hilarious when I played peek-a-boo with him this afternoon through the window.
“I can move it if you don’t like where I put it.
Your backyard is enormous.” I understand why she bought the plot.
It’s like a jungle at the far end—plants, trees, bushes, with a hidden fenced-for-safety pond.
It feels like a secret garden down there.
She glares at me before looking past me. “Where is Max Hart and what did you do with him?”
I shake my head, aware she’s having a hard time understanding why I’m helping her.
Trust me, I am too. This feels strange for me, and I don’t understand it any more than she does.
“I know this might surprise you, but I am nice.” Not only have Paige and Alfie shown me what I have been missing from my life, but I no longer believe that relationships or babies are not for me. I want both, all of it, with them.
“Only when you want something in return,” she snaps back at lightning speed, but there’s a hint of a smile and sarcasm in her biting tone, and I know she’s starting to feel better. Also, she doesn’t mean it. She’s not fooling anyone.
“There’s my fork-tongued Bunny.” Oh, how I’ve missed her.
Her pale cheeks fill with color at the use of her pet name, and I kind of love how shy she is about what we did all those weeks ago in The Velvet Rooms. Deep down, she likes what we did, loves it actually, and she hasn’t exactly put up a fight to bring an end to us.
Every time she wants to, she changes her mind.
She wants me and us, and all she needed was a nudge that got us where we are today.
I’ve missed her touch the last few days, missed our conversations and secret rendezvous. As soon as she’s feeling better, she’ll be coming all over my tongue quicker than she can scream my name again. Doing both at the same time would be preferable.
Leaning over, she picks up the water bottle from the nightstand and drinks half of it. More than she has managed in days. “God, that tastes good. I think I’d like that shower now, please.”
I lift my ass off the mattress and peel back her cream-colored comforter to help her get out of the bed.
“I’m not wearing any panties,” she gasps, looking down at her holey college T-shirt she’s clearly had for years.
“It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before.”
Her cheeks turn even darker.
When we had phone sex, I watched her push her vibrator in and out of herself while I jerked off.
I’ve also had my tongue inside her pussy as she’s sucked my cock at the same time, in the best sixty-nine I’ve ever experienced during one of our many lunch hours.
I’m not embarrassed; I don’t know why she is.
We’re consenting adults, and it’s hot as fuck watching and listening to her fall apart every time we fuck.
Pulling at the hem of her shirt, she holds it down to cover herself as she swivels around on her butt to get out of bed as ladylike as she possibly can.
“Take it easy,” I tell her, offering my hand for her to take. She’s weak and still needs another day of rest to recuperate.
“Thanks.” She lays her hand in mine.
I give it a reassuring squeeze, encouraging her. “Slowly come up onto your feet.”
Gingerly, she does, and when she’s upright, I place my other hand around her waist so she can use me for support, and I lift the baby monitor off the nightstand to take it with us as we pass.
“Thanks, Max.”
“I’ve got you, baby.”
As if she’s in disbelief, she shakes her head.
“What?” I ask as she takes her first few steps toward her ensuite.
“Just you.”
“What about me?”
“Well, you know. This is weird.”
“Weirder than us meeting in secret and having sex and dates? Don’t tell me you haven’t enjoyed it.”
She snorts, then winces.
“Are you okay?” I immediately go into panic mode.
“Yeah, my stomach muscles are sore from all the vomiting.”
Thank God it’s just that. “You’ll feel better tomorrow.” And she’ll be back to biting my head off, calling me an asshole. I live for those moments.
What can I say, I’m a sadist. Obviously.
“Almost there.” I guide her into her adjoining bathroom and tell her to sit down on the edge of the toffee-colored polished concrete tub.
Paige Bradshaw has expensive taste. Her house is sleek and cool as hell.
Marble-topped furniture, chandeliers, glass everywhere in creams and gold, plush cream carpets—it’s warm and inviting and feels like home.
Unlike mine. Having lived here for a few days, I’m now seriously thinking about changing all the gray and black in my penthouse to a similar palette as Paige’s.
Turning on the shower, I set the temperature knob ensuring it’s not too hot, then let it heat up, laying my hand under the water to test it.
“It’s ready.” A soft hiss fills the room as water patters gently against the tiled flooring of her giant wet room.
“Thanks.” She runs her hands through her hair, which she’s taken down.
“Your hair is really long.” I sound like a chump; it’s not like she doesn’t know that already. I mean, it’s her hair; of course she knows that.
She pulls her hair to her front and examines the ends. “I had a few inches taken off it last month.”
The same color as Rapunzel, her hair is all shiny and golden, like spun silk, and must take her ages to dry it. “I like it,” I admit. Love it actually and love curling it around my hand, licking her neck and arching it back as I fuck her from behind…
My cock bounces in my boxers.
Not now.
What the fuck is wrong with me and this woman?