Chapter 3 Zack #2
“Sorry,” he huffs, before he holds out his hand to help me up.
I slip my hand into his, like I always do, but this time my fingers flex around his involuntarily, and I can’t help but snatch my hand away in confusion.
Max watches me closely, and I panic thinking he might be able to read the crazy direction my thoughts are going, before he clears his throat.
“Again,” he commands, and just like that we go back to training without another word.
I tell myself that whatever I just felt was the whiskey, that I know when I drink I always get horny, and it’s just been too long since I got laid, but I’m not sure who I’m kidding.
This is fucking Max we are talking about, he’s not just my best friend, but a fucking guy, and I like I said, I’m straight.
He gets me on my back five more times, each one more confusing than the last, as the alcohol in my veins takes control, and my mind goes crazy with forbidden thoughts.
Max is none the wiser of course, calling me out for every sloppy move, as he takes pride in slamming me into the mats.
After the sixth time I wonder if I am doing it on purpose, just to feel him against me and try to work out what the fuck is going on with me, but he climbs off far too quickly.
Once he does it for the tenth time, he shakes his head in disappointment and calls it a day.
We both grab our towels, throwing ourselves onto one of the benches beside the mats, and I watch his throat work as he downs some water before he turns and finds me staring.
I see his gaze narrow slightly, and I quickly avert my stare and down some of my own water.
“Sorry, I’m just not with it lately,” I admit quietly, and I see his head tilt toward me, but I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze.
“Maybe you need to get laid,” he starts casually, and the panic inside of me intensifies even more.
“I heard Rosie still calls your office once a month,” he adds, and my stare snaps to him in question, but he only shrugs.
“Yes, I track your calls, sue me.” He’s right of course, she does still call, and for the first time in almost a fucking year, I contemplate calling her back.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Swiping my hands down my face I sigh at the thought of my ex.
We were never serious, not to me anyway, though I’m sure she would have liked to have been, and Max never liked it.
I can’t believe he’s bringing her up now, can he sense my fucking dilemma?
Did he see me spiraling every time his body was on mine?
Fuck, maybe I really should call Rosie?
“I haven’t spoken to her since the funeral,” I force myself to admit, because despite how convenient a lay she was, nothing mattered to me after my brother died.
I haven’t felt anything akin to desire since then.
Until now.
Fuck.
“Please, we both know if you tell her to jump, she will ask how high,” he states matter of factly, and I know he’s right, but it still doesn’t matter.
“I’ve got too much going on at work, and then everything with Lily,” I find myself saying, knowing I don’t need to explain, but feeling like I have to justify why I have clearly lost my mind today.
Maybe that’s what I need, just to say all my shit out loud, just let someone hear it.
“I don’t know, with the anniversary coming up, everything just feels a little heavy,” I add with a shrug, and I don’t miss his defeated sigh.
Next week it will be a year since we lost Logan, and it still feels like it happened yesterday.
Max’s hand on my shoulder shocks me out of my thoughts, as he tells me, “You know there is no time limit on grief, Zack, we just have to do the best we can with what we have left.”
I know he’s right, but still I can’t help the humorless laugh that leaves me. “I’m not sure I have anything left.”
“Bullshit,” he snaps loudly, startling me a little, and when I finally meet his stare, he is watching me with his dark, assessing eyes.
“That’s right, you heard me, fucking bullshit,” he repeats, using the hand on my shoulder to force me to turn more toward him, as he closes the little bit of space between us.
“I watched you pull Elle back from the fucking hell she was put through and now look at her. I watched you march into Donovan’s shady fucking empire when you could barely fucking stand and help take him down.
And for the last year I’ve watched you get up every single day and be there for your family after your brother’s death, while putting your own pain on the back-burner, so don’t tell me you don’t have anything left.
You’re the strongest fucking person I know. ”
His firm hold on my shoulder is now biting into my skin, and his touch is like a bolt of fucking lightning.
I can feel his warmth and electricity burning through me, so much so that I wish I was wearing a shirt to lessen the sting.
The look in his eyes is so intense that I can’t help but think it feels different than usual, but as if reading my mind, he quickly blinks it away, even though his hand still remains.
The moment somehow feels more charged than it should, and as much as I appreciate his words, I need to shake them off.
“Then you need to get out more,” I reply in a low voice, aiming to lighten the mood, and just like I knew he would, he smirks slightly, squeezing my shoulder gently, before finally letting me go. The coldness from his lack of touch hits me instantly.
“I would but I’m too busy dealing with your bullshit,” he replies, cocking his brow, as he rises to his feet and starts walking backwards.
My eyes can’t help but trail over his wide frame, which is now slick with sweat, as I push off the bench and follow after him. “You’ve been using that excuse since fucking 6th grade, I think it’s getting a little tired now.”
Max grabs a towel off the rack by the door, spinning it around and whipping me with it, before using it to wipe up his sweat.
“So is saving you from being a complete and total moody bastard, yet still I do it,” he replies with a shrug, leaning against the doorframe with a smile, as I drain the rest of the water from my bottle, suddenly feeling thirst like I never have before.
“You’re an annoying prick,” I tell him for probably the thousandth time since I met him all those years ago.
“And you fucking love me,” he tosses back, pushing off the doorframe and whipping me with the towel again, before he moves to leave so he can take a shower.
“Max,” I call out, making him pause, half turning to me. “Let me know how she is please,” I plead, and his smile softens, but still he nods, because he knows it kills me to go to work, when all I want to do is go to her.
“Will do,” he replies, before he disappears, and the ache in my chest returns just as harshly as before.
Fuck. I need another drink, but instead I have to settle for heading back to my room to get showered and dressed for the day.
Did someone say running a billion dollar company was fun? Because if they did, they were definitely fucking lying.