Chapter 26
April
If I wasn’t already lying in bed, I would drop dead.
Max walks into the room like the physical embodiment of sin and soft lighting, wearing nothing but a towel slung low around his hips and a smile that could melt the North Pole and still leave you thirsty.
This is the third time in three days I’ve seen him this way, but my eyes can’t help but betray me.
Chest first—broad and toned and tan, like he spends weekends chopping wood shirtless in slow motion like that hot guy I follow on TikTok. Then my eyes land lower, to the trail of hair running down his abdomen. That impossible V. That towel. That danger zone. His hair is still damp, curling slightly at the edges. His green eyes are bright and easy, like he has no idea what he looks like right now. Like he doesn’t know this is illegal behavior.
“Are you getting ready for bed?”
he asks, voice just gravelly enough to cause actual damage.
Nope. Absolutely not. Bed is canceled. I leap to my feet like a woman possessed.
“Actually, I was going to ask if you wanted to watch a movie,”
I say, trying to sound normal, not likes someone who’s actively fighting for her life against the urge to drool.
“I’m not tired yet.”
He quirks a brow.
“Are you sure? Because you did fall asleep earlier…”
I blush. Hard.
“Only because I was warm and really comfortable, and maybe the wine got to me a little.”
His grin says he remembers exactly how I fell asleep and exactly how he carried me like a damn fairytale.
“A movie sounds great. My bed or yours? Or we could use the couch in the living area?”
I glance past him at the sad little loveseat that definitely doesn’t screa.
“let’s sit shoulder to shoulder and maybe kiss during the credits.”
“We can use my bed. If you’re okay with that. It’s, uh…more comfortable.”
He nods, completely unfazed, because of course he is. He’s Max. He’s casual and kind and half-naked and trying to kill me slowly.
“Alright,”
he says.
“Let me throw some clothes on.”
Please don’t.
“Okay,”
I manage instead.
“I’ll find something to watch.”
He turns and walks out of the room. I don’t breathe until the door clicks shut behind him. Then I grab the remote and start flipping through channels.
I’m still flipping through the six channels this hotel has to offer when the door opens again. I look up and promptly lose all motor function. Max walks in holding two mini tubs of ice cream like he just descended from heaven on a cloud of casual hotness. He’s wearing black basketball shorts and a matching black T-shirt, soft and loose in a way that somehow still makes him look like sin walking
“All they had was chocolate chip and strawberry,”
he says with a sheepish shrug.
“I didn’t know which one you’d want, so I brought both.”
Okay, well. Guess I will be marrying him.
I pat the bed next to me with the urgency of someone rescuing a drowning man.
“Come here.”
He smiles and obliges, sinking onto the bed beside me. He pulls two plastic spoons from the shorts pocket. Like he knew I’d lose my entire mind over this moment. I stare at him, heart racing, jaw somewhere near my ankles.
“You, sir,”
I blurt out.
“are a wet dream.”
There’s a pause. He raises his brows, and then laughs. Full-on, head tilted back, warm, real laughter. I immediately want to melt into the mattress.
“Oh my god,”
I groan, face in my hands.
“I can’t believe I said that out loud.”
“No complaints here,”
he teases, still grinning as he hands me both ice creams.
“Do you have a preference?”
“I don’t,”
I state.
“Want to share?”
“Absolutely.”
He opens both cartons and places them between us, like we’re about to embark on some kind of delicious dessert tasting. I shift slightly, tucking my legs under me, and turn back to the TV.
“I couldn’t find a movie,”
I say, gesturing to the screen.
“Apparently, this place has a grand total of six channels, but two of them are playing Friends and The Office, so I figured we could flip back and forth during commercials?”
He nods, spoon in hand.
“Sounds perfect.”
It’s been about forty-five minutes. The ice cream is long gone—both flavors equally elite, for the record—and we’ve been flipping between Friends and The Office, half watching, half talking. We’ve seen these episodes a dozen times between us, but they still hit, making us laugh.
“This one never gets old,”
Max says, nodding toward the screen as Joey does something absurd with a turkey.
“Me and my sisters always watch Friends when we’re together,”
I say, smiling.
“It’s like our reset button.”
“I’ve seen every episode a ridiculous number of times,”
he admits.
“It’s comfort food. Background noise for the soul.”
I glance over at him, heart swelling just a little. We’re still sitting up in bed, backs against the headboard, a small mountain of pillows propping us up. At some point—somewhere between Chandler’s sarcasm and Pam’s half smile—I shifted. Now I’m leaning against him. My shoulder on his chest. His thigh warm beside mine. It wasn’t intentional. It just… happened, and it feels so easy. So natural.
So safe.
The screen flickers, and my eyes flutter closed for a second too long, and of course, he notices.
“Do you want me to go?”
he asks, voice low, careful.
“So you can get some rest?”
I shake my head even as sleep tugs at me.
“No,”
I whisper.
“Please stay with me.”
He cups my cheek, guiding me closer to him, and then kisses me.
Soft. Unrushed. One of those kisses that doesn’t ask for anything. It just gives.
By the time we part, I’m smiling like a lovesick idiot.
He shifts beside me, wraps one arm around my stomach, and pulls me against him, my back to his chest, with his head resting near my shoulder. It’s perfect, and just like that, under the low hum of reruns and warm hotel air, we fall asleep.
Together.
The morning comes too quickly. Soft light filters in through the edge of the blackout curtains, casting just enough glow across the room to make everything feel dreamlike.
I stretch lazily beneath the covers, warm and impossibly cozy, then I realize… Max is still here. Still wrapped around me. His arm is slung across my middle, with his hand resting just beneath my ribs. One leg tangled with mine. His slow, steady breathing tickles behind my ear, and—
Oh.
A new guest has joined the cuddle. I bite back a smile at the unmistakable press of him against my lower back. Firm. Warm. Present.
Good morning indeed.
I shift, careful not to wake him, and slowly turn onto my other side, and there he is. Asleep, peaceful, a few strands of dark hair falling across his forehead. The softest edge of a snore escaping his lips.
God, he’s beautiful.
I don’t know how long I watch him. Minutes, moments, a heartbeat, but something in my movement must stir him because his eyes blink open—bright, green, a little dazed—then they settle on me, and he smiles. That soft, sleepy, wreck-me-for-any-other-man smile. I don’t even think. I lean forward and kiss him.
It starts slow, gentle, warm—a morning kind of kiss. .
“thank you for staying”
kiss, but then… he deepens the kiss. His hand tightens around me as he shifts, aware now of the very real situation pressing against me.
I slide my hand under the hem of his shirt, tracing the contours of his side and the warm skin of his back. He exhales a shaky breath against my mouth as his hand drifts along my spine, following the curve of me until he finds my bare skin.
The kiss builds—frantic now, all heat and gravity. I shift closer, and his leg wraps more firmly around mine, tugging me flush against him. I feel every inch of him. Hard, aching, straining against me, and I don’t want space. I want more.
He draws back, just enough to look into my eyes.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
His voice is husky, low, and reverent. I don’t hesitate.
“More than anything,”
I whisper, then I kiss him again.
His hands roam, exploring me with purpose. He finds the hem of my sleep shorts and slides beneath them without pause. I gasp into his mouth as his fingers find me—already wet, already desperate.
“You’re so wet, baby,”
he murmurs, voice rough, full of awe.
That sound. That word. Baby.
I climb into his lap, straddling him, my hands pressed into the mattress at his shoulders. We’re chest to chest, mouth to mouth, nothing but thin layers between us now.
He breaks away, breathlessly saying.
“I bought condoms. They’re in my bag.”
I shake my head.
“I’m on the pill. And I’m clean.”
His pupils darken, his hands find my hips, then I’m in the air. He lifts me off him, then places me on my back and drags my shorts down in one smooth motion before slipping off his own.
Holy hell.
Okay. So he’s perfect. Tall, broad, and apparently… blessed.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,”
I whisper, eyes wide.
He chuckles—shy and cocky at once—and then pulls off his shirt.
And I forget how to function, but I manage to sit up and remove mine too.
The look in his eyes say I’m the only thing in the world worth worshipping.
“You’re beautiful,”
he says, so soft it nearly breaks me.
He lowers himself over me, one hand braced beside my head, the other sliding up my thigh, anchoring me to him. Then he’s kissing me again, deeper than ever.
As he aligns himself at my entrance—our bodies pressed tight, our breath tangled—I realize, a few days ago, this man was a stranger, and now?
Now I can’t imagine doing this with anyone else.
We spend the morning making love because once his mouth finds mine, we lose the ability to pretend this is anything but inevitable.
Max doesn’t just touch me—he devours me. Worships every inch of me like he’s been waiting his whole life to be allowed to do this. It’s slow at first. Gentle. Reverent. Like he’s memorizing me in the dark.
And then—it’s not. It’s messy and wild and deep, with my fingers gripping his back, and his name on my lips. Again and again. His breath is in my ear. My body trembling against his.
We pause only to breathe, only to kiss again. Only to wrap ourselves in limbs and warmth and wonder if it’s possible to want someone this much.
It happens again—this time, soft. Careful. As if we’re trying to see how close two people can get. He kisses my shoulder, my collarbone, my ribs. By the time the sun is high overhead, we’re tangled in sheets and my stomach growls loud enough to make us both laugh.
“Okay,”
I say, with my cheek against his chest.
“We have to get up.”
“I’m going to agree only because I’m worried you’ll pass out from hunger,”
he murmurs, his lips at my hairline.
“Otherwise, I’d keep you right here all day.”
I kiss his jaw and stretch.
“We still have six and a half hours to LA”
“Don’t remind me.”
We peel ourselves from the bed, my legs still shaking in that delicious way that says yes, that happened. His hands trail along my waist. His mouth brushes my shoulder again.
I’m not sure how we make it into the shower, but I’ll never forget what happens in it.
The water is hot and fogs the mirror instantly. He lifts me against the tile, and pushes inside me with a slowness that makes me ache. He’s looking at me the whole time. His hands everywhere. That smile—God, that smile. I’m unraveling and grounding at the same time.
By the time we’re dry and dressed, I catch him watching me from across the room.
“What?”
I ask, pulling my shirt down and smoothing my hair.
“Nothing,”
he mutters.
“Just… you.”
My heart trips.
We pack the last of our things. My camera. His laptop. A few half-drank water bottles. I slip into my sandals and check my phone. He picks up our bags without a word and takes my hand like he’s done it a hundred times before.
It’s easy. Automatic.
We step out of the room together, and the air outside is warm, golden, the sun blessing us on our way. When we reach the car, he loads the bags into the trunk, then turns toward me and kisses me.
Not in a rushed way. Not in a casual, end-of-a-date kind of way. But slow. Intentional. Like he wants to burn the memory into my skin. His hands find my waist. My fingers curl in his shirt, and for a moment, everything fades. The parking lot disappears. The miles ahead disappear.
It’s just this. This moment. This man and the way I already know I won’t come back from him.
Once we’re both buckled in and Max starts the engine, I pull out my phone and open the battlefield chat.
ME
The night was magical.
Someone please pinch me. I feel like I might float into space.
I’m so full of endorphins and butterflies, it’s honestly suspicious.
The three dots appear immediately. Of course they do.
MAY
You want me to pinch you or slap you? Just say the word.
JUNE
She’s floating because she finally got some. I’m sure she’s also full of something else…
MAY
Endorphins = code for orgasms.
Got it.
I roll my eyes, biting back a grin as I glance over at Max. He’s focused on the road, humming along to some soft playlist he must’ve queued up. Completely unaware that my sisters are currently roasting me alive via text.
ME
You two are the worst.
But yes, I think I’m in trouble. The good kind anyway.
JUNE
Oh she’s definitely in trouble.
MAY
We’ll start dress shopping soon.
ME
BYE.
I laugh and lock my phone, leaning my head back against the seat with a content sigh. I don’t know what comes next, but if it’s anything like last night… I’m ready.