Chapter Thirty-Three
Sutton
Our taxi pulls to a stop in front of a small restaurant behind the strip.
I lean toward the window to take it in, then look over at Max, who just grins as he swipes his card through the card reader and pays for the ride.
He hops out of his side and I open my door warily, stepping out into the lingering heat of the day.
The sign above the building reads Battista’s Hole in the Wall, and I have to give them credit where credit is due: they’re not lying. Behind this strip mall building is the parking garage for the Flamingo, and to my left, a large casino hotel.
Beside this hole in the wall is a liquor store, so… great.
He’s really pulling out all the stops tonight.
Max steps up beside me and slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he takes in the view. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to judge a book by its cover, Ms. Hart?”
I scoff, then motion toward the building. “I mean…”
He tsks, then extends his elbow. “May I?”
Rolling my eyes, I step forward, then open the front door of the building, instantly surprised by the amount of people gathered inside the small waiting area.
The noise level is much higher than I’d expected, and I’ll admit that the crowd is a good sign.
If the place was as empty as I’d anticipated, I’d be worried about food safety.
“You were expecting something else?” Max says, joining me just inside the door. “Maybe a chef’s tasting menu by José Andrés for our first date? Or a Japanese Omakase, perhaps?”
“This isn’t a date.”
“Sure it is. I asked you to dinner, you said yes, and now we’re at my favorite place.”
“Max!” someone calls from deep within the crowd of people, and all heads turn in unison to gape at us.
Max leans down as he links his fingers with mine. “Smile, gorgeous, you’re about to get the best hug of your life.”
Tugging me forward, Max strides through the crowd, and they part for him like the water of the Red Sea once did for Moses himself.
Some whisper to one another, eyes wide as they realize who he is, while others stare in confusion, clearly not football fans, and others give us looks of annoyance, which I can understand.
It would appear that we’re about to be on the receiving end of preferential treatment, something I’d normally be opposed to, but when my stomach rumbles hungrily, I allow myself to go with the flow just this once.
We stop in front of a woman not much older than we are, maybe early fifties at best, with a broad smile and a mess of wild black and silver curls twisted into a massive bun at the nape of her neck.
She lights up when she reaches for Max, and I find myself smiling as he scoops her into a massive bear hug, lifting her off the ground as he hugs her.
When he sets her back onto her feet, she swats at his arm and adjusts her dress, straightening her apron before looking at me expectantly.
Extending my hand, I say, “Hi, I’m—”
Oh! I’m pulled into a hug before I can finish my introduction, wrapped up in her subtle lavender scent, her soft, warm arms, and her ample—and I mean ample—bosom. She squeezes me like we’re long-lost friends, and after the initial shock wears off, I wrap my arms around her to return the hug.
Max wasn’t lying; this woman can hug.
Even though she’s not much older than me, it feels like the kind of motherly hug I wished for all my life.
When she pulls back, she holds my shoulders, studying my face for an uncomfortable amount of time.
I lick my lips, “Um…”
“Gloria,” Max says, breaking the awkward moment, “this is my friend, Sutton Hart.”
Her eyes narrow, then she smiles slowly, a sly, knowing smile. “Friends.”
Realizing her implication, I quickly confirm. “Yes, just friends.”
She purses her lips. “Okay. But you look different than his usual friends.”
My smile falters, but I force it to remain in place. I shouldn’t care about the women he usually brings here, or the fact that this isn’t a special date just for me. Good grief, would I even want that?
No. No, I wouldn’t.
Max already said this is his favorite place, so the fact that he brought me here means nothing, just like who he’s brought here before means nothing.
Those women have nothing to do with me.
And besides, I’m sure they’re lovely.
She winks at me and leans forward. “All of his other friends have penises.”
“Oh!” I laugh and cover my mouth, then look at Max with wide eyes. “Is that so?”
Ignoring me, Max flashes his unbeatable smile. “You have a table for me, Glo?”
She rolls her eyes. “Put those dimples away.” Looking past us at the crowd, she grabs two menus, then turns and motions for us to follow.
Max slips his hand back into mine, and I’m momentarily stunned by how natural it is to feel this man’s firm hand wrapped with mine.
Behind us, the expected grumbles and complaints begin, but even as I cringe inwardly, I push my guilt aside and vow to enjoy the evening.
It’s not like I go through life with nepo-benefits or celebrity treatment; what’s one night?
The restaurant itself is far larger than I realized, an optical illusion you wouldn’t catch from the looks of the exterior.
Gloria leads us through rooms with walls covered in pictures, from old Hollywood black and whites, to modern-day celebrities sitting in the very burgundy leather booths we stride past now.
The ceiling is decorated with so much old junk it’s difficult to make out one thing over the next, but among the artifacts are vintage Tiffany-style lamps with colorful glass and soft amber bulbs, baskets, and colorful balls wrapped with twine.
A lot of warm wood and old wine barrels decorate the space, and jugs that once housed Chianti hang from the ceiling like ornaments.
The food smells incredible, like what I’d imagine an old Italian kitchen might smell like, and my stomach rumbles again, thankfully not loud enough to be heard over the ruckus of the busy restaurant.
We pass a wall decorated with faux ivy and my stomach flips at the reminder of The Rabbit Hole. I pull my hand free from Max’s and when he looks back at me, I move my purse to the other arm for an excuse to keep my hands busy.
Frowning, I realize it feels like I’m cheating on Dominus, and I worry my lip between my teeth because that’s not… it can’t be. I’m not dating anyone. It’s silly to even think like that, but… I don’t know, this feels somehow wrong…
And yet, it’s Max. Which makes this completely innocent.
I almost snort. Even I don’t believe my own bullshit anymore.
Tune in at eight for other lies we tell ourselves, Susan. Now, back to you in the studio.
“Here we are,” Gloria announces when we reach the back corner of the restaurant.
She plops the two menus down on the table and looks at us both proudly.
“Frank Sinatra once ate right there.” She points at the side closest to me, grinning proudly.
Focusing on me, she says, “The meal comes with red and white, salad or soup, bread, and your entrée. Drink as much as you want. Why limit yourself?” She places her hands on her hips, looks at us both, then smirks. “Friends.”
With that, she turns on her heels and leaves us.
Feeling Max’s gaze on me, I swivel my head toward him. “What?”
His eyes search mine, and I’m struck by the familiarity in those dark pools. He really is quite handsome—
His gaze falls to my lips and I blink, then give my head a quick shake. “Friends, Mr. Cruz.” Apparently, Gloria isn’t the only one who needs the reminder.
I lower myself into the tight, crescent-shaped booth, then he does the same, settling into the curved seat directly beside me. We’re practically shoulder-to-shoulder. I get the feeling Gloria did this on purpose. Max settles in, and his thigh presses against mine.
Ignoring the little thrill up my spine at the contact, I side-eye him. “Must you manspread so much?”
Max chuckles. “If you mean, as a man, do I want to give my cock and balls room to breathe, then the answer is yes.”
Scoffing, I look at him, but he just stares back at me. “Oh, you’re serious.”
“Maybe I like being this close to you.” When he doesn’t move his leg or say anything else, I look at the two carafes on the table.
Deciding this is going to be a long night, I reach for the red and fill up my wine glass with a little liquid courage. Holding the carafe, I ask Max, “Is red okay?”
“Sure.”
When his wine has been poured, Max raises his glass. “To the prettiest woman in the room…” He pauses, eyes lingering on mine just long enough to make heat rush to my cheeks.
“Yes, Gloria is lovely,” I tease.
His lips twitch. “And to her finally saying yes to me.”
“I didn’t—”
He raises one eyebrow.
Rolling my eyes, I decide not to argue. He’s right; I did say yes. I reach to clink my glass against his, but he pulls his away quickly.
“Look at me.”
My breath catches and my eyes flick up to meet his. They’re so dark, so deep and penetrating, but there’s something else there too, a familiarity that makes my stomach somersault.
But of course his eyes are familiar. Max has been pursuing me for years, and even long before I was on his radar, he was on mine.
I mean, I’ve been naked with this man, for Pete’s sake! If getting close to him now feels unsettling, I imagine there’s just cause for that feeling.
“Seven years of bad sex if you don’t make eye contact when you cheers, Ms. Hart.”
“Oh, well…” Snorting, I decide to keep to myself how much that likely doesn’t apply to me.
If you don’t actually have sex, how can it be bad?
Locking my eyes with his, I clink my glass against his and take a sip.
He does the same, and I don’t know how much time passes before the server comes and I finally look away.
Max Cruz is disarming in a way I’m seldom prepared for.
I’m not entirely sure that agreeing to dinner with this man was a smart idea.
Our server places a basket of garlic bread in front of us, then begins the spiel about what each dinner includes, what the side options are… she points to menus on the wall, telling me about them, but I don’t hear a thing.
Max’s eyes haven’t left me, and as I struggle to retain anything the server says, all I can feel is that heady, palpable gaze.
My cheeks warm in response to his attention.
My pulse picks up speed.
I grip my wine glass because I suddenly don’t know what to do with my hands.
I’ve been pushing this man away for so long, and now, crammed into this booth with him, all I want to do is give in.
Maybe it’s this new side of me, this person Dominus has brought out of me.
She’s carefree and sensual, trusting her body to know what it needs.
When I’m at the Rabbit Hole, Dominus is in charge, but he’s going off of what I need and want, my likes, dislikes, my comfort zone—both within it and pushing just past the perimeter.
I trust myself with Dominus, and I trust him.
Could I be that way with someone else?
Could I trust Max the way I trust this masked man I don’t even know?
I know Max Cruz, far more than I know my Dom. I know he’s a good man, all arrogance and humor aside. He doesn’t remember the night we spent together, but he was at the peak of his celebrity back then, a young footballer with women throwing themselves at him like confetti from a cannon.
Max finally tears his eyes away from me to say something to the server, and I swivel my head to look at him.
From that dark mop of hair that’s always perfectly messy and just a smidge too long, to those strong cheekbones and that broad nose. His pillow-soft lips…those dimples I hate to love…
He turns his head, meeting my gaze, and his eyes, locked with mine, darken.
He wants me. It’s never not been obvious, but I’ve always pushed it off as something unattainable, something he merely wanted because he couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Because I made the chase a game for him, and I was nothing more than a prize to be won.
But sometimes…
Sometimes, the way he looks at me feels like so much more than that.
Like he truly sees me.
What would happen if I gave in?
“I have to tell you something,” he says, and his tone makes my stomach drop out.
I haul in a deep breath, then take a sip of my wine. Is he going to tell me Emerson signed his offer of representation? I don’t know how I’ll handle that, but if the ink’s dry, I don’t really have a choice in the matter, do I?
Straightening my shoulders, I brace myself, then give Max a nod to proceed.
His eyes search mine, almost frantic in their intensity. I’ve never seen him like this.
Honestly, I’ve never seen this man anything less than confident.
“Max, just say it. Whatever it is, I can take it.”
He winces, the movement so slight I don’t know if anyone else would have noticed it. But then, I’ve always noticed this man, haven’t I?
“I don’t remember that night.” He closes his eyes, his face twisting in discomfort. “After my second Superbowl… I don’t remember hurting you.”
I suck in a breath as my brain finally catches up to what he’s saying. “Oh.” Oh my god. He truly doesn’t remember our one-night stand or what immediately followed.
I’m not sure if that’s better or worse than him pretending not to remember—
“I was a piece of shit back then, Sutton. A real asshole.” He licks his lips, searching my eyes for something.
“I don’t remember that entire weekend. It’s just screenshots, blurry ones at that, and a lot of black holes.
I was on multiple substances, high from the win and from whatever the fuck I could get my hands on.
” He shrugs, but the pain in his eyes makes my heart ache.
“Max, it’s okay—”
“No, Sutton, it’s not. It’s not okay at all.
” He takes a long sip of his wine, then pins me with those dark eyes again.
“You’re incredible. I wish I’d known you then, because I’m greedy for you now, and all I can think about is all the years I wasted not being a part of your life…
” He swallows hard and I watch the muscles of his throat flex.
“But even without knowing you then I know you didn’t deserve that version of me.
” His voice cracks on the words. “I fucking hate that I hurt you, but I’m glad you only got that small glimpse of me. ”
I reach for him beneath the table, and when our hands touch, he’s quick to wrap his around mine, gripping me fiercely.
“I’m sorry.” He squeezes my hand. “I’m so fucking sorry that I ever hurt you.”
I breathe deeply, then nod.
“I’m not that man anymore, Sutton.” His gaze drops to my lips, then flicks around my face as if memorizing each wrinkle and crease, each freckle…
When those dark eyes lock with mine again, the intensity makes my heart skip a beat. “I promise you that if you give me a chance, I’ll prove it. I’ll be the man you deserve.”