Chapter 13
As soon as I’d signed the last patron’s copy of Love You to Mars and Back, I stashed my favorite book-signing pens away in my tote, thanked the bookstore owner, and drove a half mile to a gastropub on Rosecrans Avenue.
To my disappointment, Max was not wearing a gravity suit.
However, that was the only disappointing thing about him.
Instead of his usual casual attire, he wore a subtle navy plaid sports coat, jeans, and an open-collared button-down. Holy bejesus.
He was sitting at the bar, protecting the empty stool next to him, watching me approach.
I daintily touched a fingertip to one corner of my mouth in case I was drooling as much on the outside as I was on the inside.
I didn’t think it was possible for his smile to look brighter than it had the first few times we met, but between the interplay of the dark coat and his pressed white shirt, and the peekaboo view of his tanned collarbones . . . well, again, holy bejesus.
I swallowed my insecurities and gave him a little wave. “Excuse me, but have you seen a guy in a gravity suit around here?”
“He took off.” Max grinned. “Like, actually flew off into the night sky. It was the darndest thing. But before he powered up his suit, he made sure I knew it was called an anti-gravity suit, because it helps the user defy gravity. And he told me that a very beautiful and highly intelligent woman would be arriving soon. He asked me to look after her.”
My skin prickled. As I pulled out the stool, I wondered if this was Sam’s way of tapping out and giving me his blessing to move on with Max. “Is that so?” I managed.
He nodded. “I knew the instant you walked through the door who he’d meant.”
“You could tell I was highly intelligent from the way I moved?” I teased.
“Well, no, that part I got from listening to you speak at your book event.” He gave me a sheepish shrug. “The beautiful part was obvious, though.”
“Wait, back up. You were there?” I gave his rock-solid shoulder a playful shove. “I didn’t see you. Were you there the whole time?”
Instead of answering, he waved the bartender over. We ordered an IPA for him and a glass of prosecco for me. On the bartender’s recommendation, we also ordered Pacific Northwest oysters and a shrimp cocktail to share. I was suddenly ravenous.
When the bartender left, Max turned to face me again.
“I hope you’re not mad. I wanted to get a taste of your professional world, but I didn’t want to make you nervous, so I sort of lurked like a creep in the back of the store in the self-help section, pretending to read about habits for success and how to make friends and my parachute colors.
You know, stuff like that. And then I snuck out after you answered the first few questions so I would beat you here. ”
“Did you learn anything?” I asked, genuinely curious what he thought of my book talk.
He looked at the ceiling, appearing to consider the question carefully. “Yes, according to Navy Admiral McRaven, if you want to change the world, start off by making your bed.” He said it with a straight face. “Oh wait, do you mean from your talk?”
I burst out laughing. That comment earned him another swat.
“But seriously, what I learned is that you’re a remarkably thoughtful and wise writer, and the astronaut in your book seems to have arisen from a place of deep emotion.
And I learned that I’m pretty much in awe of you.
And that I want to try to be the man who lives up to your vivid imagination.
” He reached into the supple brown leather messenger bag hanging from the back of his stool and pulled out a copy of Love You to Mars and Back.
“Also, I bought this because I figured it was time for me to read it, if that’s OK with you? ”
With a shrug, I said, “It’s in the public sphere.
It’s not like I can enforce a no.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about it or why it hadn’t occurred to me that he might want to read it.
I didn’t know many guys who would voluntarily read a romance novel, or at least cop to it.
Heck, other than Frannie, who was basically my alter ego, and Harper, who was contractually obligated to do so, I wasn’t altogether positive anyone else in my life had read it from start to finish.
And that included the Packers, my mom, and even—or especially—my young publicist, who appeared confused anytime I brought up a specific scene in the book as potential fodder for her scattershot PR campaign.
“Would you sign it for me, Thea?” He slid it across the hammered-copper bar.
I reached into my bag for a pen. I scanned my memory for an apropos quote from my book research.
Then I opened the book and scrawled out: To Max, Christa McAuliffe once said: “Space is for everybody.” But that doesn’t mean everybody can do what you do.
With admiration and affection, Thea Packer.
I closed the cover and slid it back over. “Don’t look at it now. Please?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted me before tucking it into his bag.
The bartender appeared with our food and drinks.
It wasn’t lost on me that we’d ordered oysters, and how their mythical properties might affect the rest of this evening.
Also not lost on me was the plethora of condoms I had buried in my bag before leaving for the bookstore while praying they would not make an accidental appearance during the event, like that one time in middle school when a tampon popped out of my backpack with my algebra homework.
We clinked glasses and slurped the oysters, which were small, briny, and as delicious as advertised.
“Oh my, this is so good.” My taste buds tingled.
He wiggled his eyebrows. “That’s what she said.”
“Wow,” I said with a fake groan. “Are we twelve now?”
“What do you mean?” He held up his hands and delivered an aggressively innocent look. “My buddies and I were playing that game only a few weeks ago.”
After another half hour of chitchat, we paid the check and he grabbed my hand, practically pulling me out of the bar.
When we got to my car, he eased me up against the door, nestled one of his legs between mine, and kissed me until I saw stars.
It felt like the proverbial “go time,” but he still hadn’t made a move to invite me home with him.
In fact, I didn’t know exactly where home was for him.
Somewhere in West LA, but that was all I knew.
And I still hadn’t told him about my rather unorthodox housing situation.
The notion of inviting him to the Packers’ guesthouse, with all their cameras and pictures of Sam everywhere, was a hard no.
Over the weekend, I’d toured the apartment in Frannie’s building, and the leasing manager was just waiting on me to sign the lease and pay the security deposit.
Of course, me being me, I hadn’t felt ready to pull the trigger.
Not until this moment.
But if I ever needed a sign that it was time to commit to moving, this was it.
I was a thirty-one-year-old twice-published author with a five-year-old daughter, and I hadn’t had sex in nearly six years.
Right then and there, I decided: I would sign the lease tomorrow.
In the meantime, I’d have to fish for an invitation to his apartment.
“So, I’d love to invite you back to my place, but it’s unfortunately not a great option right now. I actually have to admit something.”
“Me too,” he said.
“You too, what?” I said, then bit my lip.
“Sorry, you go first,” he said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“OK, well, so let me preface this by saying that I’m about to sign a lease to move into a new place in a couple of weeks.
” I swallowed hard. Here goes nothing. “But Lucy and I still live with my former in-laws. Well, not live-live with them. But, like, on their property. In their guesthouse, to be specific.”
He nodded for a moment, seeming to process the information. “I can see why it would be weird to bring a guy home under those circumstances.”
“Right, definitely weird,” I said, nodding. “So it’s settled. Where do you live? We’ll go to your place instead.” So much for fishing, but those damn tingle-warming-bacon-pleasure condoms were frying in my bag while certain specific parts of my body were also threatening to ignite.
Max looked crestfallen, which was the exact opposite of the reaction I’d been expecting. I couldn’t have been imagining this degree of physical chemistry, could I?
He scraped his fingers through his hair and let out a frustrated moan.
“This really sucks. Here’s the problem. I live in Venice with three colleagues, and it’s sort of a bunkmate situation because we’re never all home at the same time.
And despite the care each of them takes with their professional lives, their household hygiene is next-level disgusting.
It wouldn’t be fitting for our relationship to start things off in that pigsty. ”
I wanted to tell him I was fine with anything, but I stopped myself. He did have a point. Sharing a gross bathroom with a bunch of dudes I didn’t know wasn’t even close to how I’d been imagining our first time together. And I’d imagined it many, many times.
He cupped my face in his hands. “Look, Thea, I’m not going anywhere, and I hope you aren’t either. So maybe we wait a few weeks until you’re in your new place? The anticipation alone will make it worth it. I think.” He grimaced. “Nope, there’s no way on earth I can bring you back to my place.”
“Is there a way on Mars?” I said wryly.
“Believe me, this pains me more than it pains you.” He leaned against me as we kissed again.
I could tell right away he was telling the truth about his pain. When neither of us could take any more, we parted, both of us panting, and with an unspoken mutual understanding that we needed to stop now or risk ending up in jail for lewd and lascivious conduct.
With a rueful headshake, he said, “Drive safe,” and held the door open while I got in. “Text me later?”
I nodded, as words were currently not within my grasp. When he started to walk away, I saw him adjust his pants and giggled out loud.
“Hey, none of that,” he said, waggling a finger at me in jest. Then he added an exaggerated waddle to his exit.
I sighed. Frannie’s condoms would have to cool their jets for now. But I felt bubbly and light having shared the truth of my living situation with him, secure in the knowledge that he hadn’t run off screaming. I was the one who felt like screaming. At Frannie. For not forcing me to move sooner.