Chapter 2
TWO
KARI
I spritzed my brush with coconut body spray and ran it through my hair.
I pulled it through slowly, hoping for the calming effect the motion used to have on me as a little girl.
My mom used to brush my hair and Jada’s before bed every night.
She’d spritz our long locks with strawberry-scented detangling spray and tell us stories while she worked out the knots.
Sometimes they would be funny stories, sometimes she’d recite poems or retell nursery rhymes, sometimes Aesop’s fables.
It became one of those things that soothed a part of my soul.
It was that effect I was looking for while standing in Max’s bathroom, dragging the brush down my hair.
It never came.
I set my brush on the vanity. My things were strewn across the countertop like they belonged there.
My red toothbrush was in the jar by the sink, right next to Max’s green one.
My toothpaste was next to his because I hated his mint-flavored brand and he wasn’t a fan of my cinnamon one.
I glanced at the medicine cabinet, knowing that my Tylenol and tampons were in there, too.
I grabbed the edge of the counter and bowed my head. Lying in bed a few steps away was a man that many women would jump all over—literally and figuratively. He was gorgeous, smart, completely put together. And he wanted me.
And I’m just too broken for him.
A part of me wanted to grab my things and bolt back to my house, the house I refused to give up. It was the one thing that reminded me, and Max, that I had not given him any assurances. I had not promised him forever. Truth be told, I hadn’t guaranteed him tomorrow.
When I looked into his eyes, I knew that he knew I wanted to be with him—tomorrow and the next day and the next one after that. But there was no sense in committing myself. There was no sense in pretending like there would be a forever with Max.
Because, as heartbreaking as it was, there wouldn’t be.
There couldn’t be.
That’s why it was supposed to be just a sexual thing. Just a friends with benefits, minus the friend’s part, if necessary. I really thought that could work. It had worked with other men before him. It was the best way to operate, the way to disengage, to keep a distance. To not become entwined.
At the end of the day, or night as it were, I really underestimated the draw of Maxwell Jacob Quinn.
A few weeks after meeting him in a serendipitous way at Pinnacle Peak, I realized I wasn’t talking to any other guys. I wasn’t taking the bait when a hottie would toss me a line. I wasn’t returning calls. I wasn’t scheduling dates, for a lack of a better, more courteous, word.
I was with Max.
Once I realized how far I had fallen without knowing it, I knew I had to keep some sort of barrier up.
He was gorgeous with his jet-black hair, spiked up in the front.
His emerald-green eyes shone like gems. His tall, muscular frame was as hard as a brick wall and when I was held tight against it, breathing in the smell of him, it was a grown woman’s version of Disneyland—the happiest place on Earth. He was irresistible.
But I had to resist because it would end. It wouldn’t be fair to him for it not to.
I wondered if every morning would be the last I would wake up to a sticky note on my purse.
If every evening would be the last time we’d play Jeopardy together, wrapped up together on the couch.
Each day was like the tick of a bomb, another click to the inevitable detonation of this perfect little world I’d allowed myself to succumb to.
Max had been so patient with me, so kind, like he knew I needed to maintain space between us.
He’d never pushed me for anything and let me call the shots, more or less.
But now that we had been together for over a year and Cane and Jada were married and having a baby, things were starting to change just a little.
I could see it in Max’s eyes—he wanted that, too.
With me.
A part of me wanted to sprint into his bedroom and wrap myself around him.
I wanted to demand that he ask me the question he asked me routinely, half in jest because he knew my answer.
I wanted to look in his eyes and let myself see the emotions in them, the things he tried to tell me through his mossy gaze.
But I just couldn’t. I loved him too much to do that do him. Because I did love him. I knew it, I had for a long time. Loving Max Quinn wasn’t a problem.
Loving Max Quinn was the problem.
I made my way into the bedroom. I could smell the candle he was burning, scents of vanilla wafting through the house, before I got there. I leaned against the doorframe and watched him.
Max hadn’t heard me enter. He was sprawled across the bed, a pair of crimson boxer briefs the only thing covering his divine body.
His abs muscles rippled as he played with Titus, the puppy he found abandoned on a job site.
In typical Max fashion, he brought the puppy home.
Titus slept on Max’s chest that night, obviously in love with him from the start.
I couldn’t say I blamed him - it was my favorite spot to snuggle, too.
Max rolled the chocolate-colored puppy a few times, his large hand bigger than the puppy’s head.
Titus rolled across the bed and Max chuckled, stretching out on his back.
The dog padded across the blankets and plopped down beside him, panting from the play.
Max reached over and stroked his stomach.
“How are ya, boy? You like this, huh? You like playin’ with me? ”
“I’m not sure how anything wouldn’t like you touching it like that,” I laughed, walking into the room.
Max popped up on his elbows and smiled sexily. His dimple shining in his cheek, his hair a wild mess, he looked downright edible. “Get your ass over here and I’ll touch you like that, too.”
I shrugged off my robe and tossed it onto a nearby chair. “I don’t want to interrupt...”
“Woman,” he growled, picking up the puppy and sitting it gently on the floor.
Titus whined immediately, his little cobalt blue eyes begging for Max to pick him back up.
Max reached down and petted him. “Be good and go on.” He nodded his head towards the fluffy pillow he bought the dog and Titus obediently walked over, marched in a circle, and laid down.
Max shook his head and sighed. “If only I could get you to listen half as well as that dog.”
“Not a chance, babe,” I laughed. I stood between his legs. He wrapped his arms around my waist and nuzzled his face into my abdomen.
“I bought you all of those things to sleep in and you are wearin’ my old Sun Devils shirt?”
“I like this shirt. It’s all cozy and soft and it smells like you. And I took all of my things to my house to wash yesterday.”
“You’re the perfect storm.” His voice was rough, his breath hot on my skin through the thin fabric of the t-shirt.
“What’s that mean?”
Ignoring me, he said, “Would it do me any good at all to point out the ridiculousness that you don’t live here?”
“Nope,” I said, grabbing his hair and pulling his head back so I could see into his eyes. They were so easy to get lost in. I had found myself on the verge of agreeing to things I knew better than to agree to when gazing into them.
He grabbed my thighs, pressing his fingertips into my bare skin. His touch, coupled with the earlier unobstructed view of his body, made me ache with want.
“It wouldn’t do you any good at all to go there,” I continued, “but it might do you some good to go here.” I grabbed his right hand and placed it between my legs.
He rubbed his thumb over my opening, the fabric of my panties pressing into my wetness.
I pushed my body against his hand, needing the friction to ease the buildup that was beginning to grow out of control.
Max withdrew his hand and placed both of them on the backs of my legs, pulling me closer to him.
“What are you doing? I want you. Now,” I all but begged.
“I know you do, sweetheart. But I want to slow down a minute.”
I looked at him in disbelief. “I don’t want to slow down. I want you inside me.”
“And I want to be inside you,” he said, his voice deep and husky.
I could hear the need in his tone, mirroring mine.
He ran his hands up the backs of my legs, setting my skin on fire, until he reached my backside.
He cupped both cheeks in his hands. “I always want to be inside you. But I want to enjoy your body. This,” he said, squeezing my ass, “should be appreciated. Let me love on you a minute.”
I felt myself tear into two jagged, painful pieces. The first one wanted to do just that and let him “love on me,” but the other knew good and well that I couldn’t let sex and love bleed together.
Max broke my thoughts by standing up, lifting me with him.
He planted a kiss on my lips as he turned and lay me on the bed.
He stood over me, his eyes darkening, taking in every inch of me.
Once his gaze made its way to my face, his eyes locked onto mine.
His hands ran slowly up my legs, the coarseness of his palms mixing with the gentleness of his touch causing me to shiver.
He reached my hips, caressing the curve of my waist. He lowered his lips to mine and kissed me in the way only Max could. It wasn’t a physical gesture, nor was it a simple exchange. It was a statement, a promise. It was a damn guarantee of things I didn’t want to think about.
“Fuck me, Max,” I whispered, turning my head to allow him access to my neck. “Please.”
He growled in response, leaving a trail of kisses from my mouth to my ear and then down my neck. I knew he hated my crudeness, but it reminded him, me, us, of what we were.
“I’m just going to bend over the bed,” I said, trying to roll out from under him.