To Have It All(49)

Really choose me.

And I thought that’s what he was doing.

I was a sucker for complicated romances; the idea that when two people loved each other despite the obstacles in their path, love would conquer all. My heart, albeit incredibly foolish, was in the right place, when, with every beat, it told me to jump head first into this thing with Max.

So of course, I said, “Yes.”

As we strolled down the walkway on our way to hail a cab, I looked up and found him still grinning. I was going to marry this man. It all seemed like a dream—a beautiful, wonderful dream.

“Stop for a sec,” I ordered as I pulled away from him. A young man, maybe sixteen, was passing by us. “Excuse me, sir, would you mind taking a picture of us?”

The kind stranger took my phone, and after I had shown him what to do, I went back to Max and wrapped my arm around his waist as I smiled up at him.

He kept this picture? Why? Staring at it, the one thing that stuck out to me . . . was me. I looked so damn happy. God, I missed that feeling; the feeling of love, security, the excitement of building a future with someone you love. The girl in this photo thought that was exactly what she was signing up for.

She was wrong.

The photo shook as I placed it back in the drawer with a trembling hand. I hated that the hurt and humiliation could still have such power over me. Memories can be vicious that way. Lifting my wine glass, I took a long sip. “You were a stupid and weak woman, Waverly,” I told myself.

“Hey,” Max said as he rounded the corner into the kitchen, scaring the bejesus out of me. When the wine splashed over the rim of the glass in my hand and down the front of my shirt, I huffed a curse word. “Sorry,” he laughed as I wiped at myself. “I was just coming to see if you needed any help.”

“No, I just finished,” I grumbled after clearing my throat. I was pissed I spilled the wine, and the bitchy part of me wanted to blame him for that, too, even though I knew it wasn’t his fault.

“Cool.” He bobbed his head a few times, sliding his hands into his pockets, something I noticed he did often when he seemed nervous. “So, tomorrow I have something I have to do around eleven. Are you okay with Helen coming to hang out and help while I’m gone?”

“Where do you . . .” I stopped myself. I almost asked where he had to go, but remembered I’m wasn’t supposed to ask questions like that because I’m wasn’t supposed to care. “Yeah, that’s fine,” I finished with a sniffle. “I think Pim likes her a lot.”

“Helen is pretty smitten with her, too. Hey,” he stepped closer, lowering his head to get a better look at me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I managed, turning from him, not wanting him to see the tears in my eyes. When I spun on my foot, I lost my balance and slipped. I grappled for the counter to catch myself, but it was still wet from where I wiped it down moments before causing my hand to slip. Just before I crashed to the ground, Max caught me.

“Whoa there,” he grunted as he stumbled back attempting to keep us from falling, but it was too late. Max fell back, thudding to the floor with me landing on top of him. After we landed, we both lay there, catching our breath. My face heated as embarrassment set in. I’d just completely wiped out and my ex, who I wasn’t particularly fond of, caught me, saving me from busting my ass, and now I was propped between his legs.

“You okay?” he asked.

“No,” I answered as I dropped my head in my hands, mortified.

“Are you hurt?” He placed a firm hand on my shoulder before sliding it down my arm and squeezing. The contact made my back arch as I sucked in a ragged breath, the thrill it sent through me physically seizing me.

“No,” I squeaked as I tried to calm the flutters in my belly. What was happening? Why did his touch do that to me? When he didn’t release my arm, I turned my head and looked back over my shoulder at him. His chest heaved up and down, his eyes burning into mine. I wanted to believe it was the fall that had him worked up, but I knew better. Whatever shock I’d felt; that intense body encompassing sensation . . . Max felt it, too.

Neither of us spoke; we only stared at one another with the same burning question lingering in the blaring silence between us.

What the hell was that?

Even in the best of our days, I’d never felt that when Max touched me.

I’d never felt that with anyone.

So why was I feeling it now?

And what did it mean?

As if awakening from a dream, Max jerked his eyes away. With some awkward maneuvering and soft grunts, he managed to get us both off the floor. “I’m sorry about that,” I apologized.

“No worries.”

Looking down at myself, I frowned. “My shirt is ruined,” I observed, desperate to move past what had just happened.

“If you want to take it off,” his mouth curved into a devious smile, “I can wash it for you.”

Was he . . .

Was he flirting with me?

I leered at him in disbelief to which his smile only grew.

He was.

He was seriously flirting with me.

It was equal parts thrilling and awful.

I hated him, and if I hated him, why did I want to giggle like a dumb little twit? Then I wondered, did he say that to throw me off? Get under my skin? After the bike stunt earlier, I knew he enjoyed getting me fired up. Was this just him messing with me again? If his end game was, in fact, just to get me fired up, I had news for him. Two could play at that game.