To Have It All(55)

I laughed again, almost spitting my wine out. I was never one to turn down a glass of wine. Not really. Plus, if I was completely honest, I was enjoying myself. I swear the more I hung out with Helen, the more I liked her. She was so damn nice and had the best sense of humor. That’s why it boggled me so much that she was friends with Max.

Max.

Even thinking his name made my stomach flip. The previous evening seemed so surreal. That entire afternoon and evening we’d been playful. We’d flirted. Our playful banter and the way we always had witty quips to toss back at one another had been fun. I couldn’t remember ever having that with Max before. When he tossed me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing and carried us to the shower, I forgot I didn’t like this man. I forgot all his wrongs. For a brief time, I let my walls drop and let him approach, and we had the best time.

Then he kissed me.

I should have stopped him. I knew what he was about to do when he tilted my chin up and stared into my eyes. The word no sat poised on the tip of my tongue, but I bit it back. He didn’t ask me if it was okay. He just did it. I wanted to be mad; feel violated that he did it without asking, but I couldn’t. The way he moved in, the way he didn’t ask but took excited me. It was a double-edged sword. I had re-played that kiss over and over again in my mind all night and the following day, and every time I did, my skin tingled everywhere and heat ravaged my face. Thinking about it stirred something tumultuous inside me, but the excitement, thrilling as it was, was always followed by a deep and choking regret.

I let Max kiss me.

Worse—I kissed him back.

Like really kissed him back.

With tongue and everything.

So much tongue.

Ugh . . . what was wrong with me? How does a person kiss someone they loathe and actually enjoy it? I was a walking, talking contradiction. A cliché.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Helen asked. I realized I’d been staring blankly into space running my fingers over my lips. Looking at her, it hit me again. Who was this woman? That’s when I decided I had to ask. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to know how and why they were friends. This time, though, I wouldn’t settle for vague answers that weren’t answers at all.

“Helen,” I began as I ran my finger over the rim of my wine glass.

When her gaze cut to me and she took in my expression, she tilted her head as if to say, “Ask away.”

“What’s the deal with you and Max?” I got right to the point; no dancing around it. “I mean, really?”

Licking her lips, she looked down at her belly and rubbed it again. “It’s hard to explain, Waverly,” she admitted. “It’s not romantic or intimate. He’s not my baby daddy,” she assured me with a smirk that made me smile. When her eyes flicked up and met mine, I didn’t look away and I didn’t speak. She had a thought, something she wanted to say, and I was afraid if I spoke she’d change her mind about whether she wanted to share it with me or not.

“Do you believe in fate? Or even miracles?”

I shrugged and sipped my wine. “Sure I do,” I admitted. “I think they happen every day.”

She nodded a few times. “Me too.” Then added with more conviction, “I know they do.”

“Are you saying Max is a miracle?” I snorted, but she didn’t laugh. Her expression went serious.

“Do you agree that he’s different?”

Widening my eyes, I let out a long breath. That would be an understatement. “He’s very different,” I admitted.

“Is that not a miracle?” she asked, one brow quirked.

Narrowing my gaze at her, I asked, “I don’t know if I’d call that a miracle, Helen.”

“But he is different, yes?”

“Different or experiencing a temporary moment of insanity?” I asked, dryly.

“Or,” she paused, staring intently into my eyes, “he’s a completely different person.”

“What are you saying, Helen?”

Leaning her head to the side, she pursed her lips in thought. “I’m saying that—”

“Anyone home?” We both jerked our heads toward the sound of Max’s voice. He must’ve just walked through the door.

“In here!” Helen yelled as she stood.

Within moments, Max appeared, his expression seemingly stoic and unreadable. Then he saw the spaghetti covered Pim and his features lit up as a wide grin spread across his face. “Look at that,” he beamed. There it was again. My skin got tingly. It wasn’t just the sight of him, or me remembering the kiss. It was something purer. Something sweeter. It was the way he looked at Pim like she was the most precious thing in the world.

“Balls!” Pim gurgled as she raised her sauce cover hands toward Max. I slanted my eyes at Pim wondering where that came from. Balls? Why would she say that right now?

Seeing Pim so happy, beaming up at Max—paired with the wine—briefly crumpled my proverbial wall and made my heart melt. When Pim had awakened at the ungodly hour of 5 a.m. that morning, and Max had gotten up with her, it definitely earned him some brownie points. That morning, through the opening of the bedroom door, I could see him holding her and dancing, quietly singing Tennessee Whiskey by Chris Stapleton to her. It was . . . sweet. I couldn’t deny it.

“Hi, Max!” I chirped, unable to stop the slightest smile from forming on my face.