An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)(35)

Since he’d knocked on her door, shocking the hell out of her with his apology and a chocolate muffin, Grace had started to see more of Max O’Hare’s sunnier side. With each day that passed, he became less dark, more relaxed, and that smile she liked so much started to come easier. She liked making him laugh, too—the sound forever wrapped around her like a warm hug—and tried to do it as often as she could. He looked so much younger when he laughed, less weighed down by life.

Unlike other men Grace had come across since her ex-husband, Grace didn’t feel anxious around Max. On the contrary, in Max’s presence she felt calm and safe. She couldn’t deny the night he’d been so abrasive at the bar had been horrible, but the more time she spent with him, the more she came to understand how out of character his mood had been. She knew too well how the mood swings of addicts were unpredictable and erratic and, if she and Max were going to be friends, she had to be prepared for that.

Maybe she was a lunatic for wanting to know him better, just as Kai had exclaimed on the phone when she’d mentioned Max. Maybe she was a glutton for punishment getting involved with a man who was a recovering drug addict, but she couldn’t find it in herself to worry or care. The truth was she liked him. He was handsome, funny, and honest.

One particular afternoon, as she took more photographs of her house, which was mere weeks from completion, she caught herself watching him and the way he moved. Unlike when he was running, when his jaw was hard, his dark eyes focused, and his muscled arms and legs propelled him forward with speed and certainty, on the site his broad shoulders were looser, his hips similar. He was graceful, light, and, admittedly, sexy as hell.

He’d dip his chin if she caught his eye, a familiar acknowledgment, which always made Grace smile. He wasn’t entirely indifferent to her when they weren’t running, he was still unfailingly polite, but he did keep his distance. And Grace liked it. She liked knowing she had access to another side of him when it was just the two of them. She liked that they had something that was theirs and no one else’s. It wasn’t a secret, but she accepted that, should anyone hear about their meetings every day, they would assume something more was going on. Something dirty and impure, and that would spoil everything.

“That’s a pretty smile,” Deputy Yates commented from his stool, as she poured him a beer at Whiskey’s that evening. “Who’s it for?”

Grace shrugged and placed the glass in front of him. “Life’s just good right now,” she replied. “My house looks amazing; I’ve made some great new friends.”

The deputy nodded and sipped his drink, leaving a small line of white foam in the hair over his top lip. “You seem to like that O’Hare fella a whole lot. I saw you together at the coffee shop last week.”

Grace sighed. “Yeah, he’s a nice guy,” she commented dismissively.

A husky voice floated from the far end of the bar. “I’ll say he’s a nice guy. Hot as Hades, too. I can’t wait for round two with that man.”

The blonde woman Max had left Whiskey’s with propped herself against the bar, elbows bent, her lips painted a bright red that washed out her skin. She smiled at Grace in a way that was neither nice nor genuine. It was more like a sneer that made Grace’s spine straighten. Blondie pushed her boobs together, resting them on her forearms on the bar top, giving the other patrons an eyeful. In her tight vest top and even tighter jeans, she was all hard f*cking and dirty passion with no limits. She was everything Grace would never be.

Deputy Yates scoffed. “Jesus, Fay, you don’t change. He ain’t a nice guy. I don’t trust him.”

But Grace wasn’t listening.

She was too busy trying to delete the vision of Max and Fay that slammed indiscriminately into her brain. Jealousy moved through her, clutching her stomach and shoving shame into her chest. She leaned against the sink behind the bar and breathed. It wasn’t that she was jealous of Fay being with Max that way. No, it wasn’t that. Grace was damned sure he’d had plenty of women in his time—the man couldn’t help being devastatingly attractive.

It was the thought of his being with a woman who could satisfy him, who could give him a night he wouldn’t forget, a woman who wouldn’t cry when he tried to touch her intimately, or freeze when he held her down. A woman who would ride him with abandon, take control, and allow him to do the same. She was envious of Fay and the unadulterated sex that burst from her and the way in which she embraced it without apology.

It was so unfair. It was unfair that one man, a man she’d trusted, loved, worshipped even, had stripped her of all the sexual confidence she’d ever had. He stole it from her violently, possessively, and beat her with it, leaving scars inside and out.

No.

Grace knew she could never match up to a woman like Fay.

And it hurt.

It hurt all over again.

Max knew there was something wrong with Grace even before they started their run the following morning. She seemed so far away, lost in her head, leaving her unnervingly quiet. He’d asked if she was okay as they stretched, and she’d answered that she was fine, but he wasn’t convinced. She looked . . . sad. The green of her eyes was less emerald as though dulled by her thoughts.

They ran their route the same as they always did, stopped for water, and carried on. There was no exclaiming about colors or the beauty of the forest, as there was ordinarily from Grace. She didn’t even rummage around in her bra and pull out her phone to take any pictures, which had become, arguably, the highlight of Max’s day.