An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)(47)

The drive back from his session was long. Max wound the window of his truck down and enjoyed the warm evening air on his face, allowing it to help build up the resolve that had started to take shape while sitting in Elliot’s office. The whole thing with Grace would become problematic only if he allowed it to. He’d opened up to her and shared things that, ordinarily, would have had him disappearing inside himself. That was the hard bit out of the way.

Sex was easy. Sex he knew. Sex he was good at. Sex with Grace would no doubt be awesome.

He just needed to, as Grace would say, stop overthinking it, and by the time he pulled up outside the boardinghouse, he had. He was going to f*ck a hot woman with no strings attached. Any other normal guy would be singing from the rooftops and it was about time he did the same. He smacked his hands on the steering wheel, resolute.

No pressure, no worries, no fuss.

Yeah, he was going to start enjoying himself, goddamn it.

Tate arrived the following morning with his customary wide smile and a yellow T-shirt decorated with—

“What the f*ck is that?” Max asked with a puzzled shake of his head, once they’d sat down in their usual seat in the coffee shop, each having bought a sub sandwich.

Tate glanced down at himself and cocked an eyebrow. “It’s a Minion dressed as Wolverine,” he answered, his tone clearly disgusted with Max’s lack of comic book expertise. “What the hell else would it be?”

Max snorted. “I apologize. I’m obviously having an off day with DC—”

“Marvel! Jesus.”

“Whatever.”

Tate shook his head, looking out of the window toward the sky, his mouth full of sandwich. “I don’t even know why I keep coming back to see you. I really don’t.”

“Because you love me,” Max retorted, taking a mammoth bite of his chicken on rye.

Tate shrugged. “Someone has to, I guess.” They sat in companionable silence, watching the world go by, while they ate. “So how have things been?”

Max nodded. “Okay. Got my six-month medallion.”

Never for one moment had Max thought he’d get to that point, but the gold medal in his pocket proved it. When he’d been awarded it at his last group session, it had been the first time he’d truly felt a shiver of pride.

Tate grinned. “My man. Nice.” They fist-bumped. “Any more ‘off’ days?”

Max shook his head. He and Tate stayed in contact a lot of the time, exchanging texts at least once a day, sometimes more, with phone calls just as regular. Since Max’s drunken shenanigans, Tate had been a true crutch for him. The fact that the man traveled to Preston County every week to see Max was testament to how he viewed his role as Max’s sponsor.

As they always did, they shot the shit about therapy, caught up on friends, and drank coffee. With Riley at the helm, Max’s body shop was booming, and Carter was stressed with Kat’s wedding planning. Without warning, and with his hand wrapped around his coffee cup frozen in midair, Tate’s attention suddenly diverted from Max to something on the street. Max followed his line of sight and smirked.

It was Grace.

Dressed in her running gear and sweating gorgeously, she was walking down the main road toward the coffee shop, playing with her wristwatch, no doubt checking her run time, which she always did. Her hair was pulled back, her ponytailed curls bouncing, her running pants breathtakingly tight. Max’s cock gave a nod of appreciation for those bad boys. He was pissed he’d had to cancel his run with her this morning.

“Good Lord,” Tate muttered, gawking at her through the window and spinning around to watch her enter the shop.

“Like what you see?” Max asked around the lip of his cup. A curious and unfamiliar warmth crept across his skin as he observed his sponsor stare at Grace.

“Yeah, um . . . Shit, do they all look like her around here?”

Max looked over at Grace, catching her eye. She beamed and waved. He dipped his chin back at her. “No,” he answered.

Just as Max predicted, Grace, with latte and muffin in hand, sauntered across the shop toward them. “Hey,” she greeted, her green eyes dancing.

“Hey yourself. Good run?”

“Yeah. Weirdly boring without you.” Her gaze darted to Tate. “Hello, you must be Tate, Max’s sponsor. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Tate held out his hand, which Grace took nervously. “All good things, I hope.” He grinned, wide and toothy. Max rolled his eyes.

Grace laughed. “Oh, yeah, all good things.”

Tate’s head snapped to Max. Max sighed. “This is Grace,” he introduced. Tate’s eyebrows rose. “She’s my running partner.”

“Running partner, huh?” The expression on Tate’s face highlighted how full of bullshit he thought Max to be. But hell, he could think what he liked.

“Yes,” Grace said. “You interrupted an important run today.” Her playful expression was lovely and Max watched Tate fall headfirst for its captivating powers.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Tate played along. “Maybe I can buy you a coffee to make it up to you.”

Max cleared his throat and crossed his arms, his attention on the street outside because, well, shit, he didn’t know where to look while his sponsor hit on his . . . friend.