An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)(81)

“Don’t start,” Tate said evenly. “We had this conversation on the way here.”

“Yeah, we did,” Riley answered with a smug smile, adjusting his clothes. “A conversation you lost.”

“Well,” Tate said, patting his lips delicately with his napkin. “That depends on your definition, now, doesn’t it?”

Max’s eyes snapped from one man to the other as if seated in center court, Wimbledon. “Dare I ask?”

“Tate believes that, in a fight, Captain America would beat Superman, which, any true comic book fan will tell you, would not happen.”

“Cap has the shield,” Tate said indifferently.

“Superman’s bulletproof; what the f*ck would a shield do?”

“Who the f*ck cares?” Max interrupted.

After a beat of silence, the two men looked over at him as though he’d dropped out of the sky naked.

“Why do we even speak to him?” Riley asked, turning to his brother.

Tate sighed as though genuinely baffled. “I ask myself that every time I come here.”

Max couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at his mouth. “You two are batshit.”

Riley pointed at him. “To be continued,” he stated before he stood and made his way across the coffee shop toward the bathroom.

Tate waited until the door of the bathroom swung shut. “So, come on.” He leaned his forearms on the table between them. “Before Boy Wonder comes back. What’s really going on? You okay?”

Max shrugged. “Yeah, I’m okay. Good, actually.” He smirked.

“I mean who wouldn’t be, having a hot woman to play with, huh?”

Tate didn’t laugh along. “And she’s of the same mind? She seemed pretty fond of you when I saw you with her.”

“She understands,” Max countered, swallowing a lump of something that felt like a lie.

“Is this a good idea?” Tate asked, seemingly sensing Max’s discomfort. “You two.”

“You’ve changed your tune.” Max shook his head. “Besides, there is no us two. It’s just sex.”

Tate nodded, chewing the inside of his mouth. “I know the docs say that having a relationship in the first year of rehabilitation is a bad idea, but—”

“Jesus.” Max exhaled an incredulous sound. “Wasn’t that what I said to you? There is no relationship. We’re just f*ckin’. Seriously, man, I’m not getting involved with her or anyone. I don’t want that.” He licked his lips and glanced down at his half-eaten sandwich, his appetite dissolving slowly. “I don’t ever want that. I can’t.”

Tate cleared his throat and sat back. He pressed his mouth into a tight line. “Okay.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Tate answered, lifting one shoulder. “If that’s how it is, then that’s how it is.”

Max cocked his head to one side. “Why do I feel like you’re f*cking with me?”

“I’m not, Max. I wouldn’t do that.” Tate crossed his arms over his chest. “As your sponsor and as your friend, I have to make sure you’re all right and that the choices you make are beneficial to your recovery.” He shrugged. “If you tell me you’re okay with this, that this is what you want, then fine. I’ll support you.”

Max dipped his chin in acquiescence, shaking off the suspicious feeling prickling his skin while allowing Tate’s words of support to settle into him. He was surprised to realize that they made him feel better, more relaxed, as though Tate’s blessing was somehow important to what was going on between him and Grace.

Grace.

Max sipped his coffee, thinking about how their dynamic had changed over the last couple of weeks. Damn, she was something else: passionate, demanding, and altogether hot as hell. The latter wasn’t news, but combined with her newfound inner sex goddess, Grace was truly incredible. She liked everything he’d done to her and, despite her shy smile and fidgeting hands, she wasn’t afraid to ask for what she wanted. Like the other day when she’d begged him to come all over her, just like he had in his room at the boardinghouse.

Max had worried that, despite the opposite intent, Grace would think his coming on her was degrading or demeaning or even, he shuddered at the thought, insulting. But when, lying on his bed, he’d seen the fire in her eyes and heard the husky plea leave her lips, he knew she liked it. She’d liked it even better the second time. They’d just gotten back from a run when Grace was sweating and breathless while stretching out on her carpet. Max had approached her, hard-on obvious in his running shorts, rubbing himself while he watched her.

Neither of them had spoken when she realized what he was doing. She hadn’t even looked surprised, more pleased than outraged. It hadn’t taken long for Grace’s hand to travel between her legs and Max had watched as she made herself come, begging for him to do the same all over her.

Max had been more than happy to oblige, growling as his orgasm snapped up his spine, thrusting his hips out and pulsing his pleasure across Grace’s body, the white of his come stretched across her dark caramel skin causing a deep, dark ball of possessiveness to curl in his chest.

Max hadn’t given himself time to truly ponder—for reasons that were blatantly obvious—but it had been oddly intimate standing over her, touching himself while Grace did the same, the room silent but for their grunts and curses.