"Of course," she says excitedly. "That would be awesome. But I think my dad's going to try to get in for a visit. Is that cool?"
"Totally," I say, and then as an afterthought, "Maybe I should invite my parents for a visit?"
"Oh my God," she says with a laugh. "Are we meeting each other's parents?"
"I guess we are," I tell her with a grin.
"Okay," she says with a nod. "That's one thing. What else do you want?"
"You know I'm flying back on Tuesday afternoon from our game in Pittsburgh, and Sports World magazine wants to do my photo shoot that evening. Do you think you could maybe give up painting one night, get a sitter and come with me? I hate that shit and would really like you to be there...you know...to make me feel not so fucking stupid."
Jules' eyes warm and her lower lip purses out in sympathy. "Of course I will. I'll hold your hand and everything."
I breathe out a sigh of relief because while I really don't need Jules there, it would make it at least bearable and I'd get some extra time with her that week.
"And the third?" she prompts.
"This coming weekend we have back-to-back games in Boston," I tell her hesitantly. "I'd really like you to come with me."
"You want me to come to Boston with you?" she asks, her brows furrowed. "With the kids?"
I give a shake of my head. "No. I want you to myself. I've already asked Kate and she said she'd be glad to have them for the weekend."
"I can't," Jules blurts out without giving my request any thought. This I understand, as she's operating from an overly protective place as well as a place of insecurity in her role as a mom and determining what is appropriate.
I have to let her work this out, but I'm going to make her work it out. "Why not? What's holding you back?"
"I just can't leave the kids for two days," she says firmly.
"Technically it will be three days," I tell her, but before I can let that deter her further, I say, "And who says you can't? Where does it say that mothers can't have time away from their kids?"
"Well," she stammers, "it's just...they're just getting settled in with me--"
"Five and half months," I tell her bluntly. "They're settled."
"I don't want to keep pawning the kids off on Kate," she murmurs, and I sense we're getting closer to the heart of the issue.
"Kate has watched the kids twice for you," I point out. "So you and I could go out. And if I'm not mistaken, you've taken Ben one night for a slumber party so she and Zack could have some alone time."
"Yeah, but--"
"No 'buts,' Jules," I say firmly, and I squeeze her hand a little harder. I lean across the table and lower my voice so she knows I'm serious. "You are an incredibly hardworking woman and you are devoted to those kids. You kill yourself to give them what they need. But...I need you too and we don't have a lot of time together as it is. I'm asking you...please...come away with me for a few days and give me some time, okay?"
Jules' face immediately crumples before me. Her brow furrows and her lips flatten for a moment in disgust.
"I am so fucking sorry," she says in a small voice. "I wasn't thinking. Fuck...of course we need some time to ourselves, and God...I'm so sorry. You're always the one that takes the backseat to everything."
"It's okay," I assure her quickly as I see the sheen of tears forming in her eyes.
"No," she says in a ragged breath as she jerks her hand away from mine, only to fling herself out of her side of the booth and onto mine. Her arms fly around my neck and she pushes her face against mine, cheek to cheek, as she whispers, "God, Max...I'm so sorry. So selfish. Yes, I will go with you. If you still want me to."
I press my palm to the back of her head, hold her there for a minute before I gently push her away. Her eyes are swimming with apology.
"I'm so damn sorry--" she starts to say but I put my mouth right on hers and make better use of it.
I kiss her hard and fiercely, leaving her breathless and without words when I pull away. I use it as an opportunity to set her straight. "I don't take a backseat to everything, Jules. You're the one that does that. This trip will be as much for you as it is for me, okay?"
She nods at me, smiling, her eyes still looking like they might be on the verge of filling with tears. I want to tell her I love her and that I will do whatever I can to make this work with us, but it's not the time. That time has to be special.
So I tell her the next best thing. "I adore you, Jules. And I know I'll adore you even more tomorrow, and even more the day after that."
And the tears fall.
"Fuck," I mutter as I pull her back to my chest.
She gives a tiny laugh and mumbles. "I adore you too, Max. More and more each day."
And that is enough for now.
"So this is kind of exciting, right?" I ask Max as I stand a few feet away from the stylist chair he's sitting in. He looks extremely uncomfortable with a plastic drape secured around him while the hairstylist works some magic on him.
Not that he needs magic, because he could roll out of bed and easily win the hottest sports bachelor title, but apparently he needs some type of special makeup for the camera--which has already been done--and his hair needs some trimming, which I disagree with. If he didn't look so miserable, I'd have to laugh, but I can't do that to him.
"That's not the word I would use to describe this," Max responds flatly and I have to fight with myself not to grin at his sullenness.
I take a look around. The photo shoot is being done in a downtown Raleigh studio, with nothing but a plain white backdrop and Max. Well, there will be a few different outfits, or so we've been told by the reporter from Sports World magazine who is overseeing the shoot and will interview Max at some point. I'm really looking forward to the one that will just be done in training shorts with him curling some dumbbells and flexing his eight-pack, but I don't tell him that because he would not get a kick out of me getting a kick out of this. So I try to look as somber as he does while the stylist runs clippers over his neckline.
I didn't realize there would be this many people here for the photo shoot. In addition to the stylist currently working Max over, there's a makeup artist who is at the next station organizing her implements and a wardrobe specialist who is currently choosing Max's outfits from a clothing rack on wheels. There's also the photographer and his assistant who are right now working on lighting, as well as another woman, who appears to be a general gofer of sorts, but for the most part she hangs in the background and does a lot of texting on her phone while Max gets beautified.
The studio door opens and two women walk in. Both are tall and thin with long flowing hair--one brunette and the other auburn--and without them even saying a word, I know they're models. They're two damn beautiful to be anything else.
"Leigh...Amber..." the makeup artist says as she spies them. "One of you hit wardrobe, the other go to my chair and we'll get started."
The brunette veers off toward the wardrobe person, who I now see is pulling what looks to be tiny little bikinis off the rack. The blonde heads our way, giving a slight smile to me as I stare at her, then her eyes connect to Max's through the mirror he's facing while his hair gets styled.
His eyes immediately come to mine through the mirror, both eyebrows raised, and he gives me a little shrug.
I give him a little shrug back.
Guess he's going to have some models in the shoot with him.
"Okay," the hairstylist announces as she whips the plastic cape from Max. "You're all done and you can head to wardrobe."
Max shoots out of the chair as the stylist calls out, "Amber...I'm ready for you."
Amber takes three hangers of bikinis
from the wardrobe person and spins our way, walking quickly to the stylist. She looks again at me, then Max, giving a nod with a smile, and takes the seat he just vacated. I have to wonder what in the hell the stylist and makeup artist will do to these women, because they already look perfect to me.
Max steps into me and his hand goes to my lower back. He starts to push me along with him over to the wardrobe rack. His head leans down to mine and he whispers, "I hate this shit, just so you know."
I struggle not to laugh but merely give a grave nod. "I know, honey. It will all be over soon."
His hand slides up my back, curls around my neck, and he stops me in mid-stride. Bending down, he brushes his mouth against mine lightly before saying, "Thank you again for coming with me."
I turn in to him, bring my hands to his chest and peer up into those fabulous hazel eyes. "You never have to thank me for being there for you. It really is my pleasure, babe."
He grins down at me before his hands encircle my back and he pulls me in close. He lays a quick kiss on top of my head and then releases me before heading over to the wardrobe rack.
It really is quite impressive how everyone seems to move with efficiency, almost like an assembly line of beautiful people getting polished to make them uber beautiful. While the wardrobe stylist starts going over the outfits with Max--again, the training shorts being my favorite--the reporter comes up and starts the interview, asking just some basic short questions to get the process started. I take that as my cue it's time for me to get out of the way, so I head over to a long couch up against the back wall, where the woman I pegged as a gofer continues to type on her phone.
When I approach, she looks up and gives me a welcoming smile. She's young...maybe late teens, early twenties, and really pretty. She's got long blond hair that seems naturally wavy and she's dressed super trendy in black skinny jeans and ankle boots. She has on a white dress shirt with a tight-fitting light gray sweater over it, the bottom of the shirt sticking out. On her head sits a black fedora, and she has a plethora of Alex and Ani bangles on both wrists.
"Hey," I say as I take a seat on the opposite end from her.
Her smile gets bigger and she turns to face me, crossing one leg over the other and resting her phone facedown on her thigh. "Hey. I'm Camille. This is my dad's studio."