The dark blue jeans he wears encase his strong legs. The plain black tee is nice and fitted over his muscular arms, but looks well worn. His feet are covered in white socks. A very obviously child-made, bright yellow, purple, and blue elastic loom bracelet rests around his right wrist.
He looks delicious.
Warmth hits my dipping belly and works its way down. I squeeze my leg together tightly, holding the doorframe for support. Holy shit. I’m suddenly hyper-aware I have on no makeup and am wearing grey sweats with my white stay-at-home tank. It’s a stay-at-home tank, because it’s ratty. So extremely comfortable, but ratty.
Okay, it’s more like a rag. Somehow, this only makes me angrier. “You can’t just come into people houses when they aren’t there.”
Max rubs a hand over his face. Mid-yawn, he utters, “Sure I can.”
My blood begins to boil. “No, you can’t.”
He lowers his hand from his face and smiles at me. All I see are full lips, white teeth, and that magical dimple.
That fucking dimple.
He takes a step towards me, eyes trained on mine. His voice is still sleep-husky when he drawls, “I’m here, aren’t I?” He looks over my face then mutters distractedly, “A face like this should not be frowning.”
My cheeks heat. I choke out, “What?”
He says louder, more confidently, “I said a face like yours should never frown.”
I flush and mumble, “What’s wrong with my face?”
Max looks me over, slowly, meaningfully, “Absolutely nothing, from what I can see.” He smirks. “I’ll just use my imagination for the things I can’t.” Then he winks.
He winks.
I take a shaking hand and point to the door, hard. “You need to leave.”
He sighs. “Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time.” I watch him sit on the edge of my bed and slip his shoes on. Then he walks out to the kitchen. I follow. He lazily walks around my kitchen to the refrigerator. He opens it and scowls at the almost bare interior.
I ask heatedly, “Can I help you there?”
He continues to search the refrigerator while absently scratching his belly. “I’m hungry.” He straightens. “Are you hungry? We should go get something to eat.”
My mouth gapes. Boy, he works fast. I laugh humorlessly. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
His brow furrows. “Why not? You’re hungry, I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”
This man is exasperating. “I’m not hungry!”
He looks into the refrigerator one last time. “Sure you are. You said, ‘Max, I’m starving and would love to eat with you’. You said that. Just now. You don’t remember? I think you should see a doctor about that.”
Damn him for being funny. I bite my lip to stop my shocked laughter. In this moment, I can see why so many women like being fawned over. Despite my dislike of flirting, it does make a woman feel good to be fawned over. But I’d prefer real words to pretty lies any day. I’m suddenly very tired. I close my eyes and lean against the wall. “Listen, Mack…”
I hear his frown. “It’s Max.”
Yeah, don’t feel so nice, does it?
Yes, I can be a complete child sometimes. But that felt good.
“Max, I’m tired. My flight wasn’t great, the guy I sat next to was…ugh, and I’m stinky. All I want to do is wash the fat guy sweat-stink off me and sleep for a little while before Nat comes home.”
I feel the warmth of his body in front of me. I quickly stand up straight and open my eyes. He looks down at me in concern. “You okay, cupcake?”
Oh my God. He’s killing me.
Trying to ignore the angry swarm of killer bees in my belly, I whisper, “Fine. I just need you to go.”