He groans. “I hoped you’d forget about that.”
“No chance.” I explain the exercise in detail for the next few minutes, and Max’s already nonexistent enthusiasm for the exercise turns to downright annoyance. To his credit, this particular exercise is a bitch. He follows through with my instructions and does a set of twenty reps.
“You’re in great shape,” I commend him. “Most people are out of breath by the time they reach twelve.”
Max draws a deep breath. “I worked out a lot before the accident, and I also play water polo on occasion.”
The thought of Max in a pool, shirtless and playing polo is fodder for my brain, which turns everything into a dirty picture.
“You know, the faster you finish the physical therapy, the faster you can do your regular workout again and keep those hard abs of yours in place.”
“You noticed?” he asks smugly.
“Couldn’t help it,” I admit. “It’s all messing with my hormones big time. Like you said, just putting it out there.”
“Maybe communication doesn’t always help. It didn’t really clear the air, did it?”
I chuckle nervously, pulling with my fingers at the hem of my shirt.
Seeing as how the air seems to consist of hormones and sexual tension, the question is almost rhetorical. When we were kids, we used to talk out loud about everything, and it helped us put some awkward incidents behind us fast. But openly admitting our attraction for each other just seems to be making everything worse.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Okay, new resolution. We’ll just ignore the chemistry until it goes away.”
Max curves his lip up in a smirk, and I can tell he has a witty reply in mind. He remains silent, though, and now I’m dying to know what he’s thinking, of course.
“Are you seeing someone?” I ask, realizing I have no idea what the status of his love life is. My stomach is in knots as I wait for his answer.
His smirk becomes more pronounced. “This coming from someone who wants to ignore the chemistry?”
“Just hoping to alleviate my conscience. As light as our flirting was, I’d feel like shit if there’s a woman in your life.”
“I’m not an ass, Emilia. I wouldn’t have flirted back if I was seeing someone. What about you? I have to say right off the bat that if you are, and you’re blushing like that when I’m just looking at you, dump him. He’s clearly not good enough.”
“You know, one thing did change about you, Max. You weren’t so full of yourself before. Now you’re bordering on being cocky.”
“Bordering? Please. I’m far past that border, deep into Cockyland.”
“Cockyland?” I giggle, then remember what Mrs. Devereaux said, that confident men are usually great in bed, and I can’t help the heat rushing to my face.
“Something about you changed too, Jonesie. You laugh a lot more. It suits you. But you haven’t answered my question.”
“I’ll tell you everything while you do another set of twenty.”
He gives me the stink eye but doesn’t argue.
“I’m not seeing anyone. But I almost got married six months ago.”
“What happened?” Max asks in a soft voice, pausing for a split second.
“He dumped me three weeks before the wedding.”
“That son of a bitch.”
I smile at his indignation. “How do you know it’s not something I did?”
“I have a hunch. Tell me.”
I instruct him to do a set of straight leg raises, then tell him what happened.