I’m thrown off by that statement, the intensity of it, the passion of it. I don’t have a comeback, but he doesn’t seem to need one since he keeps going. “Besides, drinks is a cop-out. He should take you to dinner. He should drive you home. He should walk you to your door. He should make sure you get inside safely. But before he does that, he should devastate you with a kiss like he can’t fucking breathe if he doesn’t kiss you.”

  Forget aching. I’m outrageously aroused. My breath catches. But I say nothing still as he lets go of my shirt, finishing with, “I would never share you.”

  I’m so off-kilter, because Max is so close to me, the hallway is so narrow, my boss is in the other room, and yet I’m not walking away from the very bad idea of him. “What if I like nice guys?” I counter.

  He pins me with his gaze. “You don’t.”

  “You don’t know what I like.”

  He smirks. “I think I do though.”

  A dish rattles from somewhere in the restaurant, breaking the heated moment. I swirl around and return to the table, putting on a fake front for the rest of the meal.

  Fake because it hides this unbridled desire ricocheting through me as those words echo in my mind.

  I would never share you.

  When the meal ends, I say goodbye to everyone, then head outside to call a Lyft, grateful to put some distance between me and the object of this inappropriate lust.

  But my phone is fading fast. The battery’s at one percent right as the car options populate. “C’mon,” I mutter as I try to grab one before the screen of death appears.

  I’m too late. But seconds later, the scent of midnight wraps around me. “I’ll drive you home,” Max says, striding up next to me on the street, having just left Kitchen Mosaic.

  I wince, not wanting to take him up on it. Not trusting myself to. But having no choice.

  I turn around and give in. “Fine.”

  He sets his hand on the small of my back as he walks me to his car, like a man who’d never share me.

  19

  A PIECE OF ME

  Max

  The car is quiet for several blocks as I zip along Columbus Avenue, catching all the green lights. Normally, I’d be all over this kind of traffic luck. But tonight I’d like to hit every single red.

  Something to buy some time. Slow us down. Figure out what to do next.

  The silence hangs heavily in the car. I should say something to Everly. But I already apologized. Plus, I don’t want to talk about that guy again. I’m not sure I should talk. I’ve said enough, and I should remember what a bad idea we are.

  I need her too much to act on these desires. Need her to help fix the mess I made of my public life. I try to focus on the drive, the surroundings—anything but the way my pulse spikes just being near her.

  It’s nearly ten. The city is still busy as we cruise toward North Beach, closer and closer to Everly’s home, passing smatterings of people walking along the sidewalk, dipping in and out of restaurants, bars and bookstores, chatting with each other.

  We’re still not talking. I steal a glance at her, but that’s a rookie mistake. Now I’m thinking about how her legs look in that skirt. How the moonlight streams across her pale skin as she stares straight ahead out the window, quiet too. I’m picturing how she’d look in her home, dragging me inside, grabbing my shirt and telling me to shut her up with a kiss.

  I nearly groan at the thought. Gripping the wheel tighter, I force out a safe question. “Want me to play some music?”

  We’ve got all of a mile left, but I can’t stand the company of my own thoughts right now.

  “Sure,” she says.

  Without thinking, I stab the play button on the console to blast the car with the new playlist Wesley shared with me—Rock Tunes That Put You In A Winning Mood will do me some good right now.

  “Economic forces played a role in the progress of navigation, and in this lesson we’ll explore⁠—”

  Fuck.

  I hit end faster than I bat a puck out of the crease. I don’t want Everly to hear what I was listening to on the drive over to the restaurant earlier. It’s too personal.

  She turns to me for the first time since she got in the car, tilting her head. “What’s that?” It’s asked with amusement.

  “Just a class,” I mutter as the light ahead turns red. Great. My wish is finally granted when I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want her to know this about me.

  “The class you’ve been taking?” she prompts. “You mentioned it in the weight room.”

  Shit. I did. “Yeah. That’s the one.” Maybe the less I say, the more she’ll get the message.

  Her mouth softens. “What’s it on? I was curious.”

  “It’s on navigational tools,” I say.

  And she’s not getting the message at all. She’s too interested in this detail about me since she asks, “Are you into cartography or something?”

  I snap my gaze to her, my jaw ticking. “Are you going to use this somehow? In this image makeover?”

  “No,” she says, almost offended. I expected her to sound annoyed, but she sounds…disappointed actually. “I was curious. About you, Max. I didn’t ask for any other reason.”

  Shit. I swallow uncomfortably. But the whole topic is uncomfortable. “Sorry. I thought…”

  I don’t finish since she knows what I thought—that I didn’t trust her with this information.

  “Yeah. I know what you thought,” she says sadly, then turns her head subtly toward the window. Like she’s giving me space as she gazes into the inky night sky.

  Do I want space? I don’t know. I don’t know what I want. No, that’s not true. I know what I want—her. But I know, too, it’s a bad idea to do a damn thing about that wish.

  At least I can give her the truth though. I blow out a breath as I grip the wheel and I glance at the woman beside me, her face aglow with the lights of the city after dark.

  “It’s an online class offered by a local university. I listen to it. Been taking this one since the start of the season. It’s selfish really. Why I take it,” I say.

  “Why do you take it then?”

  I picture my grandfather, the last few years of his life, but especially the last few months. How he wasn’t himself any more. He was a man without history, without a family, without memories. He was a shell of who he’d been. “My grandfather had dementia. It led to his death a year ago,” I say, and the light changes mercifully. Good. It’s easier to share this awful story when I don’t have to look at her. “I spent time with him whenever I could get to Seattle. Sometimes I took him to his appointments. One time, he was in pretty bad shape when I took him to his neurologist. And when he was with the nurse doing labs, I got a chance to be alone with the doctor. And I jumped on it,” I say, and I’m not entirely proud of this moment, but at the time, I was roiled with fear. I’d seen the future, and it was awful. I felt like I had to make it about me. “I selfishly asked if there was anything I could do to prevent dementia.”

  “That’s not selfish,” she says, her voice strong and passionate. “That’s smart.”

  “I don’t know. It was kind of a dick move. It was his appointment. Not mine.”

  “But that’s proactive. That’s wise to ask a doctor. It’s wise to think about it now,” she says, and maybe she’s right. But what’s done is done.

  “Anyway, he told me there are no guarantees. There’s no cure. But if he could offer me any advice for brain health it’s that the three keys are ‘exercise, socialize, and memorize,’” I say as I cruise along the street, climbing a slight hill. “Of course, that’s just hopeful advice, he’d said. There’s no medical proof that anything can prevent memory loss, but those things could possibly help. I figured I’ve already got the exercise part aced, so it can’t hurt to keep working on my brain,” I admit, telling her something I don’t really reveal to anyone.

  “I’m sorry about the loss. And what he went through. And you,” she says with sympathy. “That must have been so hard for everyone.”

  Apparently now that I’ve started sharing I can’t stop. A valve has loosened in me, so I add, “And maybe this makes me a selfish dick too, but what happened to him? It’s my greatest fear,” I admit. Maybe even more so than trusting someone else. The only person I know for certain I can trust is me. But what if I lose myself someday? The thought makes me shudder. “I hope I can have a different fate. A different future. So that’s why I try to do those things.”

  “Socialize?” she asks with a quirk in her lips, playfully busting me. “You like to socialize?”

  “With friends,” I say sternly. “Don’t get any ideas about me being a social butterfly.”

  She holds up her hands. “I would never. The memorize part though. Does that mean you do the class, memorize the info, and then take tests?”

  “Yep,” I say with a laugh. “I take a quiz every week. Like I’m in school again.”

  She’s quiet for a beat, perhaps absorbing that as I near Filbert Street. “Max,” she says softly.

  “Yes?”

  She sets a hand on my biceps. That simple touch from her is almost too much for me to handle as I drive. I do my best to focus on the road as she says, “I do know that some things are personal. I don’t want to use everything. I don’t want to use most things. I wish you’d see that.”

  I wish I could too. “I’ll try.”

  “Thank you.”

  We’re a few blocks from her home. She lets go of my arm, sighs, then says, “Lucas was my physical therapist. I was in the hospital for a while from the car accident. It was pretty bad. I had some surgeries. Some injuries. I needed rehab. He was one of the people who helped me a lot.”

  There are so many questions I want to ask her. So much more I want to know. But mostly I take what she’s said for the gift that it is—a piece of her after I gave her a piece of me.

  “I’m really glad he helped,” I say, meaning it as I pull up on her block, sliding into a spot right outside her townhome. I turn off the engine, then shoot her a cocky smile. “But I’m glad, too, you don’t like him. Fucking knew he wasn’t your type.”

  She swats my arm, but she’s smiling. “Can you ever just let a nice moment be?”

  I scoff. “You know the answer to that, sunshine. And it’s no.”

  “It sure is.”

  “Like you’d want it any other way.”

  She rolls her eyes. And this? This banter, this needling, this energy? It’s a million times safer than sharing these intimate pieces of ourselves with each other.

  I nod toward her townhome. “I’ll walk you up,” I say, then get out of the car. As I stride around the front of the vehicle, I remind myself to behave. I’ll escort her to the stoop, then say goodbye. Watch her as she goes up the steps, unlocks the front entryway, then disappears safely inside.

  That’s the plan as I open her car door.

  She steps out, and her brown eyes hold mine. But hers are full of curiosity. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

  “Doing what?”

  She tips her forehead toward the nearby steps. “Walking me home when I’m ten feet away. Showing me what you think a man should do on a date.”

  “I am,” I say, owning it.

  “Why?” Her tone is a touch desperate, like she has to know what’s really going on with me, and she pushes for it, asking, “Because you want to keep proving that Lucas is wrong for me? Max, you already won that battle. Why are you doing this?”

  That’s a great question actually. A fair fucking question too. I could say it’s the right thing to do. I could say I’d do this even if I wasn’t borderline obsessed with her. I could say that even if she were a friend I’d walk her up the steps. That’s all true. It’s what a man should do. But instead, I step closer, because the gravitational pull of Everly is too strong for me to resist. “Like I said, because that’s what I’d do if I were out with you.”

  “But we’re not. And you made your point earlier,” she says, lifting her chin, like she’s trying to stay strong even as her tone wobbles. Like she’s hurt. By my point? By Lucas? I’m not sure at all. “Lucas isn’t into me the way you think he should be.”

  But I am. And it’s a big problem. “Don’t want to talk about him anymore,” I mutter. “Just let me walk you to the door.”

  “Fine,” she says, her palms raised in surrender.

  I set my hand on her back again. A slight shiver seems to run through her when I touch her. I try not to let that go to my head. Or my dick.

  But as we go, I spread my fingers wider across the silk of her shirt. Press a little harder. Rub a little more. Curl my thumb around her waist. Register every hitch of her breath.

  By the time we’re at the top of the steps, my hand feels too right on her back to let go. “I’m not sure I have made my point, Everly.”

  She turns to me, facing me, so I have to drop my hand from her back. Her gaze is wary but intrigued, her eyes flickering with questions. “What’s your point exactly?”

  “Like I said earlier, if this was a date I’d walk you to the door.”

  “But it’s not. You keep telling me it’s not.” It’s like she’s trying to catch me on a technicality, or maybe to push me into admitting something. She doesn’t make a move to go inside. Her gaze is locked on mine, and the air is charged between us. It crackles with anticipation.

  “You’re right. It’s not,” I say, weighing how far I’ll go. What it’ll cost me.

  She rolls her lips together, then breathes out, like she’s centering herself. “And you did it anyway.”

  “True,” I say. Like I could do anything else with her. I couldn’t have stopped myself from showing up at The Spotted Zebra tonight if I’d tried. I couldn’t have resisted driving her home. I couldn’t have refrained from walking her up her steps. Now we’re standing in the warm October air, the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance, the ocean hugging us. And I’m not walking away—not with her closer than she’s ever been. I look at her lush mouth one more time, then her gorgeous eyes. “And if this were a date I’d kiss you at the door.”

  She’s quiet, but her lips curve up. “That’s not what you said at the restaurant.”

  Wait. I’m confused now. “That is what I said,” I point out.

  She crosses her arms, shaking her head, but she’s smiling and it’s flirty. Inviting. “No, Max. You said you’d devastate me with a kiss.”

  And that’s it. That’s enough. Just fuck it. Fuck everything. “I guess I’d better start.”

  She grabs the collar of my shirt in a challenge. “What are you waiting for?”

  20

  I HAVE EVERY IDEA

  Everly

  Max cups the side of my face—but he doesn’t kiss me. He slides his thumb along my jawline, but doesn’t dip his mouth to mine. He steps closer, but still makes no move to capture a kiss.

  I’m trapped in the tease of him. I back up against the railing, needing something to steady myself. He moves with me, still staring greedily at my mouth. Then my eyes. “You have no idea,” he mutters.

  Those four words rocket through my bloodstream, like a supernova. I’m lit up, sparkling everywhere, and he hasn’t even put me out of my sweet misery.

  “No idea what?” I ask, my voice feathery with need, with desire.

  “How much I want you.”

  I shiver from the confession. “How much?”

  He doesn’t tell me. He shows me. He runs the pad of his thumb along my jaw, like he’s memorizing me. Finally, he drops his face closer, but not close enough. I’m caught in the anticipation. His warm breath is like silk over my skin. The vein in his neck pulses. Heat radiates off his strong body.

  I close my eyes. It’s so much—his words, his touch, his need. I’m too shivery. Too aroused. I don’t even know what to hold onto. I’ve lost every shred of resistance, so I can’t hold onto that. But when I open my eyes, those blue irises of his are like flames. And I don’t want to hold onto a thing.

  I want to let go.

  He slides his thumb down to my chin, tilting up my face, like he’s finding the perfect position.

  I’ve thought about kissing Max countless times, but I never pictured this. I never imagined he’d take his sweet time. I never expected him to slow burn a kiss.

  But he’s killing me as he travels his thumb up to my mouth then runs it along my bottom lip. My breath catches and I whimper. Everything in me aches. “Just kiss me,” I murmur, a quiet demand.

  He smiles like a cocky asshole. “Don’t worry. I know you want it.”

  I roll my eyes. “Why do you have to ruin this by talk⁠—”

  Then I’m gasping, shuddering when he cuts me off, his lips meeting mine at last. It’s the barest of kisses. He hardly touches me. Just dusts those full lips over mine.

  But it’s enough for my knees to weaken. I curl my fingers around the collar of his shirt. My other hand seeks hold of him too, so I set my palm on his strong chest, drawing a sharp breath as I touch his firm muscles for the first time.

  He’s so solid. So sturdy. And I need this strength so much.

  Max holds my face in the most tender way as he gives me the softest kiss. His beard whisks across my skin. I can taste the hint of his raspberry-flavored lip balm.

  I feel like I’m floating.

  Like I’m melting too. I’m a liquid woman as Max Lambert delivers on his promise—he should devastate you with a kiss like he can’t fucking breathe if he doesn’t kiss you.

  Max does just that. He devastates me with a kiss I never saw coming.

  Because I imagined he’d kiss rough and hard. A little pushy. A lot of tongue. This kiss though? It’s soft and slow and mesmerizing.

  It’s the opposite of my expectations yet it’s exceeding all of them.

  He’s letting me feel every second of this moment. He’s getting to know my mouth. It’s intoxicating as he takes his time, deepening the kiss. I feel like I’m falling into this kiss, like he’s seducing me with a brush of his lips, a gentle stroke of his tongue, a confident hand holding my face.