But he’s opened up about his family, his grandfather, his sister. I need to give him more of me.

  No. I want to. “This might sound…strange,” I begin.

  “Try me,” he says.

  “I escape into the studio.”

  He tilts his head, clearly intrigued, but also surprised. Before he can say another word, I add, “It’s called Upside Down—the studio I go to. It’s a pole class.”

  “Pole?”

  It’s like his brain is reassembling what a lot of people think of pole—isn’t that what strippers do? And sure, it is.

  “It isn’t just for strip clubs. It’s for fitness and for fun. And also for escape. I was there earlier on the night you came over. It’s…” I stop and compose myself, but it’s easier to say this than I’d expected. Maybe because I’ve needed to for a while. “It’s where I was going the night Marie died. The night I almost died.”

  37

  JUST IN TIME

  Everly

  Max’s face is ashen. “I knew the accident was serious. But I didn’t know it was that bad,” he says, then shakes his head like he’s mad at himself. “I should have realized.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t know because I didn’t really say how bad it was,” I say gently, since I’m the one who held back.

  He reaches for my hand this time. “What happened?” It’s said like he’s imploring me to tell him, but he doesn’t need to because now that I’ve started I’m not going to stop.

  “You know how I told you she used to have this thing about saying yes?”

  “I do.”

  As a gentle fall breeze rustles the leaves in the nearby trees, I begin. “She loved to try new things and admittedly, I did too, so that was something we did together, but she took the lead. She’d leave Post-it notes in the apartment about different things she wanted to try. Pole dancing was one of them. I don’t know why. Maybe somebody came to her restaurant who was a dancer, but she got it in her head that we had to do it. She looked it up and found the studio through their online videos and signed us up for a class.” I pause for a moment. Max waits patiently for me to share more so I keep going. “So we were all set and I was running a few minutes late, which never happens, but it happened then. And I drove us.”

  I stop to take a breath since this is when it gets harder. When the memories threaten to slam into me at a terrifying speed. “We were almost there. I was making a left turn. Nothing out of the ordinary. But out of nowhere, a car slammed into her side.”

  My heart seizes as the images flash fast, hard, relentlessly. Hitting me in the chest, in the mind—everywhere. But I have the tools to stay grounded in the present. In the smell of the fall flowers, in the feel of the wood of the table, in the bell-like jingle of the wind chimes, and…in Max’s bright eyes. “The next part I don’t remember clearly. I only remember snapshots. The airbags releasing at record speed. A horrifying sound of crunching and metal. The car rolled. I felt a…snap. The world turned upside down. I was trapped against the door, I think. The window shattered. There was glass and metal all over my side, and I could feel the heat from the fire somewhere, but all I was doing was trying⁠—”

  I stop. Cover my mouth with my free hand. Fight off the onslaught of tears. But I can’t smother them. What’s the point in even trying? Some stories just come with tears.

  I lower my hand, and let them fall as he grips my other hand, like he’ll hold on for all time.

  I try again. “I was frantically trying to unbuckle her—I don’t even know why. I think she was already gone. But I didn’t know that. I had to save her. Then I heard sirens and fire trucks and they were pulling us out…The next thing I remember was waking up from surgery. There were all these machines and noises, and my throat hurt and my mouth was dry. My head was aching. I was thirsty. Then I remembered—her. What happened to her? Where was she? Was she okay? The nurse kept saying, you’re okay, honey. They got you out just in time.”

  Max rolls his lips together, clearly holding in his own emotions as I wade through the ocean of mine. I can’t stop the crying. The tears and me are one. “But there was no just in time for her.”

  I stop because it’s too hard to talk past the noose tightening my throat. I need several seconds to breathe, and I take all of them fully. “My mom was there. She’s the one who told me that Marie was gone. And I felt like I’d died too, but I was still alive to feel all the hurt.”

  “I’m so sorry for all of this. I’m so sorry she’s gone. I know you loved her,” Max says, with so much hurt in his voice too.

  I never used that word with him—love—but I never had to. He knew. He could tell.

  “She was like my family,” I say. “I’d known her since I was five. I’m not close to my parents. They’re complicated and critical. But Marie was the opposite. She was like my sister. And somehow, incomprehensibly, in the middle of all this, I was alive and in this very broken body.”

  “You’re not broken,” he says with so much intensity but also with cracks in his own voice too. His eyes shine.

  But I was. Parts of me still feel that way. “I had a lot of surgeries for broken bones and for burns, and I went to rehab for my injuries.” I look at him straight on and I might as well be naked as I say, “But I still have scars all over my back and my left side. I didn’t hate them at first. I don’t even know that I do hate them. But when I tried to date again, the first guy I went out with…”

  I stop because I hate how weak this makes me feel. How insecure. How…vain.

  Max hisses, “Who made you feel this way? Who made you think you’re less than?”

  Less than.

  That’s exactly how I’ve felt ever since I last took off my clothes for another person. “He was just some guy. We dated for a month. He seemed…decent. Like a nice man. But once he saw—” I gesture to my upper arm, my back, my hip. “He ghosted me.”

  Max clenches his jaw. His eyes brim with fiery rage. “He’s the one who made you feel like you’re not good enough. He’s the one who hurt you.”

  “Maybe,” I say, then shrug, because I need to take some responsibility too. “But I think I did as well. I didn’t want to show anybody my body anymore. I didn’t want anyone to see all these imperfect pieces.”

  “He’s wrong,” he says, emphatic. “You’re beautiful everywhere.”

  I love that Max says that, but he hasn’t seen the worst parts of me. Even so, I’m trying to feel that way on my own too. Trying to trust myself. Trying to trust him. “Thank you. That’s why I go to pole. To escape from these less than feelings. To find myself again. To say yes again. But it’s taking me a real long time,” I say, forcing out a laugh—at myself—even though it’s not really funny. But I don’t want to drown in tears anymore. I try to swim out. “The other night, I finally took my shirt off at pole with my teacher, and I did some tricks in a sports bra and shorts for the first time. I hadn’t done that before. I didn’t want anyone to see me. I don’t really show the scars to anyone. I honestly think my teacher is the only one who’s seen them. But I felt safe there.”

  Max runs his hand along my bare arm. His touch is gentle this time, reassuring. “How did you feel when you did the tricks?”

  I don’t fight off a smile now. “Pretty damn badass.”

  He presses his forehead to mine. “You are badass. And beautiful.” He pulls back, pinning me with his strong gaze. “And today, out like this…you’ve never looked sexier.”

  I run one hand over my shoulder. I’d almost forgotten my skin was on display, but none of the waitstaff have looked at my shoulder with a poor you look in their eyes. No one has noticed the scars except this beautiful man sitting across from me, and all he’s done is praise them.

  “You don’t have to show them to me until you’re ready, but you need to know this, Everly—I’m not that guy.”

  It’s my turn to reassure him. “I know you’re not. And it means a lot to me to know that. Truly, it does.”

  “Good.” That one word has more passion than anything I’ve ever heard. “Like I said, we can take everything at your pace. But I’m not going to freak out. You have to trust me.”

  I want to trust him. But trust is a blade that could cut me all over again. “I’ll try. I promise.”

  “I promise to always earn it.”

  My chest tingles and a warm, heady pull tugs low in my belly. His eyes say he does too. For a second, I’m convinced he’ll risk a kiss and that I’ll say yes and melt into his arms. But the moment is broken when a server comes out and brings us our food. Maybe we needed this levity. This break.

  When he’s gone, Max says, “Thank you for telling me.”

  I tug on the neckline of the kind of a shirt I’ve only had the guts to wear with him. “Thank you for giving me a chance to wear a shirt like this.”

  His eyes fill with warmth. And a tenderness that says he understands exactly what that means. “You can have all your chances with me.”

  The thing is, I think I know that.

  But I wish that I hadn’t found all these chances in a man I’m not supposed to be with. A man I can’t figure out how to fit into the rest of my life.

  I made a promise three years ago to live my best life. I don’t know how to fit all these wild feelings for him into that promise. I don’t know how wanting him so deeply aligns with my career. With my need to support myself.

  This job pays for my life. I don’t have any fallbacks. I can’t rely on my family. I can’t take the risk especially when I’m lucky to be alive.

  But right now, I have to hold on to that luck for exactly what it means—today. This moment. I look around, soak up the sun, and tilt my face to the sky. I’m not trapped in a car that’s starting to burn. I look at Max once more. “At least there is this beautiful day.”

  We eat.

  When we’re done, Max says like it’s a dare, “Say yes to dessert.”

  “That’s easy. You know I like cake.”

  “Then say yes.” He’s so bossy.

  “Yes.”

  A few minutes later, a coconut cake with mango filling arrives, and we share it. When we’re done, the sun dips lower in the sky. Max looks to the nearby gravel lot, then me. “Say yes to coming to my place now.”

  As if I would say anything else. “Yes.”

  Then he flashes me an I’ve got a secret smile. “Good. Because there’s someone I want you to meet.”

  I blink. What? Who the hell could that be?

  38

  A STRIPTEASE

  Max

  As Athena curls her furry, little body around my hand, trying to kill my fingers and bring them home to me to prove she thinks of me as part of her clan, Everly declares, “You’re a cat person.”

  She says it like it makes all the sense in the world.

  “Does that surprise you?” I ask, sinking deeper into the couch in my living room.

  She’s right next to me, shaking her head. “The cat fits you.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say.

  “Of course you would.”

  “Of course you meant it that way,” I say as I hand wrestle the huntress I live with. “You’re a dog person, aren’t you?”

  “Um, yes. But you,” Everly says, and she’s too delighted. “You foster kittens and you’ve been keeping that a secret.”

  I shrug. “Can you blame me? If I’d told you I fostered kittens, you would’ve had a field day with it.”

  “You’re right. I would.” Her lips twitch with amusement. “Imagine if people knew what you’re really like.”

  “What am I really like?”

  She raises a hand. Counts off on her fingers. “A guy who fosters kittens. Who coaches underprivileged kids in hockey. Who asks his dad for help planning a date. Who cannot stop romancing me. You’re too sw⁠—”

  I cover her mouth with mine before she can say sweet. I give her a hard, punishing kiss, letting go of Athena. There’s nothing sweet about this kiss at all. It’s rough and demanding, full of teeth and fire. I tug on her bottom lip, then let go. “Don’t make me give you too many orgasms again.”

  “Oh, please. Punish me,” she says, then fiddles with the bottom of her T-shirt. “You know why I wore the shirt.”

  “Because it shows off your sexy shoulder?” It’s such a gift to compliment her.

  “Sort of,” she says, then tips her forehead toward the hallway. Don’t have to tell me twice. I offer my hand, then pull her up. Once we’re standing, she says, “I wore it because…it’s easy access.”

  Oh, hell yes.

  I scoop her up, toss her over my shoulder, and carry her to the main bedroom in seconds. I set her down on the plush carpet and she turns, checking out the floor-to-ceiling windows and the view of the city, lit up and sparkling, from Richardson Bay to the Golden Gate Bridge. But nothing compares to the view in front of me—Everly walking over to my king-size bed. She sits on it and pats the mattress, looking my way. “Is this where you fucked my panties?”

  Jesus. Her mouth. Her filthy mouth.

  I stalk over to her, cup her chin, lift that gorgeous face. “No. I couldn’t wait. Fucked them on my couch.”

  Her smile is filthy. “You dirty, horny man.”

  “Yes,” I say unapologetically.

  She teases at the bottom of her shirt. “Bet you fucked your fist, too, the night you found my lingerie in Seattle.”

  “I fucking did.”

  She nibbles on the corner of her lips, then asks, “Want to see all of that bralette?”

  That bralette.

  Those words echo in my mind. “You wore that bralette for me?”

  “Yes,” she says with a too-pleased smile.

  “Want to show me, sunshine?”

  It’s a question, not a demand. I’m not going to pressure her to take anything off. I don’t know if she’s stripping naked or not. She can take the lead.

  “I do,” she says, then stretches out on the bed, shimmying up to the pillows. She’s still wearing her jeans and the shirt, but in no time she whisks off the jeans and she’s down to the shirt, and the panties that match her bralette—they’re red lace too.

  I run a hand along her calf, savoring the soft feel of her skin. She takes the bottom of the shirt, slowly teases me with it and pulls it up, up, up, revealing her stomach that I want to kiss and lick.

  I take her invitation and climb onto the bed right as she’s pulling up the top to show me her bralette. Cherry red, with a dainty ruffle along the top.

  It hits me—this is the first time I’ve even had a peek at her tits and my mouth is watering. My chest is a furnace just from the hint of nipples under that sheer red lace.

  “Like it?”

  “Fucking love it,” I say, mesmerized as I roam my hands up her soft belly, push up the lace and free those tits. “Fuck me, they’re perfect.” They’re tight and the nipples are a dusky rose, and all I want to do is bury my face against that gorgeous flesh. I bend down, and suck on her right nipple, tugging on it, then drawing it between my lips. She gasps. And arches into me.

  It’s fucking glorious, the way she responds. She grabs my head, determined to keep me right there.

  Like I’d go anywhere else.

  I move to her other breast, kissing, then flicking my tongue along the nipple.

  “Max,” she moans, her fingers gripping me impossibly tighter, like they’re a vise, and she refuses to let go.

  Good. I love that she wants this so much. Wants me this much. I spend several lust-fueled minutes sucking on her tits till she’s breathless and arching her hips, begging for me.

  She pushes my head away.

  I rise up. She sits, then reaches under her shirt, and performs the calisthenics that women can do, tugging her bra out one sleeve, then tossing it to the floor.

  My chest floods with filthy gratitude. Is that a thing? I think it is, and I am feeling it in every cell in my body.

  It’s not lost on me that our intimacy has been a striptease. Each time we’re together she takes off one more item of clothing. Every night she sheds one more garment. Shares more of herself. She’s down to nearly nothing, and this is huge for her. I want to keep earning the chance to please her.

  She lies back down and pulls her shirt above her tits so the fabric is on top of her chest. She’s on display, and it can’t be easy for my woman. More of her scars are visible to me for the first time—the two jagged lines on her hip that I’ve seen, and now a hint of reddish-pink raised skin all along the side of her body. Those must extend to her back, the ones she’s most self-conscious of, the ones I can’t see now, and that’s okay.

  This is her pace. This is what she needs from me. But this is what I can give her—the truth of my heart. “Love the way you look right now,” I tell her.

  Her smile is instant and it’s mine. All mine.

  I reach for her and slide my hands up her sides, touching the smooth skin on her right side, the bumpy skin on the left. I hate that guy who hurt her self-esteem, but I fucking love that he showed himself the door so I could kick it open. “In case you’re wondering, I’m calling you tomorrow. I’m dirty texting you tomorrow. I’m bringing you a London fog tomorrow,” I say.

  She breathes out a long, shuddering sigh. “Fuck me tonight.”

  And my clothes vanish in seconds. Then I run a hand up her leg and across the red lace of her panties. “Let me take these off too.”

  “You better,” she says.

  I slide them down her legs, taking my time, enjoying her being exposed to me. She’s glistening and the more I see, the harder I get. When her panties are all the way off, I bring them to my nose and inhale her greedily. “Fucking delicious,” I say, then, like the filthy man I am, I flick my tongue along the wet panel and taste her arousal.

  She gasps, then shoves a hand between her thighs, playing with her clit.

  Yes. Fucking yes.

  I drop the panties to the floor and kneel between her legs, spreading her thighs. As she watches me, I stroke my dick. “Trust me, Everly,” I say, shuttling my fist down my hard length. “I want you even more than I did before.”