Page 50 of Worlds Collide

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I thought after so many years you’d be better.”

“Hey, Max, I beat your ass.” He snorts though I can tell he really tries not to.

“I won a set and the last one was seven-six. Yes you won, but you didn’t destroy me. Give me another six months using tennis to avoid my emotions and I’ll be winning a damn grand slam.”

Now I’m the one snorting. “You’re good. You’re actually pretty good with your Nadal-like ferocity, but you’ll never bethatgood.”

“Why not?” he demands in a high pitched voice. I smirk at him, mostly because I know he doesn’t like it.

“First, because professional players start way younger than in their mid-thirties?—”

“Mid-thirties?” he shouts, clearly offended but I just roll right through.

“And secondly, because theyretirein their mid-thirties.”

“I am thirty-three,” he whisper-shouts.

“I know, Max.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him and go back to eating.

I sigh happily after I’m done and lean back in the booth with my cup of coffee in my hands. Today has been surprisingly good. Even after Wolf apologized yesterday I didn’t know how hanging out with him would go.

I’m glad I decided to take a walk yesterday. I’m glad I found him batting balls like it was his job and he was doing his best to destroy the fence on the other side of the court. It was a new side to Wolf, just like seeing the way everything about him changed when he apologized was a new side. And today, the smartass part I already knew, but the funny side, the lighthearted side... those are new, and I’m dangerously close to stepping over theattractionline.

Liking Wolf seems like a dangerous game to play, kind of like Russian Roulette. Thrilling and possibly deadly. Yeah, that’s the best way I can think of to describe Wolf Storm.

Even now, after he laughed only a minute ago, he looks like there’s a storm brewing right over his head—no pun intended.

There are probably a thousand thoughts going through his mind right now, and his frown could be a permanent ailment, but to me it screams that nothing in his head makes him happy.

“So, what have you been doing all week locked up in your house?” I ask, trying to keep him in a good mood.

He shrugs but then sighs loudly, like it’s a terrible inconvenience to have to talk to me—I swear I’m on a roller coaster with this man.

“I finally unpacked the last of my boxes.”

“Only now?” That seems like a long time to have boxes lying around.

“Yes, I’ve been busy,” he says tartly. I roll my eyes. Seriously, how many moods can a man have in one minute?

“But weren’t the boxes in the way?”

“No,” he says and looks up at me like I’m the crazy one. “I put them in the room that’s supposed to be my office and closed the door.”

“You didn’t want to use the office?” I ask delicately. Seems anything can be like triggering a land mine with him, so I have to tread lightly.

“What would I need an office for? It’s not like I’m working, and also, I’ve never in my life used or needed an office.”

“Didn’t you have your house built?” Now I’m really confused.

“Yeah,” he sighs defeatedly and leans back in his seat. “The architect just suggested it and I went along with the whole thing.”

“Well, you don’t have to have an office there, you can make that room into anything you want.”

He crosses his arms and looks at me like he’s focusing really hard.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” I take a sip and think about it. “How big is it?”

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