Page 29 of Surviving the Break
I looked down at myself. Barefoot in light denim jeans and a gray t-shirt. “I only wear suits for work. As it happens, you’ve only ever seen me at work or coming from work.” I relieved him of his contribution and ushered him into the apartment.
“Wow, this place is stunning.” He ran a hand over the black marble countertop, eyeing the wrought-iron pot rack above the kitchen island.
I set the beer next to the bottle of scotch on the counter, then watched him head through the living room over to the stone fireplace, inspecting it, possibly looking for signs of faulty installation.
“Did this come with the place, or did you have it installed after moving in?”
“Everything you see came with the place,” I answered, hoping he liked it.
Max felt around the bottom edge, then dusted his hands off, facing me, a look of embarrassment on his face. “Sorry. Hazards of the job.”
“No need to apologize. I love seeing you work. So, did it pass inspection?”
He smiled. “They did a fine job of it.” His brows rose at the empty dining area.
“I haven’t had time to finish decorating. I’m hardly home in time to eat, so a table set is on the bottom of the priority list.”
I tracked him as he admired the wood flooring, and his eyes bulged when he noticed the outside roof patio and pool. Max and I were different in some ways, but I didn’t see judgment for my opulence reflected in his gaze. He didn’t hold my lavishness against me. He showed only appreciation for a job well done and maybe a hint of calculation as to the ways he could’ve done it better. It cemented what I already guessed about him. Max evaluated people by their content of character, not their exterior display. One of my favorite things about him.
“You’re more than welcome to join me for a swim later on.” The moment became charged.
“Um—”
“It’s a friendly offer. You can come by anytime to make use of the pool or hot tub. With or without me.”
His eyes moved past me and into the kitchen. “What’s cooking? Smells amazing.”
“That would be my mother’s spaghetti recipe.” I went over and lifted the lid, giving it a final stir before turning off the burner. “I’ve got homemade garlic bread in the oven and a garden salad.”
“When can we eat?”
“Now.” I chuckled, opening the cabinets for some plates, then dishing and serving. It brought me primal pleasure to be the one responsible for his sustenance.
We made small talk in between bites, but nothing that went beyond work and plans for The Center. Once finished, Max sat back on the bar stool, rubbing his stomach. “Hands down the best spaghetti I’ve ever had.”
I topped off his tumbler of scotch and popped the top on another beer for myself. “That’s only because you’ve never had my mother’s. Thank you, anyway.” Who knew the way to Max’s heart was a good home-cooked meal. I’d burned everything the first time and had to rush to the market to buy the ingredients again. I bought double the amount that time, just in case. Good thing I did. Third time’s the charm.
“Are you trying to get me drunk, Ash?” His expression was playful.
“Just trying to ease some of the nervous energy.” Good things happened when Max was rid of his edginess. I flashed back to our first experience at Hunt’s Bar. Max was a bundle of nerves when I slid onto the stool a couple seats down from him. After a few more beers, he couldn’t get his hands on me soon enough. I sighed internally.
“So, what now?”
“Now, wereallyget to know each other better. As friends.” I added the latter at his look of suspicion.
“And how do we do that, Ash?”
“With a game. Let’s take the party over to the couch.”
Max reluctantly kicked off his shoes, and we settled onto the sofa. I pretended not to notice his second-guessing. His distrust in my motives did sting. I feared I would only end up reinforcing his thoughts, but I tried not to focus too much on that. From our positions, I could feel the sparks flying between us like tiny pinpricks against my skin. The way he rubbed at his arms said he felt it too. “Cold?” I asked, unable to help myself.
He dropped his hands. “No.”
I pulled a deck of cards from under a cushion. “The game is called Ice Breaker.There’s three levels, one being the easiest, one-word answers only. As we level up, the questions get more challenging. We’ll need to dig a lot deeper for the answers. Fair warning, things can get a bit racy.” I placed the deck face down between us. Max’s cheeks were rosy from the scotch, and he pulled at the collar of his shirt. “Do you want to go first?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“How about I read the questions, and we give ourhonestanswers at the same time?”
