Page 92 of Cream and Punishment
“Us.” He laughed. “At risk of sounding like the duke in that book, I want to court you, Dekker. If you’ll let me, that is. I want to see what grows.”
Holy jalapeño poppers. Did I slip into a coma in the past hour or so? There was no way this could be happening. And yet, here we were.
Rather than the enthusiasticyes!threatening to burst out of me, what came out instead was a quiet, “Does this mean you figured out what love is?”
He set the fruit on the counter and moved closer to wrap his arms around me. And,boy, howdy,did that feel like the physical manifestation of a symphony’s chill-inducing crescendo.
He smiled faintly, letting down the spears of nonchalance guarding his soul until I could glimpse it in all its glory. “I think I’m starting to.”
“In that case,” I managed to say around my heart, which had decided to lodge itself in my windpipe, “I accept. Wholeheartedly. Court away, Max.” I stood on my tiptoes to get closer to his ear and whispered, “Now put your fruit back on.”
thirty-one
Booker,thoughanundeniablyhandsome man, in a neat, buttoned-up kind of way, was not my Prince Charming. He was punctual and the perfect gentleman, funny and way smarter than me. But our romantic chemistry was negative twelve.
To make matters worse, I kept zoning out thinking about Max over our ravioli and fettuccine alfredo. Which I felt horrible about, and would frantically play catch-up using context clues when I zoned back in. On the plus side, I had experience with this from my daily life zone-outs. On the downside, Booker deserved better.
Which was exactly what I told him as he walked me to my door at the end of the night.
“I really enjoyed myself,” I assured him. “Thank you for inviting me and making the wedding detail-sorting experience as enjoyable as possible. Really. I’m sorry.”
He chuckled, a faint pink tinge spreading over his prominent cheekbones. “Don’t feel bad, Dekker. I had a good time, honestly, and I got to spend my evening with a beautiful woman.”
I looked away, smiling despite myself. In my completely unbiased opinion, I lookedsmokin’tonight. Orsmokin’for me, at least. A win by relativity alone is still a win. So there.
“For what it’s worth” —I shrugged sheepishly— “I don’t think you’ll have too much trouble finding your Princess Charming.”
“Guess I’ll have to work faster next time for that, huh?” He winked, then lowered his voice and leaned in. “Has he asked you out yet? Because I thought Saturday was going to be my last day on Earth.”
I laughed. “Assuming we’re thinking about the same person, yes. He has.”
Tomorrow, in fact.
What I wouldnottell Booker, however, was that, after I accepted Max’s plea for an official date, he’d retrieved a small box from his room. The white elephant gift he’d gotten at the squad Christmas party, with Lex’s familiar scrawl in all caps:
VOUCHER: GOOD FOR ONE DATE WITH DEKKER PIPER
When I’d first found out he’d gotten that, I’d been mortified, especially considering our spotty history. Now, that little note card was my favorite piece of paper in the world, because Max had kept it. For six months. So that was something.
“Good,” Booker replied, dragging me back to the present. “He’s a lucky guy.” He gently took my hand and placed a feather-light kiss on the top of it before backing down the hall, his movements precise and controlled. It was straight out of a romance book, yet there weren’t any flutters like I felt from a single look from Max. “See you in a week, maid of honor.”
“See you at the wedding, best man.” And with that, I let myself into my home and shut the door with a new conviction.
My feelings for Max weren’t born only out of convenience or because he was the only man who showed any interest in me. A month or so ago, I would’ve believed that was the only option for me—settling for what I could get. But now?
Max Fuentes had ruined me for all other men.
thirty-two
Maxusheredmeintohis apartment, breathless and smiling. “Sorry, I’m running a little late. Isaiah just traded off with me for surveillance tonight, but I got here as soon as I could.” He looked over his shoulder as he headed down the hall, already unbuttoning his shirt. “I only need five minutes, promise.”
“Take your time,” I called.
I occupied myself with inspecting the colorful flower canvas on his wall.Good soil. I wasn’t sure what constituted “good” soil, but whatever this was between us, it felt pretty dang good to me.
When I finally turned from inspecting the bright print, I stopped short as I caught sight of his couch. “Did you get athrow pillow?”
Not just any throw pillow, either. A ravioli with cute little eyes and a mustache, and on the top corner, a shiny bow stuck on it like a Christmas present.
