Taking Chances: Tangled Up Part 29

He tried to breathe. That wasn't working either.

"Be right back," he choked out as he lurched to his feet and headed for the kitchen.

Please don't let her follow.

He needed a second. Or five hundred seconds.

She got it. Kind of. She'd heard him when he talked about romance, and she'd understood it, and . . .

Dammit, that photo was romantic.

Max braced his hands on the edge of the sink and let his head drop. How was he supposed to resist her? He wanted her. He'd had her and he wanted more. So much more. And now she was giving him the most thoughtful gift anyone had ever given him and realizing it was big. Really big.

He was a goner. He was screwed. He was in way too deep.

He lifted his head and stared out the window over the sink.

He wasn't sure he'd ever wanted anything more in his entire life.

Okay, so he could do this. He was going to go out there, finally throw her over his shoulder, take her to her house where they could be uninterrupted for the rest of the night-and maybe most of tomorrow-and do everything he'd been denying he wanted for the past twelve years.

Max pulled in a final deep breath and pushed away from the counter.

But when he went back into the living room, he found her curled up in the corner of his mom's couch, her shoes kicked off, knees pulled up, the throw blanket over her feet. She had a notebook open and balanced on her knees.

She didn't look ready to be thrown over his shoulder.

She glanced up. "You okay?"

"Not sure." He crossed to the couch and sank down slowly. "What's the plan here?"

"We hang out."

"Hang out?"

"Yeah. You said you had work to do. I do, too. So we'll work together."

"You have work to do?"

She smiled. "It's my plan for the day Ashley's going to shadow me. The things I want to cover and how."

He turned on the couch, draping an arm over the back and narrowing his eyes. "Just a quiet night at home?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

She closed the notebook with her finger marking her spot. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"I want to see if I still want to kiss you when there's no danger or drama."

Max felt his heart bang against his ribs. That was big, too. And she got it.

Yeah, he'd really like to know that, too. He also really loved that she wanted to know that.

He'd worry about what it meant later if she did want to kiss him without danger or drama. Or if she didn't.

He gave her a nod. "Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She smiled and opened her notebook, and Max turned to his computer.

Over the next thirty minutes, Max was very aware of her. He was used to being at home in the evenings alone, and it was amazing how another person, just being there, changed the feel of the room. The air seemed to smell sweeter and was warmer than usual in this case.

He noticed her breathing and was aware that her toes periodically slid on the cushion and up against the side of his thigh before she tucked her knees up again. But he was, surprisingly, able to concentrate. He got his Hays report done even while wondering about what she was planning, and noting that, according to the page-turning rate, she was a fast writer. He smiled to himself at that. Of course she was fast. Writing was a relatively quiet activity, but it still engaged her mind and emotions, and she would do whatever part of it she could . . . fast.

Her toes b.u.mped against his leg again, and he took hold of her feet and settled them in his lap.

He glanced over and found her smiling at him.

"This is nice," she commented.

He didn't know about her, but he definitely wanted to kiss her.

"It is," he agreed.

But it made him nervous anyway. Because at age seventeen, sitting on the couch like this-on this couch like this-had bored her.

"What are you working on?" she asked.

"Just some plans for the training center."

She put down her notebook. "Already? That just came up."

"Jake and I have talked about it before," Max said. "And I've had some of these ideas for even longer."

"Did you know he was going to bring it up at the meeting?" she asked.

"No. But I wasn't surprised. Jake wants to move back."

Bree's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yeah. Really." He was jealous of his cousin. Of both of them. They both had offers that would make it easy for them to move back and call Chance home again.

He had an offer, too. But nothing about it would be easy.

"So the center had nothing to do with you gushing to Ashley about me?" Bree asked.

Ah. She thought he'd set that up. Maybe to keep her in Chance. The idea that this could keep her here had occurred to him after the meeting. But he'd been a lot more focused on what that could mean for her-contentment, a rewarding job, a chance to feel needed and admired. In fact, her staying in Chance made his decision to move back more difficult for all the reasons he'd outlined the other night at A Bar.

"I didn't even realize how much I was talking about you to the university group until Ashley commented on how awesome you sounded," he said honestly. "It was all sincere, but unintentional gushing, I promise."

She considered that, then gave him a nod. "Okay. So what ideas do you have so far?"

He looked from her to the computer. "Just plans. For shelters and stuff. Boring stuff."

She leaned in, resting her elbows on her now-outstretched knees. "What is it with you and that word?"

He looked at her. "What word?" He knew exactly what word she was talking about.

"Bored. Boring. You got mad at me using it the other night. Now you're saying this would bore me. What's up with that?"

Well, she'd been honest about coming over here to see if she'd still want to kiss him. He could be honest about what he was thinking.

"Just remembering sitting on this couch with you one time when you told me you didn't want to date me because you were bored."

That surprised her. He could feel the increased tension. She tried to pull her feet out of his lap, but he hung on.

She stopped pulling and looked at him. She seemed to be considering what she was about to say. Finally, she wet her lips and said, "I was seventeen."

"And you were bored with me."

"With dating you, yes," she said honestly.

He nodded. "So you can see why this time I'm a little gun-shy."

"I was seventeen, Max," she said again. "I thought bad boys were exciting and that I was going to backpack across Europe by myself and then become a CIA agent."

"You're still the same person," he said, absently rubbing his thumb over the arch of her foot.

She moaned softly, and his body tightened. Dammit. She was too responsive. And he was too responsive to her responses.

She cleared her throat. "I am the same person."

"Which means you'll still be bored with this quiet on-the-couch stuff."

"I probably would be. If it was the same quiet on-the-couch stuff," she agreed.

"Like this."

She shook her head. "Not like this. You wanted to hold hands and watch romantic comedies and go to dances and pool parties. You were the one who changed when we tried dating, Max. I was the same girl. If you had wanted to go hiking or skiing or you'd wanted to watch horror movies or play poker with our friends or dance at a club or skinny-dip after sneaking into the pool after hours, I would have been all in. If you had wanted to keep doing the things we'd done before we became an official couple,' it would have been great."

"You always needed the thrill." He sighed. "I wanted to be the thing that thrilled you. Not what we were doing."

"What we were doing was partly thrilling for me because you were there."

"You don't have to-"

"Yes, it was," she insisted over the top of his words. "When I was six, I first climbed that huge tree down by the river. I climbed it because you were already at the top. The climb was exciting, the view at the top was awesome, but what I can still remember, twenty-three years later, was you encouraging me, and then the huge grin you gave me when I got to the top."

"Bree, I-"

"And when I was eight and got on that dirt bike the first time, do you know what I remember? Crashing and sc.r.a.ping up my leg, and you running over, grinning and telling me that I'd taken the fall like a pro."

"But I-"

"I was a freshman when I got the starting spot on the varsity volleyball team. I was trying to hold back and not make the other girls hate me, but you walked behind me while I was at the serving line in our first game and you said, Play ball, for f.u.c.k's sake.' Do you remember that?"

He nodded. She clearly was building up to a point.

"There are probably a thousand other examples over the years," Bree said.

"Examples of what?"

"You pushing me to go harder and faster and do more and . . . be myself. Do the things I loved full-out."

He nodded. "Of course. I always loved all of that about you."

She sat back. "Exactly. At least, that's what I thought. But then we started dating and you wanted to do all of this stuff that wasn't me. All I could think was that you liked me as a friend when I was myself, but to be your girlfriend, I had to be something else. Something softer and quieter."

Max's heart squeezed hard in his chest. He stared at her.

f.u.c.k.

She did have a point.

He swallowed. "So you thought I was the one who didn't want you?"

"I just thought we were obviously happier as friends doing all the stuff we'd always done."

He pressed his thumb into her arch again, dragging it along the curve.

"Oh my G.o.d," she moaned, her notebook falling onto the cushion.

He stroked along her foot again, getting another moan and having to shift her feet away from his fly or give away how much he was enjoying those sounds.

"You paint your toenails?" he asked, noticing for the first time the deep-purple color.

Because of course it wouldn't be pink or red. She also had rings around her middle toes and pinkies.

She nodded. "Kit."

Of course. "Kit talked you into more girlie stuff?" he asked, wondering how Kit felt about lingerie, and then pushing that thought away.