Max made a grunting, choking-type noise in response and threw the TV remote to his side, paying no attention to the people on the screen.
"You've spoken to Tate?" Carter prodded. "Or Elliot? Max, if you need something-"
"Carter, I'm fine. Honestly," Max interrupted, his voice softened by his friend's concern. "Actually, it's nothing to do with any of that."
"Huh. Okay. So what's up?"
Max frowned trying to find a simple answer to a complicated question, but the only one he could come up with on the spot was Grace. Max wasn't really sure if he wanted to talk to Carter about Grace because, frankly, he didn't really know what there was to say and, besides, he didn't want Carter to get the wrong impression.
Max's interactions with Grace over Fourth of July had been great, but, admittedly, had also left his head in a bit of a spin. And despite their returning from the cabin three days ago and falling back into their normal working and running routine, they had yet to address the huge fucking elephant in the room every time they were alone together: they still hadn't fucked.
He couldn't remember ever having such a dire case of blue balls and he hated that his patience was fraying. Jesus, the girl had been through a shitload of heartache and Max understood her timidity, but Grace's obliviousness to her own attractiveness had him wanting to throw her down on any nearby horizontal surface and make her forget why she was afraid of sex in the first place.
Since she'd tried to seduce him in her sexy red underwear and then proceeded to vomit up several dollars' worth of alcohol, she'd seemingly taken a step back from him. She was still the easygoing, playful Grace whom Max had grown to know, but the caution he'd seen in her eyes the first time they'd met had returned. And, if Max was truly honest with himself, its appearance had hurt. He'd asked her if she was all right, if he'd done something to upset her, to scare her off, but she'd laughed and waved a dismissive hand at his concerns, telling him that she was fine.
Yeah. That shit was right. She was fine. Too damned fine.
He rubbed a hand down his face, noticing another brushstroke of blue paint on his palm. Yeah, he'd even started painting again in an effort to curb his salacious thoughts, to try to stave off the cravings he had for Grace, but it wasn't working. His paintings were, as always, frantic and hurried in their creation, his frustration filling the canvases as quickly as he set them up.
Maybe this was why addicts were told not to start any type of relationships when they were first recovering. It would certainly make sense. Max's desire to lose himself in Grace's body was as strong as his need for coke had been when he first entered rehab.
"Shit." He sat up, still holding the phone to his ear. "Look, man, I'm gonna go. I got some stuff to take care of."
Carter huffed. "Fine. You know where I am if you change your mind. You take care, you hear me?"
Max smiled despite himself. "I will. Later, brother."
He ended the call and threw his cell next to the remote before he changed into a clean pair of shorts, grabbed his Vans, and yanked them onto his feet. He slipped his wallet into his pocket, collected his rental keys, and lifted the painting that had been propped up against his room wall for a number of weeks, hoping it was the icebreaker he and Grace needed.
As she always did, Grace opened the door to her house with a beaming smile. The sound of Marvin Gaye's "Got to Give It Up" was playing in the background. How ironic.
Max smiled back, fidgeting and unexpectedly nervous. "Hey." His eyes traveled down her strapless blue sundress to her bare feet. He smirked at the blue polish on her toes.
"Were we supposed to be meeting for a run today?" She frowned. "I thought you had to work with Vince."
"No. I mean, yeah, I did work," Max replied, flustered. "We finished early so, I, um, I wanted to bring you this." He held up the painting she'd commented on the day she'd brought pizza to his room; the day she'd let him see her naked chest, suck on her nipples, and-
"Really?" she exclaimed, her eyes wide and excited. "I can have this?"
Max shrugged, handing it to her. "Sure. I said so, didn't I?"
Grace grinned. "Thank you. It's wonderful." She spent a moment looking at the canvas of gold, browns, and caramels, and a soft look of something that made Max's stomach clench flittered across her face. "I know exactly where it'll look amazing." She glanced up and tilted her head toward the interior of the house. "I have to be at the bar in a few hours, but you wanna come in? I've just made some lemonade."
Max took a deep breath and nodded. "Sounds good."
The house was truly fantastic now that Grace had all her furniture. Her photographer's eye made sure that all the deco was tasteful and she'd utilized the space perfectly. Max took a moment to appreciate the soft colors of green and cream in which she'd painted the sitting room, and the deep brown leather sofa and light wood coffee table in the center of it. A green rug lay on the floor by a large bookcase of the same beech-wood tones while the walls were punctuated with sepia photographs that Max assumed Grace had taken, leading up the bare wood stairs to the upper level. The July sunshine filled the space through the French windows, which Grace had propped open, bringing the natural colors of the surrounding forest into her home.