“I’m surprised you noticed.”
“Oh, I noticed all right. Were you not enjoying it?” I can hear the blatant amusement in his voice; he must really get a kick out of winding me up like this.
“No, I wasn’t enjoying it. I hate chick flicks, and I want to see Furious 7.” Now, I’m the one sounding like a petulant child.
“What are we going to do with you?” he asks, shaking his head and laughing.
“Shut up.” I nudge him but start to laugh myself. “Do I have to go back inside?” My eyes flick up to watch his and notice the way they darken and focus on my lips. He inches toward me and takes my hands in his, pulling me gently to him. Willingly, I move forward until his arms slide around to hold the small of my back, before one hand skims up my spine to cradle my head.
“Let’s go.” His voice is so low, almost a whisper.
“What about Kyle and bimbo Barbie?” That’s what I get for looking at him for too long, my mouth runs away with itself. He laughs.
“I told them to keep each other company, and that I’d take care of you.” His hand slides down from the base of my skull to the back of my neck and around to cup my jaw, sending a tingle down my spine.
“Will you?” My voice is embarrassingly breathy.
“Oh yes, I will definitely take care of you.” His head dips toward my upturned one, to claim my lips in a kiss that is totally different from the one in the garage. With a gentle firmness, he takes charge, his tongue slipping past my lips to wrap around mine in a way that has my toes curling with pleasure. Heat rushes through my whole system, sending my heart slamming against my chest at an alarming rate. My hands that were hanging uselessly by my side grab the material of his shirt and grip tightly.
His skillful tongue continues to caress mine before he bites down on my bottom lip. The way my body presses into his, it looks like I’ve got him pinned to the wall.
“Let’s go,” he murmurs and slows his kisses. By the time he pulls back, I am weak-kneed and ready to follow him anywhere.
Max grasps my hand firmly in his and leads me out to his GTO. He waits until I’m strapped in to start the car. He pulls a u-turn and heads down Main Street. I’m surprised when we pull into the lot of the diner. I turn to him.
“Is this where you bring all your dates?” I ask cheekily.
“No, but if I took you where I want to take you, you’d knee me in the balls.” He laughs; he knows me so well.
• • •
Max sits opposite me and links hands with mine over the table. Part of me is hoping he would take me where I’m sure he takes most of his dates, and that’s his bed, but that wouldn’t be a good idea. At least he rescued me from that sappy movie.
“I don’t sleep with as many girls as people think.” It’s uncanny that he can read my mind like that, one eyebrow raised, watching for any sort of reaction.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“No, but you were thinking it. You get this glazed look in your eyes every time you think about sex. Or you and me.”
“I do not,” I protest, but the corners of my mouth twitch as I suppress a laugh at the size of his ego.
“You do, too. I’ve known you long enough now.”
I shake my head and look down at our joint hands, wondering how we have gone from trading insults to holding hands in the diner like it’s the most natural thing.
“So, why won’t you date me, Storm?” The bewilderment in his voice throws me, and I don’t even notice his use of my unwanted nickname. “You agreed to go on a date with Kyle, and he races.” His lips turn down a little at the corners.
I sigh heavily and bow my head, fascinated at the way our hands fit together perfectly, and how natural it feels to hold his hand.
“You’re dangerous, Max, and it scares me.”
“I’m dangerous? I’ve seen you drive; you like it as much as I do.”
“I know, and I fight it. I love racing, and fast cars or bikes, whatever, but it tore my family apart. My dad and uncle were racers, and my mom left because of it. I’ve seen Dad get patched up more times than I care to remember. It is because he was racing that I’ve come home. I can’t live like that; I can’t always come second to a car.”
“But if you love cars.”
“I do, but I don’t want to always be worrying whether you’ll come home in one piece or if you will even come home at all,” I blurt out; my chest heaves as I try to breathe normally after my little outburst.
“Me, specifically?”
“What? No. Just anyone in general,” I backtrack.
“We could race together.” He arches his eyebrow, and now I feel like he’s teasing me.