It's a Friday night tradition for Max.
You see, Jace is recently widowed. He lost his wife of seven years last year to a tragic illness. Not only has he been left a widower at the age of thirty, but he is also a single father to a little girl about six months younger than Max. Let me tell you, Scarlett is the cutest redhead you've ever seen, and she is the spitting image of her mother.
Jace owns Flirt Enterprises, a huge conglomerate of social media dating sites. From what Fiona has told me, between his job and his daughter, Jace has no time left for himself. Knowing exactly how that feels, she takes Scarlett on Friday nights so that the boys can watch a hockey game, shoot some hoops, or just sit around and drink beers.
Nick, previously unbeknownst to me, is obviously a part of the boys, and decided not to cancel Friday night altogether. But rather, he went to his friend's house to spend the evening with him and the kids. I have to admit, spending his Friday nights with married men isn't very playboy like.
He's such a contradiction.
Nice when you thought he wasn't.
Helpful when you had no idea he even knew the definition of the word.
What is it they say-don't judge a book by its hard, chiseled, exterior? Well, not quite, but something like that.
"Hey," Nick says softly as he comes up the stairs. Max is already in his pajamas and sound asleep resting his head on Nick's shoulder.
"Hey," I respond quietly, jumping to my feet and almost fall over from the wave of dizziness that hits me. "Let me help you."
Nick shakes his head as he crosses the room. "I got this."
Wanting to assist in removing Max's outerwear, but wondering if I can actually make it up the stairs without stumbling, I decide to sit back down and will the spinning room to stop. I know I'm not drunk. Two glasses of wine and then some isn't enough to intoxicate me.
Nick's strides are quick, and he is up the stairs even quicker.
I close my laptop and shut my eyes, pressing the heels of my palms to my forehead in order to concentrate on gaining my stability.
Minutes pass, and then suddenly the overhead lights flick on. I hadn't realized I'd been sitting in the dark. I move my hands away from my face and blink. My vision blurs and then finally clears.
"Rough night?" Nick asks, taking his coat off and hanging it in the closet near the front door.
"Shitty day," I tell him honestly, and quickly add, "But the night hasn't been so bad."
He's standing beside me in a moment and pointing to the bottle. "I can tell," he says with a smirk. "Mind?"
Surprised he drinks wine, I fight a smile as I push it his way. "Help yourself."
When he reaches for a glass from the cupboard, I can't help but notice how long and lean he is. I've seen his bare torso, I've seen his bare ass, but I've obviously never paid enough attention to how good he looks in suit pants and a white shirt.
Pouring the last of the wine into first my glass and then his own, he dips his chin toward the empty bottle. "So, tell me Tess," he says, in that authoritative manner I used to think was condescending, but now know is just the way he speaks, "why was your day so shitty?" The note of concern in his tone strangely makes me feel like my blood is on fire.
Ignoring this very wrong illicit reaction, I glance up a little too fast and have to grab the island I'm sitting at for support.
Like lightning speed, his glass is down, he has one hand on my shoulder, and the other lifting my chin to look into my eyes. "Hey, Tess, are you okay?"
It's odd but there is this hot, thick feeling inside me that I become aware of almost instantly when his warm skin touches mine. I write it off as too much wine. "Yes, I'm fine. I think I'm just tired."
Letting go of my shoulder, he points to the nearly empty bowl beside me. "Have you eaten anything besides popcorn today?"
Feeling like a fool, I suddenly know why I'm out of sorts. Obviously drinking on an empty stomach is very irresponsible of me, and I have to own up to my stupidity. "No, I haven't," I admit. "But I'm fine now."
Instead of chastising me, or worse, calling me on my irresponsibility, like I probably would have done if the tables were turned, he simply responds with, "Yes, I can see that," and then strides toward the refrigerator.
Curious as to what he is doing, I twist in my stool. "How was your night?"
Bending, he rummages through the contents before him. "It was a good time. We ordered pizza, the kids played, and Jace and I watched hockey."
"Sounds fun. It certainly looked like Max enjoyed himself."