Max returns with a bottle and two glasses as the women from my book club begin arriving, so I shut the book and place it on my lap, rubbing my fingers along the paper edge while I watch him pour each of us a glass and set the bottle on the table.
I am so sleeping with this guy if I get the chance.
Like the second I get the chance.
Does it make me a little whorish that I'm planning on getting him naked when I don't even know his last name? When we haven't so much as kissed yet?
I don't care.
He hands me a glass as he sits beside me on the sofa then rests his hand on my knee, drawing his thumb back and forth on my bare skin.
By the time he leans over to mention how great this place is I'm wet and I don't think he's even trying to turn me on. He just is.
Which leads me to fantasize about what Max is like when he's trying. Is he a hair-puller? A dirty talker? Would he want to bend me over and fuck me from behind or would he want to look into my eyes while I straddle him?
God, I hope this is a short meeting.
The rest of the girls arrive, dropping their bags and getting drinks. They're making small talk about the weather and dawdling and I wish they'd all hurry the fuck up.
As the meeting finally gets underway Max moves his hand from my knee. My skin instantly cools from the loss of his touch and I think I can probably keep my arousal in check for an hour as long as he's not touching me. But then he moves his arm to the back of the couch, his fingers resting on my shoulder, and I'm not so sure. When he winds a strand of my hair around his finger my nipples harden. He's not even tugging, not really, but holy fuck, just that tiny amount of having my hair played with is provocative as hell.
As the group starts a discussion about the decisions that lead the female lead to ask her lover to share her with another man, I place my hand on Max's thigh. I figure it's only fair to attempt to make him as crazy as he's making me.
He's wearing jeans. The well-worn denim is faded in all the right places and it's soft under my hand. I easily feel the heat of his skin and the contour of his muscles through the fabric and while I'm tempted to take this a lot farther, I'm well aware of where we are and that I don't want to get kicked out of book club for fondling my date during a meeting.
So I content myself with a light touch and the smallest squeeze of my fingertips.
I'm rewarded with a subtle tug at my hair in return.
A quick glance at the oversized clock hung behind the opposite sofa tells me it's only ten after eight.
I wonder how far he lives from here and if he has roommates. Please, for the love of me getting laid, let his roommates be out of town. Or at work. Hell, I don't even care if they're in jail, please just let them be anywhere but home tonight.
"Lauren?"
Sonia, one of my fellow book club members, is asking me a question. I imagine it's about the book we're here to discuss but I don't know because I was too busy thinking about places I can have sex with Max to listen.
"I'm sorry, what?" I ask, pulling my hand off of Max's thigh so I can concentrate. "What were you asking?"
"We're each sharing our favorite quote from the book. It's your turn," she says with a glance at Max.
Right.
I hand the paperback to Max and pull my eReader from my bag. "Just one second," I mumble as I open my device and click on my highlights. God, I can't read any of these out loud with Max sitting here. Did I highlight anything that isn't perverted? No. No, I did not. "You know," I say, snapping the cover of my eReader closed, "I think I'll pass this time and let Max read you his favorite instead."
The thing is I've had better ideas because Max doesn't miss a beat. Not a single one. No, he simply removes his arm from my shoulder and calmly flips the book open. I realize I've made a tactical error before he even begins speaking because just watching him handle the book is foreplay for me.
He thumbs through as he looks for a specific page he turned down. He's not hurried or nervous while he searches and I like the way he handles the book.
Wait, did I really just think that?
I did.
Reading is sexy, my friends. Very, very sexy.
The way his eyes scan the pages while he drags his bottom lip through his teeth. The way his fingers caress the edge of the book. The sound the pages make when he flips them and the almost inaudible whisper of his finger sliding down the page when he finds the section he's looking for.
Then he begins reading.
It's a part from the male's point of view. Where he asks Winnie—the female protagonist—to give him a chance. He promises that she can trust him with whatever her fantasy is and that he'll be careful with her. That he'll make it good.
I remember thinking at the time that my fantasy was a warm chocolate-chip cookie.
It's not now.
No, right now it's a man named Max. A really attractive man named Max with a voice that I could listen to all day long. A man I barely know, yet one who's brought me flowers and made me laugh. One I suspect looks just as good out of those clothes as he does in them.