I was hoping I'd be spending the weekend with him again, but I didn't want to be presumptuous, so I've only mentally packed a bag. As in I know exactly what I need to grab right now and even which bag I'm bringing, but I haven't actually packed the bag.
"Okay," I agree with a quick nod. "Just give me a second to grab some things," I tell him as I dash into the bedroom to grab my bag and the predetermined outfits for the weekend. Max stands in the doorway and watches me with an amused expression on his face.
"You're packing pretty fast there, tiger."
"Yeah, because I'm starving and we're going to be late for dinner," I lie.
"No rush, my sister is rarely on time."
"I'm ready," I announce half a second later and he does nothing to hide his smirk as he walks into the room.
"The infamous bunk beds," he comments as he takes the bag from my hand. "Which one's yours?"
"Top bunk," I say, patting the side of the mattress.
"We can play top bunk later if you want." He winks at me and I laugh while pushing at his chest and directing him towards the door. I grab my makeup bag as we pass the kitchen table. I've already got a toothbrush at Max's. He gave me a spot for it and everything. He bought me shampoo and conditioner last weekend too. He'd complained that my hair didn't smell like vanilla when I used the stuff in his shower and then ordered the stuff I normally use and had it delivered the same day. Manhattan is great for indulgent same-day delivery. Full-size bottles. His walk-in shower has two recessed niches for shampoo bottles and he gave one of them to me.
Who says chivalry is dead?
Toiletry space in the shower is a really big deal.
Chapter Nine
Max's sister is great. She is late, he wasn't wrong about that. She bursts into the restaurant at quarter past eight with a big smile and apologies for her tardiness. She's a student at NYU and full of bright-eyed optimism about humanity and the future. She waves her hands around when she talks and casually tosses out that Max and I would make cute babies midway through dinner. She says it like it's fact and with an offhand sincerity, not as if she's trying to cause trouble or rile Max up.
"Thank you, Molly. I haven't had the chance to talk to Lauren about knocking her up yet but now seems as good a time as any," Max deadpans while I enjoy watching their interactions. I'm an only child so this sort of sibling banter is new to me. "Lauren," he begins as he places his hand over mine on the table. "Would you like to have my children? I was thinking five with exactly twenty-six months between each, so we should probably get started sooner rather than later. Perhaps tonight, if you're ovulating."
"Five? In the city?" I widen my eyes in response. "Not unless you have a third floor I didn't notice."
"Don't be ridiculous. We'll move to Connecticut between the second and third child. I've already put a deposit down on Max Junior's future preschool. The good ones book up before birth. Everyone knows that."
"Of course," I agree. "But how do you know the first will be a Max?"
"Max, Maxine. Either or."
"Huh." I shrug. "Well, I have some reservations about having five of them, but it sounds like you've already thought this through so why not."
"Okay, okay, enough, you two. Now you're grossing me out," Molly protests.
"You asked for it," Max says, pointing at her with a piece of naan before ripping a piece off and stuffing it into his mouth. But he does it kindly and with humor. I love that about him. The way he treats his sister. The way he glances behind me every time he holds a door open to make sure there's not another woman within a ten-foot radius he should keep holding the door for. It's so freaking archaic, and he doesn't even realize he's doing it—and I love it. I love that in a city of haste he never seems rushed when he's around me. I know he's got a stressful job—he works in venture capitalism just like Brad did. So I know it can be brutal and the hours long, but he leaves it at the office. Yes, I've seen him pull out his laptop on the weekends to catch up on something, but he never makes me feel like I'm in the way. When he's around me his focus is me and it's sexy as hell.
The way he flirts with me and how he makes me laugh all the time. The way he makes sure I have my shampoo at his place and how he walks on the outside of the sidewalk because he wants to be between me and the street. He makes me feel protected when I didn't even realize I was missing that feeling.
Don't even get me started on the sex. Raw and dirty and good. Uninhibited, messy. He makes me laugh and makes me come. Yet as good as it is—as great as it is—we fit together in so many other ways too.