Since when had he turned into a horny, fifteen-year-old adolescent? He had a feeling he wasn’t going to remember much of this film, after all.
CHAPTER EIGHT
EVIE WOKE UP and lay for a moment in the darkness, trying to get her bearings.
She was back in Max’s home. And after last night, living here with Max felt even more loaded with frustrated longing than before she’d gone in to hospital.
The whole week, ever since that moment when she’d been scared before the transplant and Max had reassured her, she’d felt the old feelings resurfacing with a vengeance. And feeling her whole body change, almost overnight, when Annie’s kidney had begun to clear out her body naturally, Evie had realised there was no more dialysis, no mor
e feeling sluggish, no more telling herself how unattractive she was, no more missing out on the fun things because she was lacking in basic energy.
Her whole life was going to improve, something she hadn’t dared hope before. Her relationship with Imogen was going to be so much better now she had more strength and energy. And her relationship with Max was blossoming as she felt her former confidence returning.
Yet last night...well, what had happened last night?
She didn’t remember a single second of the film; she’d been too busy being hyper-aware of every move Max had made. She’d been sure she hadn’t misread the signals; that they both felt the attraction, and she’d been equally sure that, given half a chance, they could revisit something of their fling last year.
By contrast, Max had been absorbed in the film, and oblivious of her more X-rated thoughts. Hardly the greatest ego-boost she could have hoped for. She didn’t know how she’d got it all so wrong, but the humiliation still stung her cheeks whenever she thought about it.
So right now she really needed a release mechanism. A brisk walk on the treadmill in Max’s gym would not only meet the daily exercise goals of her post-op recovery, but it would help to expend some of her pent-up energy.
Maybe.
At least the gym being in the basement meant that she wouldn’t wake either Max or Imogen. Although with its high-level windows allowing plenty of natural light, it had never felt like a claustrophobic space to her, plus it was well-ventilated enough to more than satisfy her transplant requirements.
Easing herself carefully out of bed, Evie dressed quickly, only struggling to put her socks and trainers on, and then crept quietly out of the master suite and down to the basement.
The last person she expected to see was Max.
A hot and sweaty Max.
She hovered in the doorway and wondered if he’d seen her or if she could discreetly back away.
‘Are you coming in, then?’ he asked.
Clearly not the latter, then.
Evie scanned the room. A towel was hung over the treadmill and weights were scattered around his bench; he’d clearly been here a while. He looked pumped, slick, and impressively fit.
Of course he did.
‘Um, I was after the treadmill, but you’re obviously busy. I can come back later.’
‘No need.’ Max sprang up with enviable energy and ducked across the room to retrieve his towel. ‘I finished on there before. I just have a few reps here and I’ll be out of your hair if you prefer.’
‘No, no, that’s fine.’
It wasn’t really. She didn’t need Max seeing her pathetic attempt to walk a couple of miles whilst he knocked out reps like some elite athlete.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she offered, willing her feet to move. After some objection, they mercifully obeyed.
‘Me neither. But our daughter is gently snoring her little head off.’
He jerked his head and a baby monitor blinked at her from the small side table. So it wasn’t Imogen keeping him awake, then.
‘Has she been asleep all this time?’
‘No chance. I think the excitement of seeing you home last night got to her.’