Maxim (Carolina Reapers 10)

Staying with him when he didn’t love me, didn’t even hint that he might be able to grow to love me one day, was tragic, and honestly, it would’ve been a waste of his time. Because I would always love him, and the fact that he couldn’t love me...well, I couldn’t subject myself to that kind of relationship. No matter how badly I missed him.

Not just the passion we shared, but him.

I missed eating lazy Sunday breakfasts with him, browsing bookstores with him, laughing together as he did his best to read my romance novels in the most alpha-voice he could muster, that downright devious smirk shaping his lips as his cobalt eyes flickered from the pages to me and back again. I missed taking photos of him, capturing his different moods and loving every shade and color and burst he gave me in between.

“He’s been trying to get ahold of you,” Mila said. “I keep telling you, you should at least hear him out.”

I flashed my eyes up to hers. “Do you know something I don’t?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “Of course, not. He’s barely speaking to me either. Not about you, for sure. Every time I try to bring it up he stops me saying he doesn’t want me to be in an uncomfortable position.”

“That’s fair,” I said, totally agreeing with him. “The last thing either of us wanted was to make you feel like you were stuck between us.”

Mila laughed. “That’s definitely not even an issue. You’re my best friend. He’s my brother. And I’ve always rooted for you two. You know that.”

“I know,” I said, then dropped my eyes to the magazine. I smoothed my fingers over one of the shots of Maxim, unable to help myself. He’d been mid-skate in nothing but a pair of navy-blue boxer briefs, his muscles contoured and defined, the light flickering over his smooth skin in a way that highlighted the motion of his body despite it being a still shot.

I flipped the page, pressing my lips together to fight a smile. The next photograph was one of him right as he was lacing up his skates, but looking up at me while he did it. There was an openness to his eyes that I doubted had ever been captured before, a sense of vulnerability that showed his softer side, not just the well-known sharp-edged Maxim the media had portrayed before.

That was him. All of him.

“You know,” Mila said, drawing my attention as she squeezed my hand. “No one gets to see that side of Maxim.” She pointed with her free hand to the picture. “It’s rare. I’ve barely seen it. But you? He only gets that way with you.” She flipped back to the body shot of him mid-skate. “These are stunning photos, Evie,” she said, then flipped back to the one where he was lacing up his skates, looking at me, a slight hint of a smile on his lips. “But this is really him.”

“I know,” I said.

Mila rolled her eyes. “Look at the way he’s looking at you,” she said, pointing to his eyes. “You know how much I love you?”

I nodded.

“Good,” she said. “Because I say this with every ounce of love we’ve built over our zillion-year friendship.”

I chuckled at her exaggeration and motioned with my hand for her to continue.

She shook her head, smacking her free hand on her thigh. “You two are both idiots if you don’t work this out.” I gaped at her, but she pushed on. “I’m serious. I would kill to have someone look at me the way my brother is looking at you here. Legit, rob and steal and lie for someone to see the best parts of me, not just my famous last name. And Jesus, this was only a snapshot in time. You’re telling me you never saw him look at you like this when you were together? Never felt that look?”

“I did,” I admitted. He’d looked at me with even more passion and joy than this shot depicted.

“He’s never signed a universal photo release for anyone before,” she continued, and I couldn’t help but huff a broken laugh.

“I get it, Mila,” I said. “Maxim did things for me that he’s never done for anyone else.”

Mila raised her brows at me as if to say then what the hell are you waiting for?

I hugged her instead of arguing back. Instead of rehashing all the reasons I had for keeping myself from Maxim. All the things she said were true. The pictures were true. But it didn’t change the fact that he didn’t love me, and maybe never would.

“We need coffee if we’re going to finish hanging the rest of the pieces,” she said, releasing me from the hug and eying the six wooden crates we had left to unpack. She stopped with her hand on the door, looking over her shoulder at me. “Evie, I swear I’ll drop this the second I walk out this door. I’ll stop talking about it unless you come to me, but I need you to hear this.”