Before I have a chance to ask more, voices from the other side of the doors startle us both.
“We’re going to force the doors open,” a deep, manly voice informs us.
“Okay. What does that mean?” I ask. Max and I pry ourselves up off the floor in unison.
“You’re in between floors now, so we’ll have to pull you up.”
Max curses and my stomach dips. I might not be claustrophobic, but the thought of exiting an elevator that is between floors makes me uneasy.
“Can’t you fix it first, and let us out when it’s on one of the floors?” I inquire.
“It can last hours, I’m afraid,” the man answers. Well, between being stuck with Max in here and being pulled out, the latter feels safer. I’m pretty sure that in a few hours, he and I will both run out of evil things to distract ourselves with.
Max seems to be thinking along the same lines, because even though he’s pale, he says loudly, “Go ahead.”
We both wait in silence for the man to open the doors, and I breathe out in relief when I see that our position is not too bad. The upper floor is at roughly the same level with my navel, so I’ll only have to push myself up a little to crawl out.
“Do you need any help, ma’am?” the mechanic asks.
“Thank you, I’ve got this,” I say confidently, placing my palms firmly on the floor. Just as I’m about to push myself up, I notice Max is holding the lower hem of my skirt between his fingers.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
Max motions with his head toward the mechanic, who’s a few feet away. Then he whispers, “Making sure that guy over there doesn’t take a peek at your ass. Trust me, by the time you get out, your skirt will be up and around your waist.”
I’d argue with him if I didn’t just experience how undependable my skirt is.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Several minutes later, both Max and I are safely outside on the second floor.
“Oh shoot.” I glance at the clock hanging over the elevator. “My next appointment will be here in ten minutes. We—”
“Can reschedule,” Max says.
Something shifted between us while we were stuck in there. I can’t quite point out what, but I feel it in my bones. Looking up at Max, I’m certain he does too.
“Thanks for being a distraction inside there,” he says.
“Thanks for having my back when we got out. Or more accurately, my ass.”
Max grins widely. “I’ll always have your ass, Emilia. Always.”
As he leaves, he gives me a wink—one of those winks—and I’m fairly sure my panties just shifted a few inches lower on my hips.
Chapter Eight
Emilia
Over the next week, the tension between us grows so thick it’s almost palpable. Remarkably, we keep things light during the training sessions, focusing on his exercises and reminiscing about childhood memories. But in between sessions, we frequently send text messages to each other, and that’s when the blips in our control show.
I could stop texting him, of course, but I can’t help myself. Whenever something funny occurs, he’s the first person I want to share it with.
Right now I fiddle with my phone, wondering if it would be inappropriate to snap a picture of what is happening in front of me and send it to Max. I’m attending a seminar on rehabilitation, hosted by a highly reputable name in the field. He’s constantly doing research on techniques, and I’ve learned a lot from his seminars in the past.
I make a point to keep up-to-date with the latest research even though the clinic isn’t paying for all of the seminars I attend. Still, I consider this an investment in my future and the well-being of my patients.