Brady, the owner of this little drinking hole, wanders toward me on his side of the counter. “No. I don’t think you will.”
“Are you kidding me? You’re cutting me off?”
“Someone needs to,” he grumbles, all fatherly and disappointed.
I wince because I’m not used to disappointing anyone but my mom. And I don’t care for the feeling. Then I shake my head and hop off the stool. Fuck it.
I’m not going to be that girl anymore. I’m not going to be the one who bends over backward to make everyone happy. I’m not going to be the one who lives in the shadows because she’s too afraid that, if she steps into the light, people might see her for who she really is and disapprove.
I’m worth a little disapproval, aren’t I? And I might not be better than some actress, but I’m something. I’m worth something.
“Hanna,” Brady says carefully.
“No. No worries, Brady. I’ll be down the street at The Wire. They’ll let me drink, and they have better service anyway.”
I right myself and find the door. Only instead of going to The Wire, I find myself headed toward Max’s health club and climbing the stairs to his little apartment above it.
Max opens the door as I reach the landing, and I stall, my feet glued to the decking as his eyes travel over me, taking me in inch by inch as if he thinks he’s seeing a ghost. He almost smiles, but then his lips go flat and he just stares at me, hurt in those gorgeous ice-blue eyes.
Why is he the one so hurt? He’s the one who started this relationship under false pretenses. He’s the one who wanted another woman while he was supposed to want me.
He’s the one who broke my heart.
I want to hate him and Nate, to lump them both in the category of asshole men who aren’t worth my time. But I love them.
I stumble back a step as the thought registers. I love them both.
When did I fall in love with Nate? That wasn’t supposed to happen. He was just the rebound guy—there to make me feel good about myself while my heart mended.
Max steps closer and steadies me before I can hit the railing.
I swallow—hard—his words from last month echoing in my head. “Maybe if you could see what I’m picturing when I jack off—if you had any idea how much I fantasize about driving inside of you, sucking those tits, making you come—maybe then you’d believe me.”
“Do you want to come inside?” he asks carefully.
Licking my lips, I nod as he holds the door open for me.
His living room speakers click, and a new song starts. Jason Mraz’s “I Won’t Give Up.” Wasn’t this the song that was playing the night he proposed?
My stomach tangles into a mess of knots as he closes the door. He looks so sexy tonight in jeans and a gray button-up shirt, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. My eyes follow the path across his broad shoulders and down to his thick forearms and big hands. I miss those hands. I miss Max.
I miss lying in his arms and talking about our dreams for the future. His plans for his club, my dreams of a bakery, our speculation of what our children might look like if we had them together.
Something catches in my throat, and the could-have-beens are so heavy in my heart that I can’t breathe.
“Did you mean what you said? Was all that…true?”
“What I said when?”
I swallow. “A few weeks ago in the club. When you made me look in the mirror and you said…you thou
ght about me.”
His chest expands with his deep inhalation. “Every word.”
“I don’t believe you,” I whisper. Because that’s really the problem, isn’t it? The reason I can’t be with him isn’t because he kissed Meredith in December. We weren’t really a couple at that point. We weren’t exclusive. What I don’t believe is that, somewhere in those months between, I became the type of woman he wants. I don’t believe he could really desire a body like mine. “I want to. But I can’t.”
“I know.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, his face resigned. “Aside from ripping off your clothes, I’m not sure how I can prove it to you.”