Love Is Beautiful (Chelsea & Max) (9 page)

M
ax is right
. Han’ei is all about the experience. The décor is understated yet decadent. The music is soothing yet invigorating. The atmosphere is one of posh civility and is very private and almost introspective. I’m trying not to stare wide-eyed and open-mouthed at everything, but I very much feel out of my league.

“Do you like sushi?” Max asks as he pulls out my chair for me at a table nestled into a private little corner. Our hostess nods politely and disappears, promising us our waitresses prompt arrival.

“Will you think less of me if I admit I’ve never tried it?”

Max shakes his head. “Not even a little bit.”

“I’ve never tried it.”

A look of disgust curls his lip down in a decidedly condescending frown. “I thought you were better than that,” he says with a curt shake of his head. He crosses his arms across his chest and looks away, refusing to make eye contact.

“Hey.” I lean forward, elbows on the table. “That’s not funny.”

“I thought it was.” He gives me an adorable little quirk of his lips. “And judging by the smile on your face, you did too.” There’s this moment of silence where he just stares into my eyes. I wish we had wine or something to distract me because I feel naked under his gaze and I’d love something to do with my hands. “I like seeing you smile,” he says finally.

“Well that’s funny, because I like seeing you smile, too.”

Oh my God. Kill me now. I am the most awkward person of all time. Ever.

“Are you adventurous? I could order for you if you’d like to give sushi a try. If not…” He gestures to the menu. “There are plenty of delicious choices here.”

Let’s see. Am I adventurous? Up until now, the qualities listed highest on my Ideal Man list included a steady job and a growing 401k. When asked what I do for fun, I talk about work and painting the trim on my house. And I say things like
I never speed
and
I’m never late for work
.

Like, never ever.

Adventurous? I’m going to have to go with hell no. I pick up my menu and frown down at the long list of unfamiliar names and exorbitant prices.

Max chuckles. “I’m going to take that as an indicator that you’re not feeling like stepping outside your comfort zone.”

Somehow, his words sound like a challenge. I might not be adventuresome, but I
am
competitive as all hell.

“Nope, just getting the lay of the land before I make my final decision. It’s best to be informed, you know.” I close the menu and place it on the table in front of me

“I see.” Max steeples his fingers and touches them to his chin. In this moment, he seems way more financial mogul than rugged cop. The juxtaposition sets me on fire. “And where did you land, after your little informational excursion?”

I giggle and decide to drop a great big honesty bomb on the table. “This isn’t at all how I envisioned this evening.”

All traces of joviality drain from Max’s face. His eyes go hard and that little muscle in his jaw pulses, just once. A warning. “Yeah?” One word, strangled by stress.

Shit. That reaction right there is much more like how I envisioned the evening, but I hate the fact that I pulled it out of him when he was in such a lighthearted mood. Something tells me he doesn’t do lighthearted very often.

“I’m enjoying myself. Like, a lot. I just … wasn’t expecting all this.” I wave my hand around the restaurant and glance down at my sexy little black dress.

Max smiles and looks relieved while I practically melt with relief. “What were you expecting?” he asks.

“Well, honestly? Something a little more affordable on a public servant’s salary.” I hold up my hands as his eyes go wide. “Not that I’m judging. Not even a little. It’s just…”

“You thought maybe we’d be more sports bar and beer and less suits and sushi?”

“Exactly.” Plus, I kind of expected Max to be more broody and grumpy and way less approachable and fun. But there’s no way I’m saying that out loud because I’m really enjoying this side of him and I refuse to chase it away.

Max opens his mouth like he’s going to say something just as the waitress arrives with a polite bow of her head and a soft-spoken request for our drink orders. I haven’t even looked at the wine list, although I’m typically pretty easy going and just go with a low to mid-priced red of some sort.

“What do you think? Adventure?” Max quirks his head to the side in question and, after a brief pause to consider, I finally take the plunge and agree. He orders something in Japanese and our waitress smiles and disappears.

“You speak Japanese?” I’m utterly flabbergasted.

Max laughs, a warm sound. “No. Not at all.”

“That totally sounded like Japanese to me.”

“I ordered our drinks. A ‘chu-hi’ for you. It’s very delicious, fruit juice mixed with a Japanese alcohol called shochu. And for me? Just plain old shocu, served straight, on the rocks.”

I raise my eyebrows and make a face. “Is it strong?”

“A little. Don’t you like things strong?” Max lets his eyes smolder into mine and suddenly I’m not so sure we’re talking about drinks anymore.

“Oh, believe me.” I bite my lower lip. “Strong is good.”

“What about bold? Do you like bold?”

Electricity wings its way through my body. “I’ve not had a lot of experience with bold.”

“That’s something else we’ll have to remedy, then.”

Our waitress reappears with our drinks and Max orders for us, a long string of complicated names and combinations, while I take a sip of my chu-hi. He’s right. It’s delicious. Strong and bold and probably going to go straight to my head.

“So, is it a turn off?” asks Max after our waitress heads back towards the kitchen. “The fancy atmosphere and the whole not getting what you expected thing?”

“No. Not even a little. It makes me want to know more about you. The man who takes speeding tickets as seriously as murder charges…”

“Hey, the law is the law.”

“And who swears he’s not hurt when he’s walking around on a torn meniscus…”

“Can’t be hurt and do my job. Life lives where you put your attention.”

“Well,” I continue. That gruff guy turns out to work with children and adopt dogs on death row…” I hold up a finger. “And rehabilitate them, of course. And then shows up for a first date dressed like…” My gaze sweeps down his face and across his broad shoulders. “Well, like that.”

“And these are all good things?”

“Yes, silly. I can’t define you and it’s got me very intrigued.”

Max drops his gaze to his drink, swirls a finger around the rim of his glass, and then takes a drink. “My parents had money. My grandmother had money. When they died, it went to me.”

There’s something raw in his voice. A confession. A deep truth delving into darker secrets. I want to ask for more but I don’t want to chase him away. But in the meantime, what do I say?

I take a drink to buy me some time to think. Do I comment on the money? If I heard it once, I heard it a thousand times growing up. It’s rude to talk about money. Do I reply with a typical
I’m so sorry
about the passing of his family? A question? Oh God. What’s the right response here? I take another drink.

“When did you lose your parents?” I ask, randomly deciding that is the safest question.

“When I was young. Six.” Max clears his throat. “Lived with my grandmother after that until she passed when I was ten. Ran out of family members and into the foster system I went.”

So many explanations for so many things in that one short explanation. I have about a million questions. How did they die? What was it like in the system? It was bad. I’m sure it was bad. It’s always bad. Is that why he’s not big on family? I take another drink and the bold and the strong are doing a number on me but I’m not sure I care.

“What about you?” Max asks. “Family?” Ghosts are dancing in his eyes, but he’s trying to hide behind a light smile and polite small talk.

“Oh yeah. Two sisters who double as best friends. My parents were supportive and pushed me to succeed. Or, rather,
are
supportive and continue to push me to succeed. Both of them are doctors, a little disappointed that I slid off the London family path and fell into physical therapy, but since I’m so good at what I do, I think they forgive me.”

We fall into comfortable conversations, avoiding landmines like family and focusing mostly on work. Max tells me a bunch of stories about things he’s seen pulling people over and before I know it, I’m laughing about the time he pulled a guy over and walked up to the window just in time to watch the guy come in a prostitute’s mouth.

“You’re kidding,” I say, hand to mouth, suddenly very distracted by the thought of Max and blowjobs.

“Not even a little.” He straightens the items on the table in front of him, a naughty gleam in his eyes.

“What did you do?”

“I wrote them a ticket for the reckless driving and the indecent exposure and then got the hell out of there.”

We laugh together and our food arrives, a decorative array of items I don’t recognize and rituals I don’t know. Max explains everything to me, shows me the right way to handle the sauces and the oftentimes unwieldy rolls. Most everything turns out delicious, although I am not that big a fan of anything with tuna in it. It’s just too fishy and I’m not comfortable with the texture in the least. But we eat and we drink and we talk and we laugh and before I know it, hours have passed and it’s time to go home. Max pays the bill and leaves hefty tip on the table.

Our breath puffs in front of us as we step out into the cold November night. My heels click on the pavement and Max’s hand is at the small of my back, his eyes darting side to side, taking in all there is to see as he leads us back to his car. I snuggle in close to him, enjoying the way it feels to be tucked in close to his warmth. The sheer size of him making me feel safe.

The ride home is over too fast. We talk some more, laughing and joking about everything and nothing and I realize how long it’s been since I’ve just let myself be free. I hold myself so close, push myself so hard, ask more and more and more out of my days. I barely have time to breath. I barely have time to smile.

Hell, I barely have a reason to smile.

My life has become work and succeed and work some more to succeed some more and I think that has just hollowed me out. I am an empty shell on auto-pilot. When was the last time I did anything simply because I wanted to rather than because it was what I should do? When was the last time I did something spontaneous? Adventurous? I mean, if the most adventurous thing I can think about in the last couple months is letting Max order my drink and dinner for me then I think it might be time for me to loosen the hell up.

When he pulls into my driveway, I’m immediately certain of what I want to say. Immediately certain that I am going to throw caution to the wind and invite this man into my house for a drink. Not only am I not ready for the evening to be over, but I’m also not even close to being ready to be alone again.

No. that’s not quite right. What I’m not ready for is to be without Max. I don’t want to say goodnight to this man because I want to sit down so close to him on my couch. Touch him some more. Get to know him some more. The little tidbits I discovered about him tonight have only intensified my desire to know more about him. And if I’m being all kinds of honest, I want him to kiss me. I want my hands on his body and holy shit, do I ever want his hands on mine.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” he says and kills the engine.

I pull my keys out of my purse as we head up the walk. “I’m not really ready to say goodnight. Would you like to come in for something to drink?”

“I’d love that. I really would. But the dog doesn’t do well if I leave her alone for extended periods of time.” He takes my hand. “But I had a really nice time tonight.”

I tilt my face up to his. “Me, too.” There’s no way he knows how hard it was for me to invite him in. That I’ve never done anything like that before. That it took some huge dose of courage. That it was a testament to how much I enjoyed being with him.

I step into his space. Tilt my face up to his. Let my lips part. His eyes go to my mouth, hungry and hooded. One hand on my hip, pulling me close. Another on my cheek. So tender. Chills and goosebumps.

He presses his lips to mine and that is the end of me. I sigh, something unraveling deep inside me. Tension I didn’t know existed uncoiling into this molten pool of need and relief. As if, in this one kiss, this moment of connection, all the answers to questions I didn’t even know I was asking are answered.

Well, all except one. Who is this man? That question just got bigger and more important than anything in my life.

His kiss is tender yet bold, his hand snaking up into my hair and grabbing it in his fist. His other hand presses my hips into him, closing the gap between us while his lips caress mine, his tongue darting out to taste me. It’s a dichotomy of power and pleasure and I am totally undone.

He pulls back. “Can I see you again?”

“Only if you promise to keep kissing me like that.”

“Sold,” he whispers and his mouth is back on mine, more insistent this time, the space between our bodies non-existent.