Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

MACI

I knew he was pissed about the whole no-sex thing, but I didn't think he would just leave me here. The second I'm in the chair, he turns, leaving the room so quickly. My throat gets tight, and tears threaten to pour down my cheeks. I feel a weird, stinging sensation in my eyes.

I bite down, forcing the tears away. I won't let this reduce me to being dramatic just because he's decided to ditch, but then he returns, and I let out a delighted laugh. The ricochet of the mood is so extreme. I'm flooded with light when I see him holding a menu in a waiter's shirt and jacket. He smirks as he walks across the room.

"Anything to drink, miss?" he asks.

I laugh again. "I'll take an OJ," I tell him, "but it seems I've been stood up."

His eyes twinkle playfully. I thought he might just be trying to be nice when he said he didn't just want me for sex. Then he mentioned the connection we share, and I can't deny that I feel it, too. I can't deny that it smolders between us. Whatever it is, it's not just physical, not just lust-filled bubbles bursting on the surface of a private pool.

"The man must be insane," Lukas says.

Wait, is he doing a British accent?

"I didn't know all waiters had to be British," I say.

His lips twitch, but he does his best to maintain character. "I'm not sure I know what you mean, miss." He bursts out laughing. "Okay, okay," he goes on in his normal voice. "Maybe that was a bit fair. OJ, yeah? And what do you want to eat?"

He places the menu down.

I laugh again when I read the one item written on it: steak and fries since I'll be cooking, and I'm not much of a chef .

I grin up at him. Being with him goes beyond an emotional rollercoaster. This is like the whole freaking theme park.

"I'll take your finest steak, sir."

He smirks. "I'm sure your date will have the same."

"Are you really going to cook for me?"

"You don't have to sound so surprised," he says. "I want to cook for you."

"How is it?" he asks while I'm still chewing my first bite of steak.

Despite everything, a smile lights me up. I'm beaming like the most na?ve person ever, as though I didn't just stop us from going all the way because I knew how bad it would ultimately end. I can't help it. We're back to forget-everything mode. His plan with the waiter's outfit worked.

Swallowing, I say, "Delicious, but why do you look so nervous? That's what I want to know."

He smirks. "I'm more nervous cooking for you than any business meeting has ever made me."

"I was going to say it seemed that way!"

He chuckles and cuts into his steak. "I want this to be special and mean something. I know it's not much. You deserve holidays to Paris and Rome. You deserve Michelin-star restaurants. You deserve the world, Maci."

A frown touches me. I focus on my food.

"Something's wrong," he says. It's not a question.

"It's just… Do you know what love bombing is?"

"It's when a sociopath or a narcissist or somebody who's just a plain old asshole says a bunch of untrue things to a woman to get her to fall for him or to get power over her. Do you think that's what I'm doing?"

"No, I don't. That's the crazy part, but stuff like that, most people would ."

"The difference is, I mean it," he snaps. "As soon as I walked into that home-away-from-home and saw you, I wanted all those things. I wanted something special with you. I wanted, hell, I wanted , and that was enough of a change to make me stop and double-take. It's been a long time since I wanted anything that wasn't business-related."

He pauses, his eyes fixed on me in that perfect way of his. It's not just the chandelier, the rose petals, the privacy. His eyes and attention make me believe in him; in this moment, nothing else exists.

"Now my business is going through hell. My partner is AWOL, and I'd still rather be here with you. If it wasn't for Kayla…"

"What?" I urge when he trails off.

He sighs and cuts into his steak. Taking the hint, I do the same, waiting for him to go on. I sense he needs some space. He's got the same unsure exterior that gripped him when we were in the car, and he told me about his dad's schemes.

"I'd ask a childish question," he finally says. "If it weren't for Kayla, I'd say," he smirks, "be my girlfriend, Maci."

I smile, though I'm sure, just like him, there's a sad quality to it. "If it weren't for Kay, I'd say hell to the yes."

"I guess that makes you my maybe-girlfriend, then."

Reaching across the table, I touch his hand. "And that makes you my maybe-boyfriend."

Neither of us mentions what the maybe refers to because it would simply be too painful. If we talked about the fact that the maybe refers to the idea of Kayla somehow being okay with this and supporting our decision to go behind her back and betray her, then this make-believe world we're living in would pop like a lust-filled bubble on the surface of an indoor pool.

"How's college?" he asks after a pause.

"It's okay," I tell him. "Except, well, I wonder if I picked the wrong major. So I guess not okay," I shrug.

"You don't like graphic design?" he asks.

"I like drawing ," I tell him. "I like illustrating. I like painting. I like abstract art. I like portraits. I like all kinds of art, honestly. I like photography. I think I like too much. Mom said I should narrow my focus. At the time, I agreed, but the more I do, the less I care about it."

"What about your graphic novel?" he says with genuine interest.

"I loved that," I tell him.

"Loved, as in past tense?"

"I think I still would. I just haven't worked on it since…" I give him a look. "It's been difficult to focus."

He nods. "Believe me, I understand. Remember all my fancy talk about mental models and units and concentration? I'm starting to think that was all crap, honestly. It seemed easy because I didn't have my maybe-girlfriend in my head twenty-four-seven, distracting me."

"Yeah, my maybe-boyfriend has been making it difficult, too."

After a pause, he says, "If you don't think your course is worthwhile, you should quit."

I gasp. "I can't do that. Mom's already paid two years' tuition. That was Dad's money. He worked hard, writing from sunrise to sunset sometimes. I'd sit in his office with him, reading a book or drawing. We wouldn't talk much, but it was nice and comfortable. I felt we bonded more in that silence than anywhere else." I bite down. "Sorry. I didn't mean to unload."

He warmly wraps his hand around mine. "I've already told you, my maybe-girlfriend…"

"Right. I don't need to apologize."

"If the money's a problem?—"

"Don't," I quickly say, just like I have with Kayla so many times. "We're doing fine. Very well, in fact. Mom and I are far better off than lots of people."

Lukas shrugs. "I want to help you if I can."

I pull my hand away, focusing on my food, the reality of the steak, and not the unreality of a future we shouldn't even be discussing.

"I know," he says. "We can't think past the next hour. It's too risky."

I glance at him, at the understanding in his eyes. "You read my mind."

"Ever since becoming your maybe-boyfriend, I feel so much closer to you."

I laugh, wondering how rare that is to find a man who can make his partner laugh when, a second ago, profound sadness was gripping me. "You mean literally a minute ago?"

"We move fast, Maci," he says.

" That's true," I reply. "Do you… usually move fast?"

"Usually," he repeats, shaking his head. "I don't usually do anything. I had a relationship with a woman who I never loved and who never loved me. Then I focused on my business. The end."

"Come on , Luke," I say. "I won't be mad. I don't expect you to be a virgin or anything."

"You won't be mad?" he says. " I'd be mad, Maci, thinking of you with another man—more than mad. It's a jealous, hungry, insane feeling. It's an ‘I need to trash this goddamn place' feeling. Just the idea of you with another man makes me mad."

"I must be crazy," I murmur. "I know most women would find that pretty weird. Maybe want to back off."

"You don't?"

"No, actually, I want you to feel that way."

"Good," he says fiercely. "Because I felt like that the first moment I saw you. I mean, the new you. The grownup you."

Suddenly, I wish we were back in the swimming room, and I was bent over the chair with my pants trapping my legs together, with his thick member rubbing against me. I told him it was about Kay, and I didn't lie exactly, but there was something else beneath that. Nerves like I couldn't believe.

"So…" I go on.

"I meant it," he replies. "There was Kayla's mom, and then not much—a few flings here and there. But not for years, and I always felt seedy after. They always felt pointless."

"And this doesn't?" I ask.

"Does it to you? " he replies with a note of anger.

"I asked first."

"No, it doesn't," he's quick to reply. "Maybe we're doomed, my maybe-girlfriend. Maybe we were doomed from the first time you played ‘ I Spy ' with my dick, but this doesn't feel pointless. It might just end in disaster. That's all."

"We'll have to make a choice," I whisper. "Won't we?"

He nods, sighing darkly, cutting into his steak for a moment, making a screek noise on the plate as though hinting at the mayhem we won't be able to ignore.

"Yeah," he says gruffly. "I can't say I'm looking forward to it."

"That's one hell of an understatement," I murmur, trying not to let myself think about what it'll mean: either letting my best friend go or letting my maybe-boyfriend go. "The thing is, there might not even be a choice. Once Kayla finds out…"

He looks at me bleakly. "I know. She might choose for us."

Fear runs down my spine, a tingle I usually only read about in books. It's like all the stress of the situation culminates in that one teasing trail of anxiety. There's so much that could go wrong for us, so much that could twist us up, and yet we're still sitting here, sharing secret smiles, like we're trying to make ourselves believe it could all be okay.

He sighs. "I wish we didn't have to face any of it. I wish we could leave and get far away. Forget my company. Forget our responsibilities."

"Could you really do that?" I ask.

"I think I could forget everything," he says fiercely. "I could forget the company. I could forget the world, but I couldn't forget?—"

He cuts himself off, biting down like he can't finish the sentence. He doesn't need to— Kayla . We could let the rest of the world go and give ourselves to each other—ignore what people say, gold digger and all that crap—but he's right. No matter where we went or what we did, Kay would always be there on some level, watching, judging, and hating us.

"This is a delicious steak," I mutter. "Thanks."

He nods. "You don't have to thank me. It sounds cheesy, but cooking for you is a pleasure."

"I don't care if it sounds cheesy," I tell him. "The cheesier, the better."

I try to smile, but it feels so false knowing that, dozens of miles away, Kayla has no idea her boyfriend is a psychotic blackmailer with a fake name, no clue I want to throw myself at her dad, strip myself naked and rub my body against his to feel the heat and passion. The memory of bubbles popping like, soon, our dream will. Pop , and then we'll come floating back to reality.

I stuff another chunk of steak into my mouth.