19. Big Moves

19

Big Moves

Hayley

Once the last happy customer is out the door, the girls and I share a high five before flipping over our book-shaped sign to "Sorry, we're reading!"

Maxime is still here, and anticipation is building in my core at the thought of talking to him again. "You guys did great," he says, clapping his hands together.

"Thanks," we all reply.

"And thank you for helping," Alice says with a little cough. "I saw you recommending books to people."

"Yeah, what was that all about?" Emma asks with a smirk. "Are you looking for a backup job in case that NHL thing doesn't work out?"

He laughs. "Yup, you nailed it."

"We should look at our numbers and restock the shelves," she says, bringing her dark hair into a ponytail. "We're doing this all over again tomorrow."

Alice and I nod.

"Sounds fantastic," I gush, ecstatic to repeat this unforgettable day. I turn to Maxime. "Well, we should get started on that, but thanks again for coming."

"Merci, mon frère ," Alice adds, throwing him a weird look I can't decipher.

He shuffles his feet. "Wait, Nash. Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Um, yeah." I dip my head to the girls. "Go ahead and start without me. I'll be right there." The girls cast me a smile and a nod before retreating toward the desk.

Maxime steps aside, trying to put distance between them and us.

"I'm going to be honest here. I need you, Nash." He sighs. "Will you please reconsider coming with me tonight? As a favor."

I roll my eyes. "No, Beaumont. Is that why you painted a swoony quote over our desk? "

"Maybe." He raises his eyebrows.

"Nice try." I force myself to laugh, but it only burns my throat. Of course that's all it was. "But it's not working. I'm not coming."

"Please," he says, taking my hands. I inhale a sharp breath. "I don't want to go alone. All the other guys have dates, and if I show up on my own, I'm never going to hear the end of it."

"Why don't you go with Alice?"

He drops my hand, giving me a pointed look. "Have you seen her tonight? She's sick."

"Then take Emz." I cross my arms over my chest.

His eyes widen, and he shivers, glancing back at her. "Truth be told, she scares me a little."

I puff out a laugh. "What? Come on. She's the sweetest." Okay, maybe not the sweetest, but I love her. And once you get to know her, you realize she has a caring side.

He shrugs. "Well, she's always looking at me suspiciously, like I'm up to something."

"Maybe because you are."

"No, far from it. I just don't get it. Why won't you come with me? I assumed we were past the stage where you hated me. I thought we were . . . friends," he says. He swallows hard, making his Adam's apple bob .

I chew my bottom lip. If I'm being honest, I don't want to just be a friend to Max anymore. And as much as I'd love to spend an evening with him, I swore to myself I'd never go to those fancy affairs. I was forced to attend similar events throughout my teenage years, stuck in dresses that didn't suit my body as my mom paraded me around like a show pony. I don't feel elegant or attractive in anything I wear, but in dresses? We're talking worst of the worst, like donning a bad Halloween costume. I heave a sigh. "I don't hate you, and we are friends, but like I said before, it's not my scene, that's all."

He scoffs. "And you think it's mine? I'm a rough-and-rowdy hockey dude who weighs two hundred pounds. I'll look ridiculous in a monkey suit. Look at me—I'm not exactly fancy-gala material. But together, we'll make it fun."

I take a deep breath, feeling my walls begin to crumble. "I don't do dresses."

"Neither do I." He winks.

My shoulders fall at his goofy retort.

"Seriously, though." He takes my hand again. "You can wear whatever. You look great in anything you put on."

I glance away, trying to unhear what he just said. Why does he always say just the right words? It's annoying .

"Max, please, just let it go. I'm sure you could find dozens of girls who'd be over the moon to go with you, and who would look far better on your arm than I would."

He frowns. "But I don't want just any girl on my arm, Nash. I want you. And also, I beg to differ. No one could look as beautiful as you."

That's it. I'm a goner. I should have never let this man crack open a romance novel. He now has a handbook to swoony one-liners, and that's not helping with the butterflies in my belly. I stare at the floor, unable to meet his gaze.

He tilts my chin up, forcing me to face him, and my heart skips a beat. "Who put those misconceptions in your head that you're anything but perfect, huh? Because I'll find him, and I'll break his face."

I press my lips together, my heartbeat accelerating. Gathering the courage to look at him, I shoot him a smirk. "You're such a flirt."

"I'm not," he says with a firmness that catches me off guard, sending flutters to my chest. His gaze is full of sincerity, hope, and longing. I've never seen such desperation in anyone's eyes. "I mean it, Nash."

For all I know, I could have melted into a puddle on the floor just now. "Okay," I cave.

How can anyone resist Maxime Beaumont? It's downright impossible. And for the first time in my life, I do believe I might be beautiful. In his eyes, at least. Even if we're only friends, I'll take a night out with Maxime over a night alone any time.

"Let's go upstairs," I say, dragging him by the shirt. "You can help me find something to wear."

"Inviting me into your room again, Nash?" He arches an eyebrow. "Not that I'm complaining."

Max the Flirt has returned, but I'm not mad. It's a lot easier to interact with him when he's goofing around than when he sports that intense look and tells me all those beautiful things.

I ended up settling on the same black pleated pants I wore to my mom's birthday. Even if it's not a dress, the flowing legs have some movement when I walk. I paired them with a top from my mom that I've never worn before. It's a little too form-fitting for me, and it's sleeveless. But I figured that if I'm wearing pants, I should make an effort on the top. And for me, it's a big one. The blouse is black, made with sheer fabric that's a little transparent but not too revealing. But it's adorned with elegant white pearls .

Maxime had a suit waiting in his car, so he changed in Alice's room. And boy, Maxime in a tux beats anything I've ever seen before in my life. Très magnifique .

"You look—wow," he says when we encounter each other in the living room.

I blush. "You too. Are you sure it's okay?" I glance down at my outfit.

"Are you comfortable?" He frowns.

"Yeah." I nod. "This isn't how I would dress every day, but I feel good. These heels are the only ones I can actually walk in, and this outfit covers up most of the parts I hate about my body."

He shakes his head. "Every single part of you is exquisite, Nash."

His statement makes me swoon big time, but after an hour spent trying stuff on, I definitely don't agree. Ignoring his comment, I adjust the black shawl my mom gave me around my trucker shoulders. "Let's go."

Alice and Emma are still downstairs in the store when we leave. They already assured me it was perfectly fine for me to go, and that they didn't mind finishing up on their own.

"Oh, you look great," Alice says, joining us outside. "Have fun, you two. "

"Thanks," I say with a smile. "Go back inside, though. It's chilly, and you're already sick."

Her hand flies to her mouth. "Oh, right. Bye!"

Has she been faking it all this time? I wouldn't put it past Alice. Her unconditional love for love, and the fact that she hasn't persuaded me against going out with her brother in a while, only fuels my suspicions.

We stroll down to Max's car that's parked at the end of the street. Once we're in the car and he starts driving, I'm relieved to have goofy Maxime back as we debate about music the entire ride.

But when I climb out of the car, my stress levels shoot through the roof again.

"Don't worry," Max says, taking my hand. "You look great. Let's just kick back and have fun, okay?"

I swallow hard, forcing myself to nod. I try to concentrate solely on my hand in his, and the comforting warmth of his touch. Though that's not exactly helping with my heart rate, which is currently on overdrive.

A row of photographers stand in front of a small red carpet bearing a dark-gray backdrop, and it looks like a mandatory stop.

Max rubs the back of his neck. "Sorry, I didn't know about this. You don't have to pose with me. "

Inside of me, there's already an epic battle raging. I'd love to be in a picture with Maxime, to have some kind of keepsake of our time together, but what kind of picture would it be? Just another reminder that I don't belong on his arm? That I'm not good enough for him?

My windpipe constricts, and my words get lodged in my throat. Instead of answering, I nod and hustle past the photographers at light speed, feeling like a thief on the run.

From a safe distance, I watch Max get his picture taken. And of course, he's a natural. Absolutely gorgeous in his suit. After posing for a few shots, he jogs toward me, a slight frown clouding his features.

He opens his mouth, then closes it. And just when I'm about to toss a joke about the rarity of him being lost for words, he plasters a smile on his face. Offering his arm, he says, "Shall we try to turn this dreadful night into a fun one?"

I chuckle, relieved that he's not pressing me about the red-carpet thing. "Yeah. Let's do this."

We step into a circular ballroom exuding a grandeur that competes only with my mom's living room. Only, my childhood home doesn't stand a chance. Every element is more decadent than the next. From the dozen gold-plated chandeliers to the red velvet drapes adorning the massive windows and the mural painted on the domed ceiling. There's a silent auction on the right, and I notice a signed Raptors jersey. There's also an expo showcasing what last year's donations did for the kids at the hospital while scores of waiters bustle around with hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne on silver platters. I breathe out a sigh, relieved we won't have to sit through a lengthy dinner

We spot the other guys with their dates gathered in a corner, chatting, and at first, I'm happy to see them. I forgot they would be here too, and having a few people we know attending makes this thing a little less awkward. Naturally, that was before I saw their dates. James Adler has a gorgeous redhead at his elbow, her long leg shimmering beneath the slit of her dress. Aaron Miles has his arm around a brunette with intense eyes and the perfect body that's molded in a form-fitting dress. And Caleb Hawthorne is accompanied by a blonde who I'm pretty sure I've seen on the cover of several magazines at the checkout lane of the grocery store.

I suddenly feel out of place, but I force myself to put on a show. Just like I've done all my life. I knew I'd be different from most of the girls here. I am different from most girls, period. And I'm reminded of that every day. I'm not even jealous—it's more like admiration. They're so effortlessly beautiful, so naturally feminine and delicate. Everything a guy wants. Like Alice, who has yet to reveal a single flaw. Or even Emma. She may have that dark style going on, but she's the definition of feminine, and she has those beautiful doe eyes. Meanwhile, I have my dad's figure and the elegance of a linebacker.

We stop to talk for a while, and after grabbing some gourmet appetizers from a passing waiter, Max bids on a few items at the silent auction.

After a while, the band transitions from mood music to upbeat dance tunes, and a few people step onto the dance floor.

"Shall we?" Max says with a bright smile.

"There's hardly anyone dancing."

"Good," he says, dragging me by the hand. "More room for us. I have big moves, and I'm not shy of them." He waggles his eyebrows in sync with his shoulders, and I just laugh, following along.

He's definitely a goofy dancer, not that I expected anything less. And with every step, I start to let loose—that champagne glass might have helped in that department—and surprisingly, I feel good . Coming here tonight wasn't a mistake after all. Max was right. When we're together, everything is more fun.

He twirls me one last time, dipping me at the end. As we pause like that, my heart hammers in my chest. Our faces are hovering dangerously close. One move from one of us, and our lips would touch.

The drummer hits the last note, and Maxime brings me back up.

"I think we gave these people quite a show," Maxime says, glancing around. "That or they're just dazzled by you."

I shake my head, unable to accept the compliment. "They're probably just trying to understand why a man like you would be with a girl like me."

He furrows his eyebrows, striking his chest with the palm of his hand. "A guy like me? Are you kidding? I'm lucky you're even giving me the time of day. You're sweet, funny, gorgeous, and you have repartee. What guy wouldn't be interested in someone like that?"

The butterflies in my belly take flight again, and I try to contain them. "Really?"

"Of course, really." He chuckles. "I've been chasing you since day one, remember?"

"But I thought it was just for fun. A game."

His intense gaze penetrates my soul again. "I'm an athlete, Nash. I play games all day at work, not in my personal life. I never once lied about being interested in you."

I shake my head vehemently. "No, but that was all just to amuse your teammates, and because I was saying no. "

He pulls me to the side, then leads me down an empty hallway, and my heart jolts. What is happening? Finally, he comes to a stop and takes my hand in his, giving it a little squeeze. "It was never like that. Haven't you heard a word of what I just said? I find you extraordinary, Hayley Nash."

I pause, digesting his confession and marveling at the fact that he used my full name for the first time. Come to think of it, I never really allowed myself to think that this was more than just a fun diversion for him. I thought it was who he was—a flirt who liked to goof around. How can Maxime be interested in me when he can have any girls he wants?

"So, now that we've established my intentions," he says, "and since you now know I'm an excellent dancer, will you please go steady with me?"

"See?" I say, dropping his hand. "How can I know if you're serious? You're always turning everything into a joke."

He scratches his head. "Yeah, I just realized that after I said it." He laughs. "But it's just how I am. It comes in handy when a girl says no, though."

And for the first time, I see it. Max's cockiness and witty comments are a way to hide his vulnerability. Though to be honest, I don't think a girl has ever said no to him. Well, except me, from day one. But that was all miscommunication, I guess.

"Let me rephrase that," he says, caressing my cheek. "Hayley Nash, I am crazy about you, and I've been dying to kiss you since the moment I first laid eyes on you. Will you please go out with me?"

All this time, when Maxime was pursuing me, it was real? The flirty banter, the way he wrapped his arm around me on the train, our date , and more importantly, the comments he made about my appearance. He actually meant it? My mind is a whirlwind as all the moments we spent together flash before me. I've never felt this empowered in my life. The flock of butterflies nearly burst from my belly, and this time, I take a second to savor the feeling. Biting my lip, I answer, "I would love to."

Once the words leave my mouth, I wrap my arms around his neck, and he closes the distance between us, his hands finding my lower back. He holds me tight and gazes at me for a second, before dipping his head. Our lips collide, and if this was a romance novel, there would be all sorts of hyperboles and swoony descriptions about how my senses are heightened with every touch. That his lips are surprisingly soft. That kissing him feels like coming home .

I fought him from day one because I was scared to let go and open my heart, but surrendering feels so right. And I know Maxime. I know he won't break it. It's no coincidence that the line from First Love , the one he hung on the bookstore wall, is one of my all-time favorites. We might be flawed humans, but together, we do give perfect a fighting chance.