9. Too Close For Comfort

9

Too Close For Comfort

Hayley

I'm glad Maxime tagged along today. As always, he's bringing another level of fun to everything we do. I would never admit that to him in a serious tone, though. I'd never hear the end of it.

We finally settled on a couch with firmer support and found a couple of armchairs that passed my extremely high comfort standards and his bizarre ones. Even if he probably won't ever sit down on these furniture pieces, it is good to have his opinion considering we have such vastly different visions of comfort.

"Oh, beds," he says, shamelessly jumping on one. "This was my favorite thing to do when I was a kid and my parents dragged me to IKEA." He rolls onto his elbows, wearing a huge smile. I can totally picture him as a goofy little kid jumping on furniture in stores.

I glance around, making sure we won't be getting in trouble. "What? So you could sleep while your parents shopped?"

"I'd test as many beds as I could. And even jump up and down on them when no one was looking," he jokes. "Sucks to be a grown-up. That was fun."

His ridiculous story makes me laugh. "Yeah, not a good idea. You'd break it."

"It's comfortable, though. Try it," he says, lying down.

"We all know what your idea of comfort is," I retort, wrinkling my nose.

"Come on, Nash." He gives the mattress a little tap. "You'll like it."

I might be a grown-up too, and we're not even looking for a bed today—not to mention I'll probably find it uncomfortable anyway—but I dare anyone, anyone , not to lie down on a department store bed next to him .

I recline on the mattress, and even if it is a little firm, a lot firmer than my own mattress, I kind of like it. Or is it just because Maxime's spicy cologne has taken over and transported me to my own little cozy, warm bubble?

"So," he begins, turning his head. "Do you like it?"

I copy his motion, and our faces have never been so close before. If one of us moved a few inches, our noses would touch. I don't even dare to breathe, let alone speak. What did I have for lunch again? I hope my breath doesn't smell terrible.

I lie on my back and shrug. "Meh."

"Liar." His tone is buried in a layer of playfulness.

"I'm not." I swallow hard, trying to clear my head of his tantalizing smell. "It's too firm."

The mattress shifts, and Maxime's face is suddenly even closer to mine. He's leaning on his elbow, planting his deep hazel eyes into me. "You're just saying that to disagree with me."

I press my lips together to contain my smile. "No I'm not."

His expression shifts from playful to something else. Something softer, deeper. "Why are you always disagreeing with me, Nash?"

Drawing a breath, I try to calm my heart, which is now running a marathon. But the longer I'm trapped in Max's ardent gaze, the more a warmth spreads through my body, igniting my senses. Suddenly, his spicy cologne is stronger, the bed we're laying on firmer, and the mix of colors in his eyes more vivid than they've ever been. A drop of sweat rolls down my neck, and I can almost feel it hit the mattress.

I force a laugh, closing my eyes to ground myself. We need to bring this back into funny territory. ASAP. I need out of his cornering gaze before I'm forced to roll him onto his back to kiss him. Yes, that's where we are right now. This whole thing escalated way too quickly. "Okay, fine. It's not that bad. But you should try mine. It's a lot more comfortable."

His intense gaze morphs into a cocky one, and a large smile stretches his lips. I only now realize what I just said, but it's too late. "I'd love to. Is that an invitation, Nash?"

I bury my face in my hands. "That's not what I meant. Gosh, I need to get up. I don't think straight lying down."

I figured he was going to make another flirty comment—I served this one on a silver platter. But he doesn't, instead chuckling lightly. I'm grateful for that. I need a reset.

"Okay," I say, standing up. "Let's keep going. We don't have all day. "

Moving on to the next section, we find a rug that'll go well with the furniture we picked up before continuing to the decor section. I'd like to find something for Mr. Darcy, a couple of fuzzy blankets, and pretty much anything else that screams "cozy reading area."

"What about this?" Maxime is holding a dark-blue velvet throw pillow with gold trimmings.

I wrinkle my nose. "Ew, no. It's more my mom's style than mine. She actually has one that's very similar."

"What's wrong with that?" he asks, pretending to be offended.

"Our tastes couldn't be any more different. Which I'll be reminded of again in forty-six hours when I visit her."

He cringes. "Counting down the minutes to seeing your mom again."

"Yup, and not in a good way."

"Yeah, I kind of got that from the nose wrinkling and the general sour expression on your face."

Biting back a laugh, I continue, "Well, the idea of spending an entire afternoon with my mom and her posh friends has that effect on me."

"That bad, huh?" he asks, putting the throw pillow down.

I meander down the aisle and breathe out a long sigh. "Yeah. I love my mom, I do. But she's always so paranoid that I'll end up single and alone, she keeps putting plans in the works for me to find a man," I say, rolling my eyes. "And when she's not doing that, she scrutinizes me, trying to figure out why I'm still single. Is it my hair? My body? How I dress? How I talk? So, I try to keep my visits as sparse as possible. But the day after tomorrow is her birthday, so I have to go. Let's just hope I won't be walking into a pre-arranged marriage situation." I chuckle while examining a cozy blanket.

His eyes widen. "What?"

"I'm kidding. Though she did set up a date for me at her birthday party one year."

He scratches the back of his neck. "I see. Where does she live?"

"Greenwich, Connecticut."

"Are you taking the train?"

"No. I did that once, and it took forever. A few months ago, I stumbled on this car rental place behind the park near our street, so I drive now. It's easier."

"I could drive you," he suggests, his gaze burning with that intensity again. "I have a car. I got one while I was in Michigan, and I just drove it here."

I frown, wringing my hands. "Don't you have practice?"

"The day after tomorrow is a day off for me. Our last one before preseason starts, actually. "

"And you want to spend your one day off with me?"

He breathes out a laugh. "Would that be so terrible? You're good company, you know."

"Duh. Of course I am. But you don't understand. We're not talking about a fun road trip. It's an afternoon at my mother's ."

He shrugs. "Mothers love me."

" And my mother's friends," I add.

"They'll love me too," he says, flashing a cocky smile.

I'm sure his words hold true with normal moms—or anyone on the planet for that matter, whether they've given birth or not—but not my mom. "I'm just warning you, she's not your typical mom. And she's probably going to have a lot to say about you," I muse, looking him up and down quickly. Which isn't easy. Every feature of his body warrants a deeper look. Mom would find him way too cocky, probably labeling him as arrogant the moment she learns he's a hockey player. It's not even a job, darling. It's a hobby. She would then claim that muscles that big can't be good for his ego or his brain. It'd be a whole thing. Entertaining, but still.

"At least she'll be off your back for being single, and she'll stop playing matchmaking," he says, picking up a cushion and showing it to me.

I shake my head in confusion. "What do you mean? "

"Well, that's how this fake dating thing works, right?" he asks, cocking his head.

My eyes fly wide. "You want to fake date me?"

"Sure," he says with a nod. "See? I'm already turning into those characters you love so much." He winks.

I glance around, trying to find an escape route, but we're in the middle of an aisle. There's nowhere to go. Never in my life has someone asked me to fake date them. I wouldn't even have dreamed about the possibility. Particularly not a guy like Maxime Beaumont, a kindhearted, funny athlete who doesn't even need a publicity boost, and who's absolutely gorgeous.

I steal a peek at him and catch sight of his familiar cocky smirk. Of course. He's only joking. There's no such thing as fake dating in real life. At least not for girls who look like me. I quickly regain my composure and shake my head. "Sure. Sounds like a plan. Now, let's get going. We still have an entire section to go through."

He doesn't say anything but simply nods, which only confirms my hunch. He was just kidding around, as usual. Nothing about Maxime's flirtiness is ever serious.

We bring our focus back to our shopping and find everything I was looking for, including a fluffy cushion that says, "This is my reading spot" with a drawing of a cat curled up underneath. Perfect. The cat even has a black tux like Mr. Darcy.

Arms full of blankets and cushions, we head over to the cashier to pay for today's haul along with the furniture I spotted earlier. The grand total falls right in our budget, and I'm proud of myself for not overspending. And believe me, it wasn't easy. They had way too many cute things.

I'm digging through my purse for the store's credit card when Maxime slides his to the cashier.

"No. What are you doing?" I blurt.

The cashier pauses, not daring to take Maxime's card after my outburst.

"You took us out to breakfast and lunch yesterday," Maxime says, as if it's a perfectly logical explanation.

I scoff. "Come on. That's nowhere near the same value, and we did that to thank you for your help."

He shrugs. "We don't mind the work. All the guys have said so. It's been fun to be a part of your bookstore, and it's rewarding to see the place taking shape."

"It doesn't matter. You're not paying for this," I insist, one hand on my hip.

"Don't argue with me, Nash. You know you're bound to lose. I'm paying. Besides, this is my little sister's business too. I'm well within my rights to buy her furniture. And I don't know if you're aware, but hockey players make a comfortable living."

I haven't really thought about that, but I guess he has a point. "That doesn't mean you have to spend it on us, though."

"I'm paying, and that's final," he says, nodding to the cashier and shaking his card. "Please, take my card."

I cross my arms and grumble, "Fine." Can I refuse this guy anything? I'm starting to worry about my decision-making when I'm around him.

Maxime pays for the furniture, and once we figure out the details for the delivery, we exit the store.

"Thank you," I say, wringing my hands and suddenly feeling shy. I've become adept at handling cocky, funny Maxime, but when it comes to this soft, kind version of him, I'm hopeless.

He waves a hand in the air. "Don't mention it. So," he says as we stroll back toward the station. "What should I wear for your mom's birthday?"

I chuckle, shaking my head. "Right. Funny."

"Hold on, I'm dead serious." He places a hand on my arm to stop me. "I'm coming with you. As I said, it's a day off for us, so that works out well for me."

Is he really serious? He can't be. But then, why does he look so earnest right now? "That's sweet of you, but it's fine. I was just joking around," I say, swallowing hard.

"Well, I wasn't. I'd love to meet your mom. And my being there will help with the matchmaking business she's running. Plus, I'll make it fun, like I always do." He flashes a ridiculously large grin that makes me laugh.

"You do have a knack for turning boring activities into a fun time," I say, biting my lip.

"Exactly. So, what should I wear?"

"You do understand the ‘fake' part, right? We're not going on an actual date."

"Of course. There will be no kissing involved. I'm not usually big on PDA in front of potential in-laws, anyway."

My stomach simultaneously twists and leaps as the thought takes root. The fact that Maxime will have real in-laws someday mixes with the fantasy that, for one day, it could be my mom.

"Right," I murmur.

"Okay, so should I wear a suit, or . . . ?"

"No need to dress up. It's just lunch. But maybe no athletic wear. A dress shirt or something?"

He nods. "Got it."

Wow. We're really doing this. He's honestly going to come to Connecticut with me for support. "Thank you," I say, "for everything. Helping us with the store, paying for the furniture, and now coming with me to my mom's house. It's always so excruciating. You have no idea what you got yourself into." In a joking tone, I add, "No backsies now."

He chuckles, raking a hand through his hair. "I wouldn't dream of it, and it's nothing. My pleasure."

I chew the inside of my cheek. "Really, though. Behind all those jokes and the extra layer of ego, you're a pretty decent guy, Maxime Beaumont."

And that fact is complicating things for me, just a bit.