Surprise popped up like a weasel. Great, now I had that kids’ song stuck in my head. “Wait. You read mostly genre fiction? Max Cooper. You’re a secret geek.”
“Don’t tell anyone, ’kay? Not that they’d believe you.” He flipped up his shirt to reveal tasty abs. Not mega ripped but taut and fine with delicious V-lines revealed by loose sweats. “I mean, just look at this package.”
Fortunately, my brain had never let me down, no matter how much sexy, muscled, yummy tan bod was on display. “If you have to ask a girl to inspect your package, you work for UPS or you’re trying too hard, bro.”
He smirked. “I don’t like how you call yourself a girl. It’s demeaning.”
“Hey, I’m allowed to say it. Dudes aren’t.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
We stopped talking after that, but the silence didn’t thrum with badness. Max seemed as okay as he could be, considering he was on his way to bury his grandfather and see his brother for the first time in five years. And that didn’t take into account his asshole dad or the extended family, who might make his life hell for the next two days. Though we had another long day of riding ahead of us, I was looking forward to sitting behind him on the bike more than our arrival. The shit might really hit the fan then.
Before ten, I passed out on top of the covers and didn’t know anything until a pained sound roused me, however many hours later. Shoving up on an elbow, I glanced around in confusion. This isn’t my room, that isn’t Nadia... What—oh. Max. He writhed in the bed next to mine, an arm lashing at the mattress, and he was bathed in sweat.
That’s definitely a bad dream.
This was so far outside my jurisdiction—then again, maybe not. He’d invited me along, knowing we’d be in close quarters for the duration of the trip. So possibly he’d foreseen this development and didn’t entirely mind? Whatever. When he snarled an unintelligible curse, I rolled out of bed and crossed to his, perching on the edge.
“Max. Wake up. You’re bothering me.” That was the first thing that popped into my head, but it didn’t rouse him.
“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no.”
The pure anguish in his voice told me he was reliving the accident. There was no way to know if talking about it summoned the dream or if this happened fairly often. For as much as we hung out at home, I’d never slept in the same room with him. Sucking in a breath, I rested my hand on his head, brushing the damp strands away from his brow. With the light from the sign outside illuminating his face, I saw a tear trickle from the corner of his eye, something I never imagined, ever.
Fuck me. Max cries in his sleep.
My heart twisted in my chest, and I couldn’t stop myself from leaning down, touching my forehead to his. That was enough to rouse him, thank God. He blinked up at me blearily, his hands unclenching. “You okay?”
“Bad dream. Scoot over.” Since he wasn’t even fully awake, he mumbled as he did. I fell asleep with my back against his.
Hours later, I stirred in increments, then snapped alert when I realized Max was spooning me. His arm was strong and warm across my waist, hips snug against my ass, and I felt each slow breath into my hair. Well, crap. No good deed, and so on. It seemed unlikely that I could get away without disturbing him. The bedside clock read 5:45 a.m., so it was still mostly dark. As I shifted, he tightened his hold and nuzzled my neck. Obviously, it felt incredible, but it had been eight months. These days it didn’t take much to turn me on. But I wasn’t a shy virgin trembling with fear that he’d ravish me. So I lifted his arm and crawled out of bed. Max was rubbing his eyes when I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and get dressed.
“Okay, did I imagine—”
“Nothing happened.” I wasn’t about to tell him that he was crying in his sleep so I figured I better go on the offensive. “My bed had janky springs, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh. Anyone ever tell you your hair smells like lemons?”
“That’s the top-notch motel shampoo.”
“Couldn’t resist me, huh? This always happens, sooner or later. Should we just do it already, defuse the sexual tension?”
“As if. You were on my side of the bed. There are Russian hitmen who would pay big money to spoon this.” I slapped my ass with a teasing grin and yanked the covers off him. “Come on, get up.”
He immediately grabbed a pillow, going for basic crotch camo. “Are you kidding?”
“Oh. You already are. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I have to pee,” he mumbled.
“Take your time. If you need me to step out, so you can—”
“So help me, Kaufman, if you don’t stop talking, right now, I’ll make you.”
Smirking, I did a taunting little dance, hip swivel and half turn. “Sure you will. What, you gonna kiss me? Now, that’s original. Besides, I’m way too good at it, remember? Pretty soon you’ll be dry humping me and then come all over yourself. Let’s not go down that road.”
He scrubbed a palm across his face. “It’s too early for this.”
“Exactly my point.”
Max slammed the bathroom door after stomping past me. He was in there long enough with the water running for me to consider teasing him, but honestly, what a guy did in the shower stall of a crappy motel bathroom was between him and the tiny soap. So I didn’t say anything as we packed up and headed out to the bike. But I was thinking about it, wondering a little, when I swung on behind him and nestled close.
I could get used to this.
Of course, introducing my mother to Max might trigger the coronary she was always threatening to have, whenever I did something worthy of parental disapproval. Which was pretty much my entire life to date. She claimed she was in danger of a stroke when I came out as bisexual. In fact, my dad argued with me on the subject; he said that wasn’t even a thing and that I probably just wasn’t ready to admit I was gay yet—not that he wanted me to. So if I could just go quietly back into the closet and confine my sexual identity questions to watching interesting internet porn, that would be great. He didn’t say that, of course, but over the years, I’d gotten great at reading between the lines. Conversations with my family were pretty much always frustrating for various reasons.
“You good to go?” Max asked, starting the engine.
“Yep, let’s do this.”
Like the previous day, we rode in two-hour increments, stopping to rest so my muscles didn’t lock up. Max grew progressively tenser the closer we got to Rhode Island, and when we crossed the state line, his back felt like a brick beneath my cheek. Since I could only touch his abs, it seemed weird to rub his belly as if he was a spaniel and I was trying to make his back leg kick. As we rolled into Providence, he pulled into a gas station parking lot. The area didn’t look awesome, but I didn’t protest. I figured he needed a minute. Max disappeared inside for over
