The Right Fit

Chapter 8

Only when Maxine closed the door behind her and the two of them stood apart, wavering slightly like bottles bobbing in the ocean, did the full scenario hit her. She’d just invited a stranger into her apartment—a man.

Her brain flipped through the Dynasty episodes where Alexis had been in this situation, but her mind drew a blank. With his jacket still over her shoulders, the warmth of being inside coupled with the immediate awkwardness made the skin on her lower back sticky with nervous sweat.

He took a tentative step forward and looked around. Maxine’s gaze roamed with his, seeing her place with new eyes. She was acutely aware of the dishes she’d left on the counter that separated the tiny kitchen from the living room. The vintage trunk she used as a makeshift coffee table was covered in nail polish bottles. A small pile of used cotton balls, the color from her earlier manicure bled through the white billowy puffs.

One Knight Stand indeed, Maxine thought with a shiver. Except this time there was no bottle of wine chilling in the fridge with a platter of appetizers.

Fashion magazines rose up in various heights of towering piles around the room like stalagmites. New eye shadow samples she’d brought home with plans of

trying out on herself and Crosby this weekend had been categorized according to warm and cool colors, but the organization now looked like she’d let them spill across the dining table.

The only nice thing, the only thing of any monetary value, was the leather sofa Johnny had encouraged her to buy last year.

“It’s the best value, Maxine,” he’d insisted. “It’s going to last the longest, plus it will be easy for you to clean. You know how sloppy you can get, especially in front of the TV.”

She hated how sticky it felt in the heat of summer, and how it seemed to hold the cold this time of year. When they’d broken up, she put a patch work quilt over top, hoping to soften it.

But now, the handmade blanket looked ridiculous. She reluctantly turned to her mysterious

Frenchman, embarrassed with the state of disarray. In the darkness of the cab, there had been an air of possibility between them. Now that he saw her in the light—saw all of her—she anticipated how this would follow through, and blushed for the shame of assuming anything else.

One Knight Stand. She hated that nail color now. He motioned to the table covered in makeup.

“I’m an esthetician,” she explained, trying to anticipate his question. “I love to work with the colors. I guess it’s my thing.” She paused and then added, “I work at a spa. I do makeup and skin care for people.”

“Where do you eat?” he asked, still staring at the table.

In bed, she almost said. Instead, Maxine read his ball cap again. “And you’re a mechanic?” A mechanic who could also model, she thought.

“Hmm?” he frowned at her. She pointed to his cap. He pulled it off and read the logo. “Oui, yes. I’m, um…mechanic. And towing. I do that, too, oui.”

Maxine smiled at his accent. “That’s my biggest fear. I hate the thought of getting stuck at a busy intersection with everyone staring at you, upset because you’ve caused a traffic jam.”

“I missed that horror movie,” he said, running a hand through his thick black hair, pushing it off his face. The waves in the back almost reached his shoulders.

“The weird thing is, I don’t even own a car.”

He walked around, the ball cap still in one hand. “Do you like sports?”

“You mean like running and exercise?” Maxine wrinkled her nose at his question. It seemed genuine, but anyone with a pair of eyes could tell she wasn’t exactly miss sporty natural. Still, she was enchanted by his curiosity.

“Like watching on TV,” he said, looking around the living room, searching for a television that wasn’t there anymore. Johnny got the television.

“No,” she answered. “I like 80’s television shows.” Then she laughed nervously—again.

He finished his inspection of the small living room and focused on her. Maxine hadn’t realized how dark his eyes were before. She was once again struck by the hugeness of him. His broad shoulders seemed to take up the whole space. He stayed still, but his expression was unwavering, almost daring her.

This is it; this is my Alexis Colby moment. I brought this large hunk of a man into my apartment— but now what?

She dropped her gaze and stared at his hands. God, they are big hands. Big hands, big… “Do you want a coffee?” she blurted out.

“A coffee? Non.”

“Or maybe you need the washroom?” She pointed down the short hallway that lead to her bedroom.

He looked down the hallway, then back to Maxine. “You want me to use washroom?” he asked seriously.

“No.” She backed up a few steps until she reached the kitchen counter. The heat under her dress was now slick and uncomfortable. She glanced down and saw a mint leaf sticking out of her cleavage. Classy lady.

The romance cover model ran a hand through his hair again, making his biceps strain under the t-shirt sleeve. Maxine suspected he’d practiced that move in the mirror a few times. “Then what do you want?” he asked.

A burst of nervous laughter escaped, but then her smile faded. “No one has asked me that in a very long time,” she said. Slipping off his jacket, she laid it on the counter, letting her finger trace the stitching along the zipper, trying to build up her courage. “Why did you follow me into the cab?”

“Because no one has ever run away from me before.”

Rolling her eyes, Maxine looked up and saw that he was smirking. “Rejection is a new thing for you, I’m guessing.”

“Is that what you call inviting me here?” He tossed the ball cap and it landed perfectly on the dining table. The floorboard creaked as he took a step closer to her. There was a spark of anticipation in his eyes.

“Hold on, cowboy,” she said, putting a hand on his chest. My God! His muscles are rock hard under his shirt. Who the hell is this guy? She cleared her throat. “What makes you think you can kiss me again?”

He was still as stone under her touch, but Maxine could feel herself falling into his stare. “You kissed me,” he said, his voice ridiculously smooth. “There is a difference, I promise.”

It wasn’t only the French accent, but the confidence in his voice that made her knees almost unhinge. Her hand was flat on his chest; his racing heart was keeping time with hers. “That sounds like a proposition,” she said.

“It can only be decided one way.” Then he repeated his earlier question. “What do you want?”

He was so close she could see the faint brown and black colors of his stubble. There was a cleft in his chin. What do you want? An image of the long white box hidden in the closet was ignored; all Maxine wanted at that moment was to mold herself into his arms and forget about the last four years. “Kiss me,” she said.