Sophia
An hour later, I’d changed into jeans and a T-shirt, along with my tennis shoes. Max had said it was casual, and I saw no reason to try to impress him. This was me foraging for a life-sustaining meal, and nothing more.
I checked my hair and makeup in my phone camera—I’m not a total savage; I’d applied lipstick—and knocked on his door.
Two minutes later, I was still waiting. What was taking him so long? I knocked a second time.
It wasn’t a good sign that he was making me wait outside, reminding me that I needed to set mental ground rules.
There would be no kissing. I would eat Max’s food because he owed me, and I was hungry. We could be friends—I’d allow that. But nothing more. The kiss had been a blip in what was to date my most confusing relationship with a man. Was he my landlord? Was he the asshole best friend of my roommate? Or something more? I didn’t know. And because I didn’t know, I was going to play it cool. I was business Sophia tonight—no more shenanigans.
Finally, Max opened the door, and he was out of breath, a grease stain splattered across a casual pale-blue button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Sorry. I almost burned the lasagna.”
He rushed away and left me standing there with the door open. So I did what any sane person would do and stepped inside. And holy shit…
Max’s house was nothing like Jack’s and my apartment. Our place was nicer than most rentals in San Francisco, but Max’s apartment was like a high-end showroom, only homier.
The hardwood floors were light, with herringbone zigzags, and a gas fireplace roared across the room, surrounded by dark espresso built-in bookcases. A patterned navy rug and an elegant sectional pulled the living room area together, while a ten-person polished wood dining table with upholstered chairs overlooked a stunning view of the neighborhood and trees. A separate hazelnut leather sitting area rested next to a corner window with a view of the Bay and Alcatraz. Everything was elegant yet comfortable looking, without appearing too masculine. And I needed to meet Max’s designer because I was ready to marry her/him.
The ceilings were taller in Max’s place than in my apartment, making Max’s home feel massive. Though glancing around, I could tell it was indeed double the square footage of what Jack and I shared. But the kitchen was the real showstopper. With a built-in wall of hickory wood cabinets in a modern design, an espresso machine, and huge, expensive-looking professional appliances, the kitchen was the diamond centerpiece of the apartment. In the center stood a marble island with cabinets in the same nearly black espresso shade as the bookcases, and four modern, lighter wood barstools pushed up on either side for a bar-height table feel.
Max set a casserole dish on the island, the muscles on his bared forearm bulging distractingly. He nudged the Wolf oven door closed with his socked foot and pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. “Sorry, I thought it would be done by now. Then I realized it was done, and I’d nearly overcooked everything.”
“Do you make food often?” It didn’t seem like it, but who was I to say?
He scratched his jaw, clean-shaven now, and peered nervously at the casserole dish. “No, so I make no guarantees.”
I walked over and checked the food. Hard to go wrong with noodles, marinara sauce, and cheese. “Smells good.”
He glanced up, and I swore his gaze was nervous, which was incredibly strange coming from this man. “Don’t say that until you try it.”
This was a first, seeing Max out of his element. He’d put effort into tonight, and it was oddly charming. “I’m not a cook,” I said, “so it doesn’t take much to impress me.”
“If all else fails,” he said, “I have something else that should impress you.”
“If you say it’s in your bedroom, I’m leaving right now.” I was half joking, but kind of not. Men never failed to surprise me.
A dark look crossed his eyes. “Has a man said that to you before?”
“No, but I’ve had other offers in a similar vein.” I leaned closer and took another whiff of the lasagna, and my stomach rumbled. Between my mom’s rodent woes and work, I’d forgotten to eat lunch.
Max mumbled something under his breath, then said, “I can’t answer for others, but my only motive was a date and nothing more.”
I caught the sincere look on his face. “So this is a date?”
He pulled down plates from a cupboard next to the oven and looked over. “That’s typically what it means when a man asks a woman to dinner.”
I sat in one of the barstools he set a plate in front of. “True, but you and I haven’t always had the smoothest relationship. And you’re my landlord. Don’t you think it’s taboo to date a tenant?”
He reached for one of the two wineglasses on the island and paused, catching my eye. “Only if you feel pressured to be here. Did you come because you felt you must, or because you wanted to?”
“I’m here because I’m hungry.”
His lips twisted as though he were holding back a smile. “That’s fair. I’ve given you a hard time in the past.”
“And now?”
He slid the wineglass toward me and held up two bottles, one red and one white.
I pointed to the red.
“Now,” he continued, “things are different.”
They weren’t really. I was still living paycheck to paycheck and had some interesting family issues, while Max was still the wealthy son of a San Francisco first family. The only thing that had changed was one sizzling kiss. Other than that, we were totally different.
“Nothing about us has changed,” I said. “Not really. So why would you want to go out?” I hadn’t expected Max to seriously want to date. I figured it was an impulse or a convenient booty call, but not a real first step to dating. Men like him didn’t date women like me for the long haul.
“You have good taste in chocolate,” he said without missing a beat.
Okay, he was funny now that he wasn’t scowling. And kind of charming. But I was still on my guard. “This is true. But chocolate doesn’t a relationship make. And your mother hates me.”
He poured the red wine into my wineglass and then his own. “Chocolate is important. And regardless of how my mother may come across at times, I doubt very much that she hates you. She’s kinder than she appears.”
I tapped the side of my wineglass, studying him. “In that case, why should I date you?” A bank account didn’t impress me—good character did. Though it seemed he might have that too.
He took a sip of wine and patted his stomach. “My rock-hard abs?”
I laughed. Abs were something my female brain couldn’t ignore. “I do enjoy a nice landscape. What else?”
“I can promise mediocre meals from the comfort of my kitchen.”
“No fine restaurants?” I teased. I really didn’t care about expensive meals, but it was curious that he didn’t try to woo me with it.
“If you wish, though we might run into my mother and her friends.” His brow quirked. “I believe I ran into you at one of those before too.”
My jaw dropped. Nom Tea Parlor, the dim sum restaurant. “You knew that was me?”
“Of course I knew.” He swirled his wineglass and took a whiff of the vintage. His gaze flicked up to me. “Why do you think I gave up my reservation?”
My eyes widened, and he laughed at my expression. “But you didn’t like me back then.”
“Didn’t I?” He walked around the island to a drawer and pulled out cutlery, setting a fork and knife next to our plates. “I might not have admitted my attraction, but I’d noticed you.”
I shook my head. “Men are so weird. Why not just say you like me? Would have saved us a lot of back and forth.”
He smiled. “The back and forth is the fun part. But I admit, men aren’t the most direct where feelings are involved.”
I tapped my finger on the table. So he’d known it was me all along at the restaurant. Something to dissect later. “No fancy restaurants, then, or we’ll risk running into your mother and her friends. How about mediocre ones?”
“Always on the table.”
I ticked off my fingers. “We’ve got rock-hard abs and mediocre food. Have I missed any other perks to dating Max Burrows?”
He walked around the island and stood in front of me, looking down in a way that shot lightning bolts through my belly. “I like you, Sophia. Will you give us a chance to get to know each other better?” He leaned down and kissed me. Nothing fancy, just a lingering peck, and son of a bitch, it was just like last time. My body vibrated with the pleasure of that touch, and a light dose of pleasant man scent engulfed me.
What was it with his kisses?
He tilted my head, one hand on my waist, the other lightly touching my jaw. He leaned down and explored my mouth with another soft yet firm kiss, and a little tongue that had me leaning into him.
He eased back, his eyes still on my mouth. “Are we dating?”
“Kissing. Kissing is another one of your strong suits,” I said.
“I’m glad you think so, because I plan to kiss you a lot.”
