Page 44 of Moving Forward

I arch against him so that our bodies are touching everywhere they can. His hips grind against mine, offering me the slightest bit of relief before the tension worsens. I don’t want anything between us. I want him to be inside me, pulsing and alive. I want our connection to go beyond the emotional to the physical. His groan tells me he wants the same. “You’re so goddamn beautiful in these dresses it hurts,” he breathes heavily into my ear, his thumb rubbing my nipple, making it pebble in response.

“Max?” my mom yells from downstairs. “Dad is about to get the grill going!”

Cain squeezes my nipple before letting out a frustrated growl. He pushes off me and lands beside me. “Fuck,” he mutters, wiping a hand down his face. “That went too far.”

“Oh.” Too far? As in, it was a mistake?

Cain massages the bridge of his nose. “How the hell am I supposed to get my body under control and face your parents after that?” His jeans are tented with what must be an unbearable erection. His body definitely doesn’t think it was a mistake. “That’s all I’m going to think about now. I won’t be able to concentrate. I’m already thinking about when we get home.”

I roll over and bury my face in his arm. “Me too.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CAIN

My biggest fear is realized when Andrew invites me outside to help him grill burgers, while Max stays inside with her mom and grandpa. I had no problem with being around her family, as long as Max was around too. But one-on-one time with the dad?

Thankfully, I’m pretty sure he only did it because he doesn’t know how to use the grill. This I can handle.

“Um,” he mumbles for what feels like the fifteenth time, turning a knob he’s already tried.

I’m quickly realizing that Max was right about her parents. They live inside a techy world, and I’m beginning to wonder if they can live outside of it. While Ophelia was poking around in the refrigerator, I noticed they had a lifetime supply of TV dinners.

I step around Andrew and start the grill for him. “I’ll do it for you, sir.”

“Thanks,” he says, with an embarrassed grin that reminds me all too much of Max. “We aren’t too good at cooking around here.”

I shrug my shoulders as I reach for the spatula. “No judgment.”

“Right,” Andrew replies, standing straighter, puffing out his chest. “Ophelia said your grandmother owns a diner?”

“Yeah, up in Orchard Valley. Ruth’s.”

“Interesting,” he draws out, clearly at a loss as to where to take the conversation. “Are you going to eventually take it over?”

Before Max, I would have had a string of expletives along with the word no. Now, it’s different. The thought of running Ruth’s doesn’t make me want to lock myself in my boat anymore. That’s just her effect on me; she makes me think I can do things I didn’t think I was capable of.

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