Page 41 of A Little Too Forward

Glancing at my watch, I set the alarm for three hours from now. The doctor advised I only do this once, and if he woke up easily and knew where he was and what happened, I didn’t need to do it again. That was new information to me, but I was going to follow it to the letter.

I don’t have an appetite, but my body is still buzzing with energy. Needing to do something until the adrenaline wears off, I decide to walk around the house and do a little snooping. I’m not expecting to find much, but the intrigue is there.

His office is the room that holds my attention for the longest. The entire space must have been decorated solely by Max. Pictures of all frame shapes and sizes hang on the wall, telling the story of his life, from the first day he put on a pair of skates to last year’s Team Canada picture after winning gold.

I reach my hand out tentatively to touch a light blue frame that holds an image I haven’t seen in years. It’s Max and me in his parents’ backyard. We’re teenagers, laughing so hard at something that our eyes are closed with huge smiles on our faces. Max’s arm is around me, and his head is angled toward me.

There are more pictures of us. Some of us together, some with family and other friends. But the one constant is that Max is always beside me, always looking in my direction.

A warmth in my chest grows and begins to spread, and my eyes water as memories flood back to me.

How had I missed this? All those years of friendly rivalry. The quiet moments and the monumental. He was always there. Pushing me, prodding me, making me mad, yet always supporting me.

My breath hitches as I finally let myself admit the truth.

Max Daws isn’t my friend.

He’s my best friend. The man who drives me crazy in all the right ways.

And the one I want to be with.

I think I’ve always had a crush on him. As an angsty teenager with a hot neighbour, how could I’ve not have liked him back then? The feeling may have ebbed and flowed over the course of the last decade, but it never went away. Max Daws would always be my first crush.

My first love.

And maybe, if I was brave enough, he could be my last too.

I spend a few more minutes in his office before tiptoeing out. The revelation of my feelings has exhausted me, and sleep is calling my name. Walking across the hall, I peer inside to find an empty room.

The next room in the hallway is the same. So is the last room.

Why the hell doesn’t he have any beds up here?

Dragging my hands down my face, I try to figure out my best option. I could sleep on the sofa, but I never get a good night’s sleep if I can’t sleep on my tummy. Plus, being alone downstairs would have me aware of every sound that the house makes.

Heading back in the direction of Max’s room, I open the door to find him still peacefully sleeping. His bed is big enough—it has to be a California king—and it’s not like we haven’t shared a bed successfully as two adults.

Fuck it, I’m just going to do it.

Quietly walking into the room, I head for the bathroom so I can wash my face before calling it a night. As I’m passing the end of the bed, I notice a stack of clothing. Reaching out to move it, I realize that Max has left these out on purpose.

For me? So that I would have something comfortable to sleep in?

Shit, how many seemingly small but giant gestures like this have I missed from Max? In every way he can, he’s taking care of me. Even when he’s the one that needs to be taken care of.

Clutching the clothes to my chest, I head into the bathroom. Once done, I crawl into bed with Max. He must feel the movement of me getting comfortable in his sleep because he reaches out to me.

Not thinking about my next move, I lean over him and kiss his cheek. Then I cuddle down closer to him and fall asleep surrounded by warmth.

And what feels a lot like love.

CHAPTER TWENTY

MAX

I’m not sure what wakes me. The pounding in my head or the bangs and clattering I hear coming from downstairs. Sounds like Sabrina is downstairs making breakfast—and no doubt causing a mess.

The woman is incredible and can do so many things well. Cooking is not one of them. I imagine the scene downstairs and can’t help but smile.

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