Page 8 of Out Of Time

“So, tell me, Max, what do you have planned today?” she asked, leaning back against the island countertop. “You had a pretty big win last night, and now the day off. You hitting the beach? It’s absolutely gorgeous outside.”

He didn’t know what he planned to do now that he had apologized, and Remi was ready to clean hisalreadyclean house. He would typically work out, have a nice meal, then watch a show or a movie.

“I haven’t gotten that far,” he admitted.

“Not a big planner?” she asked.

“I honestly couldn't think past this conversation.”

“Rough stuff, Max. I promise you I’m fine. You can forgive yourself, there are far worse things in life than half-naked hockey players, I promise.”

“Well, I am sorry, for what it’s worth. I wish you had a better first impression of me.”

“It was an amazing first impression, are you kidding me? Honestly, it was the boxer briefs for me. I’m a sucker for them,” she said, then added, “And now… we never speak of it again.”

He watched ashercheeks flushed, and for the first time he saw Remi act a little shy—her blue eyes managing to look like the ocean up against the blush of her cheeks. This madeMax nervous, noticing eyes and blushing cheeks, and Remi; her presence alone made him feel weak in the knees.

“I should go,” he said quickly.

Remi brought one foot to the other and kicked off her battered black and white checkered Vans. Her toenails were painted bright coral. “Pretty sure it’syourhouse. You should stay. Keep me company.”

Him? Company? Had she not suffered enough of his awkward pauses and clumsy eyes on her? Was she some kind of glutton for bad conversation?

“I’m not great company,” he admitted, pulling his hands from his pockets to wipe them anxiously on his jeans.

“Oh, I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

“I don’t think I can stand around and watch you clean,” he said.

Remi looked around, raising her hands in question. “I don’t think you’ll have to. Your house is clean enough to eat off the floors, Max. I seriously don’t understand why you keep me employed.”

He didn’t either, but if keeping her employed meant seeing her from time to time on Wednesdays, he would gladly write the check himself.

“I got fresh hummus from the farmers market this morning and a bag of pretzels,” she said, pointing to a battered bag hanging off her cleaning cart, one of the straps hanging on by a thread.

He glanced over at it, then back at her, unsure what she wanted him to do with this information.

“I could share it with you,” she offered.

“For breakfast?” he asked, unsure if he liked the idea of hummus this early, before coffee even.

“Or lunch.”

“But lunch is hours away.”

Remi looked at him incredulously, wrinkling her nose. “Do you want to have hummus with me or not? Because if I don't share it with someone, I’m likely to eat the whole tub of it alone. I have zero restraint when it comes to any kind of dip situation.”

“You don’t have anyone else to share it with?” he asked.

It wasn't what he meant to say. What he meant to say was,why me? He didn't understand why she would want to share anything with him, especially her time, let alone her hummus.

He was so bad at this.

This was why he played hockey and kept his head down.

He wanted the hummus, sure, but he wanted her company even more. But what was in it for her? Awkward conversation with a grown-ass man. A man who hadn't dated since college. A man that couldn't articulate that he wanted the damn hummus.

Remi rolled her eyes and shook her head at him. “I have plenty of people I could share it with, Max, but I offered to share it withyou.”

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