Page 42 of The Marriage Game

I am typically the queen of multitasking but it turns out I’ve found the one thing that requires 100 percent of my attention: kissing Max Bernard. I’m not mad about it, though. On the contrary, I am very much here for this single-tasking experience.

What I’m not here for— the sudden shouts erupting from behind us. We break apart, and I turn to see none other than my ex-boyfriend Tucker stampeding toward me with Patrick, his best friend and left tackle in tow.

“Really, Jill?” Tucker cries, indignation practically oozing out of his large body.

“Tucker, what are you doing here?” I eye him nervously. After what happened in the coffee shop the day Max and I got together, Tucker and I had a heart to heart. Well, sort of. Basically I told him that Max had kissed me to get rid of someone—however I may have failed to mention that the someone was him…and he in turn may have insinuated through the leaving out of that detail that it was a woman Max was trying to get rid of.

But yes, I am the person who chose not to correct him. That’s on me, but c’mon, I was simply trying to spare his feelings. Spin the situation so it didn’t seem so bad. And okay, yes, then I reiterated that I didn’t have time for a relationship then turned around and started up a relationship with Max. But again, I was simply trying to spare his feelings. Besides, Idon’thave time for a relationship—Max just keeps managing to help me find the time.

“Patrick’s dad works in this building,” Tucker explains with a touch of defiance. “He's taking us to Phoenix for a long weekend so we can see the Diamondbacks’ season opener.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “And yeah, maybe I was alsosorta hoping I’d run into you.” His voice softens. “See if maybe now that you’ve started your internship, you've realized that you do have time for a relationship, after all.” His gaze swings over to Max and his expression darkens. “And I guess you have realized that.” Sudden recognition dawns on his face. “Wait a minute—you’re the guy from the coffee shop. The one who kissed her right in front of me! What kind of low down douchebag kisses another man’s woman right in front of him?” His hands escape from his pockets to ball into fists and alarm bells start ringing in my head. Tucker has always been a bit of a hothead on the field, but surely he’s not about to attack Max. Right? They’re about the same size, but Tucker also has Patrick. Two against one is never fair unless the one happens to be Jackie Chan.

“Why don’t we all calm—” I begin, but Max cuts me off. Unlike me his expression is completely unruffled and his posture relaxed as he addresses Tucker. It’s kind of hot.

“Yeah, I am the same guy,” he admits, “though, you seem to have messed up some of the other details about the occasion. As I recall—and believe me I remember everything with crystal clarity about the day I met this amazing woman—the two of you were not together. In fact, she very clearly asked you to leave, but you just wouldn’t listen. Now I would ask you to leave myself this time, but we’re actually on our way out.” He places a hand on the small of my back and starts to direct me toward his car.

My heart beats a rhythm of exhilaration in my chest. That wasn’t just kind of hot—it was dead sexy. He’s going to be such a hot lawyer. I meangood. He’s going to be such agoodlawyer. Ah whatever, he’s going to be a super hot one too. I hope I get to see him argue on behalf of his clients one day.

“You okay?” he asks in a low voice, but I can’t answer—my throat is too dry from his hotness. “Jill?” He peers down at me, and that’s when it happens. Tucker grabs Max’s shoulder frombehind, whirls him around, and gives him a big shove that sends the unprepared Max stumbling backwards.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to make the rules here, tough guy,” Tucker snarls, Patrick and his giant fists ready in the wings to assist.

Max has already regained his footing and somehow still looks completely calm.

“Tucker, that’s enough,” I say as forcefully as I can manage, but the waver in my voice gives away my fear and Max hears it.

“Don’t worry, Jill,” he says softly, without taking his eyes off Tucker. “Nothing’s going to happen here because I’m pretty sure neither of our football friends here want to do something stupid that might end up losing them their scholarships or worse ending their careers.”

“Nice try, smart guy,” Tucker sneers, “but we know how to hit without leaving a single mark.”

“And what a testament to your character that is,” Max replies dryly. Dang he’s good with the verbal repartee. Some women like physical or athletic prowess, but give me a man who’s a word wizard and I’m a goner.

Which really begs the question: why did I ever date Tucker in the first place?

“What are you trying to say?” Tucker demands.

“I believe I was questioning your character,” Max says conversationally. “Do you want to push back on my assessment or are we in agreement that you’re not exactly earning yourself any gold stars in that department?”

“Our football team doesn’t put stickers on our helmets, man,” Tucker grunts, completely missing Max’s meaning. “That’s Ohio State and they’re Buckeye leaves, not stars.”

“Right.” Max’s expression turns to one of mild amusement now, and I’m forced to amend my previous statement: it’s a manwho’s a wizard with words but also can’t be intimidated—that’s what I’m a goner for.

Or perhaps it's just this specific man.

“What kind of grown man needs reinforcement from stickers, anyway?” Max goes on, embracing this new line of conversation. Perhaps he heard the derision in Tucker’s voice or maybe he just has good instincts, but whatever the case it’s a good move. Tucker hates Ohio State because he wanted to play there, but they didn’t want him. Max just managed to ingratiate himself with a guy who was dead set on punching his lights out mere seconds ago.

“Exactly,” Tucker grunts. “We're football players, not kindergartners.” He gives Max an appraising look. “You might be alright, man.”

“Thanks.” Max nods, then hitches his thumb in the direction of his car. “So Jill and I are going to go now.”

Tucker grunts again, appraising Max one last time before letting his gaze flit my way. Somehow, someway I think we may have actually managed to avoid a fight. Max truly is amazing. “Fine,” Tucker relents, turning to go as he mutters, “That witch isn’t worth it anyway.”

Only he doesn’t say witch.

And we didn’t avoid a fight, after all.

It happens so fast I can barely process it; one second Max is next to me the next he’s moving toward Tucker with the clear intent to punch him. Only in his anger, he forgot about silent Patrick. The left tackle trained to always protect his quarterback’s blindside.

He moves in to protect Tucker with the same finesse that he displays on field, taking Max by surprise and clobbering him in the process. I hear a sickening crack as both men hit the pavement.

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