A Brit Player by Brenda St John Brown

Author:Brenda St John Brown [St John Brown, Brenda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Brenda St John Brown

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Max and I have been making out around London for the past few hours since getting off the boat. So far, he’s kissed me senseless outside Borough Market, on a side street in Westminster, and waiting in line for ice cream in Soho. It’s been heady and delicious, but it’s closing in on dinner time and a natural end to the day.

Or a continuation.

Because if we decide to have dinner together, Max will insist on walking me home, I’ll invite him up, and…then what?

What should I do about turning lunch into dinner with Max? I shoot off a quick text to Scarlett while Max is in the loo.

Thank God she’s at the other end of her phone. Have dinner…then dessert.

I nod at my phone. That’s exactly what I should do. Exactly what I’ve done with other so-called flings – although Mikhail never came to my flat, thank God. He’s not the kind of guy you want having your address.

My phone pings again with another text from Scarlett: But your status with Max isn’t written in stone. Just a reminder.

No, but it should be. Being with Max today has been amazing, and it’s easy to see us spending more time together. I can see us capital T Together. But being with Max – truly with him – means telling him the truth about all those years ago. Which would destroy us anyway. So I can either have the temporary version of him or not at all.

No brainer.

I type quickly back to Scarlett: I know. Any chance you and Bradley want to meet us for dinner?

Scarlett: Rain check? I’ve been painting all day and I’m shattered.

Me: Oh? New artwork?

Scarlett’s an amazing artist. One day she’ll have her own gallery show and it will be incredible.

Scarlett: Ha, if only. Painting our home office.

She sends me a photo of all the furniture pushed to the middle of the room and slate-blue walls.

Me: It looks great. Relax and enjoy your night. We’ll double date next time.

“Sorry about that,” Max calls from a few feet away. “There was a queue.”

“A queue for the men’s room? That’s almost unheard of.” I stand up and Max puts his arm around my shoulder. It’s only been a day, but it already feels warm and familiar.

“I know, right?” Max glances down at me as we start to walk towards the exit. “So what next? I have training tomorrow at one, and I’m at your beck and call until you decide you’ve had enough of me. Or tomorrow at about eight a.m., whichever comes first.”

“Well I have to be at work at eight, so I’ll have to kick you out before then.”

“So… what does that mean?” Max slows to a shuffle. “Because an optimistic man would say that sounds a lot like you inviting me to stay.”

“It sounds that way to me too?” I shrug but my insides feel like they’re being shoved into a too-tight sweater and I’m not sure I can take a deep breath in right now.

“Are you sure?” Max’s gaze is intent on mine.

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