Max by Sawyer Bennett

  "Sure thing, buddy," I say as I release Jules' hand and reach out for the paper and pen. "What's your name?"

  "Andy," he says.

  I start to scribble a personalized autograph as I ask, "You play hockey?"

  "Yes, sir," he says. "Goalie."

  "Awesome," I say as I sign my name and hand the paper and pen back to him.

  "Um...could I get a picture with you?" he mumbles, and while I don't feel it, I manage to give him a big smile.

  "Sure," I say as I slide from the booth.

  His dad whips out a camera and snaps a few pictures as I drape my arm over the kid's shoulders. I know this now has everyone in the bar area watching us, and if others hadn't recognized me before, it will spread through here like wildfire. I also know that this will start a wave of people approaching me and I'm thinking this was a bad idea.

  After the kid leaves I start to slide back into the booth just as the waitress returns with our drinks. She places Jules' wine in front of her and then slides my Smithwick's onto my side of the table as she murmurs, "Um...your beer is from a few fans up at the bar."

  I turn my head as the waitress walks off and look to the bar, trying to suppress a groan when I see three women there, all turned to look at me. They're dressed super slutty and clearly out for a wild evening. I give them a nod in acknowledgment, and because I can feel the weight of Jules' stare on me, I turn to face her.

  Her face is impassive and I have no clue what she's thinking. This is really the first time we've been out in public--excluding Houlihan's, of course, but I'm not counting that as a true outing. That's different, with its long-standing fans, as a place to celebrate our wins. We go there knowing we'll be recognized and knowing it's to interact with the fans.

  But tonight I do not want to be fucking recognized. I want to put Jules' mind at ease.

  With a grunt, I push back out of the booth, round the table, and start to slide in next to Jules. She immediately slides over to give me room.

  Turning to face her, I drape an arm over the back cushion and give the rest of the world my back so she knows all I see is her.

  "Jules...I highly doubt some random piece of ass that Dwayne has hooked up with is going to front him money for an attorney so he can take on the expense and burden of three kids."

  "They're not burdens," she mutters.

  I roll my eyes. "I know that and you know that, but he doesn't know that. He sees them as burdens or else he'd have been there for them. He'd have paid his fucking child support. Now, do I think that man wants something? Fuck yeah, and I'm going to guess it's money."

  She blinks at me. "Money?"

  "Yeah," I tell her softly. "Think about it. He shows up and gets you all wigged out about taking the kids. Makes a remark at the end about me rolling in dough."

  "But he didn't know that you were seeing me when he came," she points out.

  "Agreed. So I'm thinking he was going to roll you for a little money but once he recognized my name when I introduced myself, I think his plans got bigger."

  "Son of a bitch," Jules hisses and her eyes fire up with fury. "That asshole."

  "Agreed, baby," I tell her, dropping my arm from the cushion to come down around her shoulders. I pull her in for a quick squeeze. "But you and I both know he's going nowhere with that. So I need you to stop worrying about him and to put your worries toward the things that matter...namely those little minions."

  That gets her and she finally gives me a smile. She takes a deep breath, lets it out and murmurs, "I'm sorry he made me so crazy. Thank you for getting me calmed down and making me see things in a different perspective."

  "You're welcome," I say and then lean in to graze my lips against hers.

  When I pull back, she gives me a tiny shove against my chest. "Okay, buddy...how about go back on your side of the table so I don't get a crick in my neck from trying to look at you sideways."

  I chuckle and lean in, grab another quick kiss and then push back along the booth. When I stand up, my foot steps on something and I realize it's someone else's foot.

  "Oh, shit," I say as I spin around. "I'm sorry."

  Standing there are the three women who sent me a beer, which I now realize Jules never even said a word about. I wonder what she's thinking now.

  "Could we get a picture with you, Max?" one of the women says breathlessly as she pushes her chest outward.

  "Um...I'm kind of on a date," I mutter and take a step back toward the seat I'd just vacated.

  "Please," one of the other women says, and I can't tell her apart from the one that just asked me for the picture. They all look the same. Long hair, tiny dresses, big boobs that look fake, and a lot of makeup. "We're such big fans and you took pictures with that little boy a minute ago."

  I don't dare turn around and look at Jules, not because I'm afraid she'll be mad but mostly afraid she'll laugh at me.

  "Fine," I say with a sigh, and the women all giggle while they swarm me as a waitress gladly steps up to take the phones from the women so she can get pictures for all of them. Their arms go around my waist and I'm assaulted with heavy perfume, and even though I try not to look, standing above them by almost a foot I can't help but see all three of their cleavages. I paste on a smile and keep it there while the waitress snaps photos.

  Finally, she finishes and I start to pull away from the women and turn my attention back to the only woman who gets my motor running, when I feel a hand slip into my back pocket. It's quick, there and gone, and then the women are walking off with backward waves at me and continual giggling.

  I reach into my back pocket as I turn to face Jules and pull out a piece of paper. It has a name--Maevery--as well as a phone number.

  "Did that woman..." Jules says, and my gaze slides from the paper to her. "Did that woman just put her phone number in your pocket?"

  "Appears so," I mumble as I hand it to her and then flop down in my original seat.

  Jules' lips are pressed flat as she grabs the paper, eyeballs it for only a moment, and crumples it in her hand. "She just...she just propositioned you while you were on a date."

  I just stare at her, waiting for her to blow.

  "A date with me," she reiterates.

  I nod. "Yeah...sorry about that."

  "Does that sort of thing happen often?" she grits out, and I'm torn between loving this flash of jealousy from Jules and hating the fact she's upset when she really has had enough upset today.

  I tell her the truth. "Not often, but it does happen."

  She tilts her head. "And what do you do then?"

  I nod down to the paper crumpled in her hand. "I do what you just did. I'm not into random hookups, Jules."

  She narrows her eyes at me so I quickly amend, "I haven't been into random hookups in a very long time."

  This she should know because I told her truthfully about my bit of a wild period after I broke up with Christine.

  Jules gives a heavy sigh and tosses the paper aside. Her eyes are slightly sad but also resolved. "I guess this is the first time I've gotten a glimpse at the ugly side of your fame. It's a bit disconcerting."

  "Like I said," I tell her as I reach my hand back across the table, palm up. She doesn't hesitate and puts her hand in mine, where it belongs. "That shit doesn't happen often. It's mostly younger kids who want the autographs and pictures."

  "That was kind of cute," she says as her eyes crinkle with amusement.

  "It doesn't matter though," I tell her. "I've only got one woman on my mind and that's you."

  "Well, that's good," she says with a sweet smile. "Because I've only got one man on my mind and that's you."

  "Which is a good transition for me to ask you for a favor," I tell her as I lean across the table. She sits up a little straighter, her look welcoming and eager to give me something.

  She wants to give me something.

  She wants to make me happy and she's excited to do so.

  "I've got three things to ask you for, actually," I tell her. r />
  "Okay," she says, eyes still shining. "Lay it on me."

  "First, Thanksgiving is right around the corner and it's not something I traditionally celebrate because, hello...Canadian here. But we have a few days off and I was thinking of maybe having a dinner over at my house. Would you be willing to help me?"

  "Of course," she says excitedly. "That would be awesome. But I think my dad's going to try to get in for a visit. Is that cool?"

  "Totally," I say, and then as an afterthought, "Maybe I should invite my parents for a visit?"

  "Oh my God," she says with a laugh. "Are we meeting each other's parents?"

  "I guess we are," I tell her with a grin.

  "Okay," she says with a nod. "That's one thing. What else do you want?"

  "You know I'm flying back on Tuesday afternoon from our game in Pittsburgh, and Sports World magazine wants to do my photo shoot that evening. Do you think you could maybe give up painting one night, get a sitter and come with me? I hate that shit and would really like you to be there...you know...to make me feel not so fucking stupid."

  Jules' eyes warm and her lower lip purses out in sympathy. "Of course I will. I'll hold your hand and everything."

  I breathe out a sigh of relief because while I really don't need Jules there, it would make it at least bearable and I'd get some extra time with her that week.

  "And the third?" she prompts.

  "This coming weekend we have back-to-back games in Boston," I tell her hesitantly. "I'd really like you to come with me."

  "You want me to come to Boston with you?" she asks, her brows furrowed. "With the kids?"

  I give a shake of my head. "No. I want you to myself. I've already asked Kate and she said she'd be glad to have them for the weekend."

  "I can't," Jules blurts out without giving my request any thought. This I understand, as she's operating from an overly protective place as well as a place of insecurity in her role as a mom and determining what is appropriate.

  I have to let her work this out, but I'm going to make her work it out. "Why not? What's holding you back?"

  "I just can't leave the kids for two days," she says firmly.

  "Technically it will be three days," I tell her, but before I can let that deter her further, I say, "And who says you can't? Where does it say that mothers can't have time away from their kids?"

  "Well," she stammers, "it's just...they're just getting settled in with me--"

  "Five and half months," I tell her bluntly. "They're settled."

  "I don't want to keep pawning the kids off on Kate," she murmurs, and I sense we're getting closer to the heart of the issue.

  "Kate has watched the kids twice for you," I point out. "So you and I could go out. And if I'm not mistaken, you've taken Ben one night for a slumber party so she and Zack could have some alone time."

  "Yeah, but--"

  "No 'buts,' Jules," I say firmly, and I squeeze her hand a little harder. I lean across the table and lower my voice so she knows I'm serious. "You are an incredibly hardworking woman and you are devoted to those kids. You kill yourself to give them what they need. But...I need you too and we don't have a lot of time together as it is. I'm asking you...please...come away with me for a few days and give me some time, okay?"

  Jules' face immediately crumples before me. Her brow furrows and her lips flatten for a moment in disgust.

  "I am so fucking sorry," she says in a small voice. "I wasn't thinking. Fuck...of course we need some time to ourselves, and God...I'm so sorry. You're always the one that takes the backseat to everything."

  "It's okay," I assure her quickly as I see the sheen of tears forming in her eyes.

  "No," she says in a ragged breath as she jerks her hand away from mine, only to fling herself out of her side of the booth and onto mine. Her arms fly around my neck and she pushes her face against mine, cheek to cheek, as she whispers, "God, Max...I'm so sorry. So selfish. Yes, I will go with you. If you still want me to."

  I press my palm to the back of her head, hold her there for a minute before I gently push her away. Her eyes are swimming with apology.

  "I'm so damn sorry--" she starts to say but I put my mouth right on hers and make better use of it.

  I kiss her hard and fiercely, leaving her breathless and without words when I pull away. I use it as an opportunity to set her straight. "I don't take a backseat to everything, Jules. You're the one that does that. This trip will be as much for you as it is for me, okay?"

  She nods at me, smiling, her eyes still looking like they might be on the verge of filling with tears. I want to tell her I love her and that I will do whatever I can to make this work with us, but it's not the time. That time has to be special.

  So I tell her the next best thing. "I adore you, Jules. And I know I'll adore you even more tomorrow, and even more the day after that."

  And the tears fall.

  "Fuck," I mutter as I pull her back to my chest.

  She gives a tiny laugh and mumbles. "I adore you too, Max. More and more each day."

  And that is enough for now.

  "So this is kind of exciting, right?" I ask Max as I stand a few feet away from the stylist chair he's sitting in. He looks extremely uncomfortable with a plastic drape secured around him while the hairstylist works some magic on him.

  Not that he needs magic, because he could roll out of bed and easily win the hottest sports bachelor title, but apparently he needs some type of special makeup for the camera--which has already been done--and his hair needs some trimming, which I disagree with. If he didn't look so miserable, I'd have to laugh, but I can't do that to him.

  "That's not the word I would use to describe this," Max responds flatly and I have to fight with myself not to grin at his sullenness.

  I take a look around. The photo shoot is being done in a downtown Raleigh studio, with nothing but a plain white backdrop and Max. Well, there will be a few different outfits, or so we've been told by the reporter from Sports World magazine who is overseeing the shoot and will interview Max at some point. I'm really looking forward to the one that will just be done in training shorts with him curling some dumbbells and flexing his eight-pack, but I don't tell him that because he would not get a kick out of me getting a kick out of this. So I try to look as somber as he does while the stylist runs clippers over his neckline.

  I didn't realize there would be this many people here for the photo shoot. In addition to the stylist currently working Max over, there's a makeup artist who is at the next station organizing her implements and a wardrobe specialist who is currently choosing Max's outfits from a clothing rack on wheels. There's also the photographer and his assistant who are right now working on lighting, as well as another woman, who appears to be a general gofer of sorts, but for the most part she hangs in the background and does a lot of texting on her phone while Max gets beautified.

  The studio door opens and two women walk in. Both are tall and thin with long flowing hair--one brunette and the other auburn--and without them even saying a word, I know they're models. They're two damn beautiful to be anything else.

  "Leigh...Amber..." the makeup artist says as she spies them. "One of you hit wardrobe, the other go to my chair and we'll get started."

  The brunette veers off toward the wardrobe person, who I now see is pulling what looks to be tiny little bikinis off the rack. The blonde heads our way, giving a slight smile to me as I stare at her, then her eyes connect to Max's through the mirror he's facing while his hair gets styled.

  His eyes immediately come to mine through the mirror, both eyebrows raised, and he gives me a little shrug.

  I give him a little shrug back.

  Guess he's going to have some models in the shoot with him.

  "Okay," the hairstylist announces as she whips the plastic cape from Max. "You're all done and you can head to wardrobe."

  Max shoots out of the chair as the stylist calls out, "Amber...I'm ready for you."

  Amber takes three hangers of bikinis
from the wardrobe person and spins our way, walking quickly to the stylist. She looks again at me, then Max, giving a nod with a smile, and takes the seat he just vacated. I have to wonder what in the hell the stylist and makeup artist will do to these women, because they already look perfect to me.

  Max steps into me and his hand goes to my lower back. He starts to push me along with him over to the wardrobe rack. His head leans down to mine and he whispers, "I hate this shit, just so you know."

  I struggle not to laugh but merely give a grave nod. "I know, honey. It will all be over soon."

  His hand slides up my back, curls around my neck, and he stops me in mid-stride. Bending down, he brushes his mouth against mine lightly before saying, "Thank you again for coming with me."

  I turn in to him, bring my hands to his chest and peer up into those fabulous hazel eyes. "You never have to thank me for being there for you. It really is my pleasure, babe."

  He grins down at me before his hands encircle my back and he pulls me in close. He lays a quick kiss on top of my head and then releases me before heading over to the wardrobe rack.

  It really is quite impressive how everyone seems to move with efficiency, almost like an assembly line of beautiful people getting polished to make them uber beautiful. While the wardrobe stylist starts going over the outfits with Max--again, the training shorts being my favorite--the reporter comes up and starts the interview, asking just some basic short questions to get the process started. I take that as my cue it's time for me to get out of the way, so I head over to a long couch up against the back wall, where the woman I pegged as a gofer continues to type on her phone.

  When I approach, she looks up and gives me a welcoming smile. She's young...maybe late teens, early twenties, and really pretty. She's got long blond hair that seems naturally wavy and she's dressed super trendy in black skinny jeans and ankle boots. She has on a white dress shirt with a tight-fitting light gray sweater over it, the bottom of the shirt sticking out. On her head sits a black fedora, and she has a plethora of Alex and Ani bangles on both wrists.

  "Hey," I say as I take a seat on the opposite end from her.

  Her smile gets bigger and she turns to face me, crossing one leg over the other and resting her phone facedown on her thigh. "Hey. I'm Camille. This is my dad's studio."