My mind still offline, I lift my fingertips to my mouth, absently muttering, "You shouldn't have kissed me."

His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me flush against his side. Lips to my temple, he states, "You better get used to affection, Lena. I'm an affectionate guy, and when I want to give it, I give it good." His warm lips gently kiss my temple, and without meaning to, I lean into it. He adds, "We're friends now. I'm going to hug you and I'm going to kiss you. Don't worry," he utters confidently. "You'll get used to it."

That's what I'm afraid of, dips.h.i.t.

Suddenly, Max stops mid-step. "Oh s.h.i.t."

His arms go rigid around me. I lift a hand to his chest. "What's wrong?"

Wrapping me in a bear hug, he whispers into my ear, "See that chick over there, in the red?" When I go to move my entire body, he whispers a rushed, "Don't look!"

I hiss, "You told me to look!"

I feel the panic come off of him. "Okay. Look discreetly."

So I do, from the very corner of my eye. A tall, slim redhead stands there in the fruit and vegetable section, holding a stick of celery. She's glaring at us.

Uh oh. My body droops into his. "Max, she's p.i.s.sed."

He pulls me closer, hands roaming over my body. His face falls into my neck. "I know. I told her I didn't want to go out with her and she got mad."

My body stiffens. "Are you using me right now to put on a show?"

He presses his nose to my throat and breathes me in. The dirtbag. "You smell good."

Not in the mood for games, I turn and bite his earlobe. He yelps then sighs, "Okay, okay. She may have said I led her on."

I lift my head and bark a humorless laugh. "Let me guess. The flirting?"

He pulls back and his golden eyes flash as he fiercely glares down at me. "I'm single. I'm allowed to flirt, so sue me. I like to flirt."

Rolling my eyes, I mutter under my breath, "With everyone but me."

His large hands grip my waist tight, his eyes now pleading. "Help. Please."

In my peripheral vision, I see the redhead come closer. I whisper, "She's coming."

His lips. .h.i.t my cheek. His sweet, minty breath warms me as he whispers against my skin, "Please, please, please, please, please."

I rush out, "Okay, but I swear if you kiss me again I will bite off your tongue."

Max smiles down at me with a smile that would be worthy of dental advertis.e.m.e.nts, his dimple out for the world to see, and I wonder what the h.e.l.l I'm doing.

Chapter Twenty-One.

Helena The redhead saunters over to us, saucily swaying her hips from side to side. And my mind rolls its eyes. I already know what type of woman this is. I hate these types of women. This is the type of woman I a.s.sumed Felicity was when we first met. I'm suddenly reminded I was wrong about Felicity. I should probably give this woman a chance before I judge her.

Max keeps his arm around me as he turns, smiling coolly at the woman. "Hey, Portia, how you doin'?"

Without even looking at him, she looks me up and down. "Fine, Max. I didn't know you have a girlfriend."

Oh, yeah. I was not wrong this time. She's a flaming b.i.t.c.h.

Not stooping to her level, I introduce myself. "Hi, I'm Helena." She looks over to Max with her brows raised and mouth set in a firm line before holding out a hand to me. I normally would not have an issue with this. The fact is, she's holding out her hand as if I'm going to kiss the back of it. The a.s.shole. b.i.t.c.hiness not being one to stop me, I take hold of her awkwardly presented fingertips and shake 'em like a man. Portia almost loses her balance and I stifle my laugh. "Nice to meet you."

She doesn't bother making nice. "I haven't seen you at the club before."

I eye her good. "I was there last weekend. And I'll be there this weekend too." Wanting to play the part, I snuggle deeper into Max, wrapping an arm around his stomach. I look up at him. "But I don't need to be there every weekend. We see each other all the time." Standing on my tiptoes, I kiss the side of his jaw in a very real display of affection.

Portia suddenly looks behind me, eyes wide. "h.e.l.lo," she bristles, "little one."

Ceecee stops by my side. My heart races.

s.h.i.t. We're so totally busted.

My arm falls from Max's stomach and I expect him to come clean, but he doesn't. I move to back away, but he holds me tight. "Portia, this is my daughter, Ceecee."

Her eyes widen. "Really? I had no idea." No s.h.i.t, Sherlock. My mind scoffs and laughs humorlessly. If she had spent a single moment getting to know Max, it would have been the first thing he'd have told her. I don't like this woman. Portia bends at the waist, into Ceecee's face. "Oh my." She lifts a hand and touches her hair as if she has the right. "You are a pretty one."

My jaw set, my stomach coils violently. Did I mention I don't like this woman?

It's not your place. It's not your place. It's not your place.

f.u.c.k it. "I'm sorry, Portia, but we need to get going. It was nice meeting you. We might see you this weekend." Her eyes flash. She knows what I'm doing. I'm dismissing her.

And she doesn't like it. "Nice meeting you too, Helen."

My mouth opens to correct her when Max and Ceecee both utter icily, "It's Helena."

My heart smiles while my mind pokes its tongue out at her. The arm I have around Max tightens, and I lower my other hand by the free side, palm open. I feel Ceecee place her hand in mine. I like that. I like it so much that I stupidly feel like this is where I'm meant to be. So I want to slap a b.i.t.c.h when she leans into Max and kisses his cheek with her red-glossed lips.

As she pulls away, she utters quietly, almost as if she's telling him a secret, "See you Sat.u.r.day night." Then she laughs softly, lifting a hand to his cheek, wiping at it. "Oops. These lips of mine." Her eyes focus on me. "They leave a mark." A challenge.

Bring it, b.i.t.c.h.

We linger a moment. Max clears his throat. "I'm hungry. You guys hungry?"

Ceecee nods, but keeps her eyes firmly on Portia's retreating back. "Yeah."

"Me too," I add in a much-too-chipper way. "I'm just going to grab a couple of things. Why don't you guys head over to the checkout? I'll just be a minute." Ignoring Portia's presence in the fruit and veggie section, I move around the store in record time, grabbing the last of what we need before meeting Max and Ceecee at the checkout. Max buys the groceries in silence.

We exit the store and drive home with only the radio providing a break from the thick silence in the car. Finally, when we reach the house, Max parks the car. As I unbuckle my belt, he speaks up. "Ceecee, you know Helena isn't really my girlfriend, right?"

She looks over at me and it almost looks as if her eyes turn sad. "I know."

He looks across to me and smiles. "But we are friends. So Helena will be here a lot more, if that's okay with you."

She answers immediately without a trace of uncertainty in her voice. "That's okay with me."

I quell my sudden need to smile. Ceecee likes me.

Yay, me!

We exit the car and head inside. As soon as we're in, I start barking orders, "Ceecee, I need you to take two carrots out of the bag and grate them. Max, I need you to find a pan and colander. I'll start chopping the onion," I look over to Ceecee and smile, but then it's all on you, young gra.s.shopper."

Uncertainty shines bright in her eyes. I step towards her and take her small hands in mine. "I will be here every second. If you need help, all you need to do is ask. And I hope you will ask, or this won't work."

Max puts a pan on the stove, a colander on the counter, and comes up behind us. "You guys good? I need to catch up on some paperwork."

I turn and shoo him away. "Away with you! Now, it's girl time." I turn back to Ceecee and wink. When I'm rewarded with a wide smile, for a split second, I think I would do just about anything to see that smile, and I pray I see it again and again.

With my hands to his back, I push him out of the kitchen while he utters, "I'll be at the dining table if you need me."

I make a pffft sound. "We don't need you. We're golden."

While Ceecee grates the carrots, I strain a can of lentils, chop an onion, and take the ground beef out of the plastic. As soon as she's done, I point to her then crook my finger at her. She wheels herself over to my place at the stove and I'm suddenly aware that this kitchen has been designed around Ceecee and her chair. The stove is shorter than it would be for anyone else, and has a gap underneath so Ceecee can wheel herself right in there, as does the sink. The countertops are just the right height for her.

I use the very tip of my finger to tap in front of the stove and she gets my drift. As soon as she's in position, I turn on the cooktop and bring over the ingredients for our dinner. I hand her a wooden spoon and ask, "Do you cook a lot?"

She shakes her head. "I can cook scrambled eggs. That's about it."

My hip leaning on the counter, I cross my arms over my chest. My mind shouts, What are you doing? when I ask, "Would you like to learn?"

Her eyes meet mine. She speaks a hushed, "Aunt Tina used to let me help, but now with Tatiana and Ava, it's..." She drifts off. And my heart pangs. Something tells me Ceecee is not just angry with her dad. Something tells me Ceecee is angry at the world.

I respond softly, "Yeah. That happens. When kids come along, it's hard to make time for anything else. Especially when they're little, you know? 'Cause babies get sick, and they need to eat almost all the time, and sometimes they just want to cuddle. It takes a long time before parents can make time to do the things they used to." I hand her the olive oil and jerk my chin to the pan. "Give it a good swirl. It doesn't matter if you don't measure it out, just make sure there's enough to coat the onion."

She adds the perfect amount then slides in the onion, and I grin. "Are you sure you don't know what you're doing? You're doing awesome so far." Her blush is small, but I see it. I add, "Like I was saying, being a parent makes people busy. But if you like, I can come over a few times a week and we can cook together." She doesn't give me an indication on how she feels about this, so I nudge her shoulder and add, "I don't know a lot of people in New York, so if you want to give me something to do during the week, I'd like that very much."

You're getting too involved.

Oh hush, brain. What could possibly go wrong?

Using the wooden spoon, she stirs the onion and doesn't look up at me when she says, "I'd like that."

Tell her. Tell her now.

"Would you still want to learn if it came with a catch?" I ask hesitantly while wringing my fingers together.

Not skipping a beat, she utters, "You want me to start exercising again."

My eyes round in shock. Ceecee is by no means a silly girl. "Yes, I would. If we could just get you doing three sessions a week, you'd likely stop cramping, honey."

Her hand stops stirring a moment as she thinks about this. "You'd be exercising with me? You'd be here three times a week?"

I nod. "Yes and yes. I'd be doing it with you. Of course, you'll be doing three more days with Whit during the week, but I'll come here after work on the days you're not at the center. We'll cook together, then do a light session. And I promise, Ceecee," I place my hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention, "I promise if we do something you don't like, we'll try something else. There's plenty out there, and we'll find something you like."

She stirs and asks, "So, this is my choice? You won't force me?"

My heart sinks. She's going to say no. "No, sweetie. No one's going to force you. And if you decide you don't want to do this anymore, we can still cook together and hang out." And I mean that. I'm starting to think I was wrong about refusing this position in the first place.

I tap my finger on the bowl of ground beef and watch Ceecee add it to the pan. While she works out the lumps, I add the carrot and lentils. She concentrates hard at the task at hand and I smile. She might be hardheaded, but she's determined; that's for sure.

We cook in silence for a long while before Ceecee speaks again. "Okay. I'll start exercising again."

A breath I hadn't known I was holding leaves me in a whoosh. I'm shocked. "Really?"

"Yeah," she mutters then goes on, "but only if you come to Sunday morning breakfasts with us."

My mind sobs. Sunday morning? Oh, h.e.l.l no!

Sunday is the only day I get to sleep in, and I love sleep. At home, when it was all us girls in one house, if someone dared make noise before eleven am on a weekend, I would calmly get out of bed, beat the s.h.i.t out of them, and then fall back into a coma until I felt I was recharged enough to face the day.

Grin and bear it, Lena.

Forcing a smile, I grit my teeth and chirp, "Sure. I love breakfast." Ceecee smiles at the pan, and I narrow my eyes at her. I can't help but think she's up to something, the little scamp.

Before I know it, I'm switching off the stove and bringing over an oven-proof dish to where Ceecee's parked by the counter. I open the bag of corn chips and dump them into the dish. Ceecee tops the chips with the ground beef mixture. I tell her to top it with cheese and she sprinkles it on. When she's done, I pop the dish into the oven and set the time for fifteen minutes.

I quickly put Ceecee to work by helping me clean the mess we've made in the kitchen. Soon enough, the timer beeps. Ceecee suddenly looks worried. I open the oven and the smell hits me. "Oh dear G.o.d, Ceecee."

She panics, "What?"

Grinning, I turn and whisper loudly, "It smells amazing!" I carefully remove the dish from the oven. As I place it on the stove, I tell her, "Do not touch that. It's hotter than hel-" In the presence of a minor! Oops. "It's hotter than Ian Somerhalder."

She smiles. "It's okay. I've heard worse."

Of course she has. She's grown up with Max, Nik, Ash, and Trick. It's a miracle her ears aren't constantly bleeding, the poor dear. "Right. I'm going to tell your dad to clear up the dining table so we can eat."

As soon as I walk out of the kitchen and into the hall, I jump up and down on the spot, silently cheering at the fact that I'm doing something right. Ceecee agreed to exercise without me having to bribe her. I made it her choice.

Wait a minute. My bouncing body stills. I made it her choice. My eyes widen. Oh my G.o.d. I made it her choice! A smile spreads across my face. That's it! I look into the dining room and my v.a.g.i.n.a jumps off of a trapeze, freefalling with her arms spread wide by her sides.

Max sits at the dining table in front of an open laptop, one leg stretched out in front of him, the other bent at the knee, his foot on the base of the chair. Chewing on a pen and looking into the screen distractedly, his gla.s.ses are perched on top of his nose.

He has gla.s.ses. Not just any gla.s.ses. Trendy, geek chic, rectangular reading gla.s.ses. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. A frown tips my lips. I raise my head and mentally pray.

This isn't fair, G.o.d. I'm not allowed to touch him. Why are you playing with my emotions like this? Is it because I asked Jacob Schmidt to show me his thing in the first grade? I was young and curious! Give me a break!

Lowering my face, I glance over at Max and swallow through my thick throat.

Let me tell you something about myself. Men with gla.s.ses...they do it for me. Something about a good-looking man changes when he puts on gla.s.ses. He becomes someone else, a gorgeous version of himself. While women were swooning over Superman, I was swooning over Clark Kent. Oh yeah. Give me a man with gla.s.ses any day of the week.