Not that I really cared at the moment because I literally felt sick to my stomach.
Max tossed his room key on the marble coffee table in the living room and gestured for me to sit on the sofa. My wobbly knees gave out as I lowered my trembling body onto the gold-embroidered seat cushion.
“Would you care for a scotch?” he said, heading straight for the bar in the corner.
Too frazzled to realize—or give a shit—that it was still breakfast time, I nodded and lay across the couch, crossing my arms over my face. “Fuuuck,” I groaned. Whyyy? I’d been so ready to go all in with Patricio, knowing that we weren’t banana-ape-shit-lust-crazy over each other, but that we had something solid. Friendship. And, yes, attraction. Patricio was a very handsome man—six two, an athletic body, olive skin, short brown hair, and bright green eyes. He was one hundred percent Italian in terms of his slightly longer nose, but it fit his cute face. He was also passionate and spontaneous. He loved his “big fat Italian family,” whom he claimed couldn’t wait to meet me.
Max sat down on the couch, using his firm ass to scoot my legs over. “Here. This will make you feel better.”
I sat up and pushed my back against the armrest, placing my legs over Max’s lap. Max held out a crystal tumbler full of golden brown liquid.
“Thanks.” I took the glass and stared at the thing for a moment. “Why do you think he fucked her, Max?” As if being cheated on wasn’t bad enough, Patricio had done it with Adeline Taylor—a very hot Hollywood actress who used to date Max. They’d ended things when Max fell in love with me. Needless to say, I had no affection for the woman. The few times our paths had crossed, she’d treated me like a mangy dog.
Max looked down at his own drink and pondered. “You know my answer, Lily. Why ask?”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“All right, then. He fucked that woman because he’s the true definition of a man-whore. It’s exactly as I told you the night you met him: he’ll fuck anything that moves.”
I lifted my glass to my lips and nearly gagged from the smell. Ick. I don’t want this. “Got anything else?” I needed something to numb the ache in my heart, but I’d forgotten how much I disliked scotch, aka cinnamon-infused gasoline.
Max’s plump lips pulled to the side. “On second thought, you really should eat. Why don’t I order you breakfast instead? You said you haven’t eaten.”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry. I’ll take an orange juice if you have any.” If I ate anything now, I’d likely toss it up. My stomach was churning and knotting. How could Patricio do this to me?
Max stared for a moment with those sultry hazel eyes, his square jaw ticking. “But you’ll need your strength for when I fuck you.” He grinned and those two stubble-covered dimples puckered.
My mouth dropped open. Did he really think that my relationship catastrophe had magically cleared the way for him and me to fuck? Clearly, he had not listened to a word I’d said about why we were doomed.
Maybe he just wants to fuck. After all, he is a man. Dick first, feelings second. Or in Patricio’s case: feelings never.
Max slid my feet from his lap and went to get a small bottle of OJ from the minibar fridge. Meanwhile, I wished that mental Drano existed so I could wash away the image of Patricio lying naked between Adeline Taylor’s legs, her red fingernails digging into his ass. They’d been fucking all right. No doubt about it. The other photos showed him naked, paddleboarding over turquoise water, with her sitting in front of him. I guessed they were in the US Virgin Islands because that was where he’d been “working” part of this past week.
Max returned with my drink, and I chugged it down.
He took the empty bottle from my hand and placed it on the coffee table before lifting my legs and sitting. He patted my shin. “Are you sure you won’t let me order you some room service? I seem to remember you being a fan of pancakes.”
“I’m really not hungry.” I only wanted to cry. Just not in front of him. “God, I’m such an idiot,” I said under my breath.
“No, Lily. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. You. Are. Perfect. You simply aren’t perfect for him. No one is.”
“Thanks,” I said unappreciatively.
“His being a cheating asshole truly has nothing to do with you. I wouldn’t lie. Not to you.”
I shook my head, feeling the orange juice mix with my sour angry stomach. “But you would keep the truth from me.”
Max took a moment, mulling something over. “Patricio’s family and mine were once close. They vacationed on the French Riviera. We vacationed on the French Riviera. But then one year, when my sister, Mabel, turned sixteen, it all changed.”
Uh-oh. I didn’t like the sound of this.
He continued, “Let’s just say that Patricio’s acting career started early, and he honed his skills deceiving young women.”
“He Mr. Wickhamed your sister?”
Max lifted a questioning brow.