Max felt on top of the world. She couldn’t explain it, but somehow Luke had blown her away. His dancing eyes, that wonderful searching kiss. It made her stomach flip every time she thought of it. He liked her, he actually liked her. She hadn’t misread the signs. And she liked him. Luke, the hottie. Granted, it was a bit weird him being Lucy’s half-brother but, hell, they were in no way related. The thought had crossed her mind that Lucy might find it odd, but she was sure she would understand when Max told her how much she liked him.
Moments after she had left him following that wonderful kiss, he had texted: ‘I mean it. I want to see you as soon as possible. I can’t wait.’
Max had read and reread it, smiling like a maniac each time. Normally such keenness would have turned her off but this felt great. Well, when you really like someone, playing it cool is hugely overrated. She wanted to be told every day that he wanted her. Because, for once, she wanted him too.
Max replied with a lone ‘x’ – OK, so the guy shouldn’t play it cool, but she didn’t want to get all gushing on him.
When, a couple of hours later, Luke’s name flashed on her mobile, she was inexplicably struck by nerves. Shit, what do I say? Shall I ignore it and call back when I’ve thought of a few witty lines? Shut it, you fuckwit, and answer the phone.
‘Hi, Max. How you doing?’
‘Good thanks, you?’
‘Very well. Can I take you out for dinner tonight, eight o’clock, Islington?’
Max laughed. ‘Sounds like you’ve made up your mind.’
‘I have. You seemed like you needed cheering up and I’m the man to do it. Shall I pick you up?’
‘No, I have to pop into the office. I’ll come straight from work.’
‘OK, can you find your way to the Duke of Cambridge?’
‘Sure, I’ll Google it. See you there.’
When Max arrived at her desk, Simon looked apologetic.
‘Hope ya don’t mind covering for me, Max, but I’m booked into this Alan Carr class to give up smoking… a-fucking-gain. I’ll do it this time, though – at fucking £200 a pop, I’d bloody better.’
‘Try stopping swearing at the same time, maybe?’
‘Fuck that.’
So proofing the showbiz pages – making sure there were no spelling mistakes or errors after the subs had edited the reporters’ copy to make it fit their design – was down to Max. Some England rugby player had issued a legal letter to all newspapers saying they could not refer to him pulling a transsexual unless they wanted a whopping law suit. Max had briefly referred to it as part of another story and the sub editors only flagged it up to her as she was leaving. Hastily, she changed the copy with some other anecdote to fill the space and raced off to hail a taxi.
Not even bumping into the messenger boy she’d fanta-sized about had sidetracked her. Luke filled her thoughts.
Max had even forgotten her hangover and was sure she’d made enough effort to wipe away her tiredness.
She had chosen her outfit with great consideration, settling on a purple-satin sleeveless shift dress. It was pretty short, but it was too high-necked to reveal even a hint of cleavage, and loose fitting, only outlining the curves of her body when she moved – so it was more than respectable, she told herself.
Once inside the cab, Max emptied her bag of essentials on to the seat. She started with a dusting of Bobbi Brown bronzing powder over her cheekbones, a lick of YSL mascara after teasing her eyelashes skywards with mini curlers, a dab of Benetint on her cheeks and finally clear MAC gloss to cover her cupid bow lips. Ruffling her hair for a didn’t-really-try-just-out-of-bed look, she surveyed the results in her mirror and was happy. You can do it, Max, she told herself. OK, so you don’t have a gap at the top of your thighs like his ex, but is that really attractive? No, it’s not; he bloody dumped her. She smiled as she thought of what her mum would tell her in such a situation.
‘Max, be yourself. If you do that, he’d be a fool not to love you.’
Leaving the driver a hefty tip, Max ran to the door of the restaurant. Well, pub. As she entered, she looked to the bar and there he was, looking right at her.
Luke waved with a welcoming smile and Max approached him, hoping her knees wouldn’t buckle while holding his gaze.
‘Hello.’
‘Hi, Max, you look great.’
‘Thank you.’ Shit, should she tell him that he too looked great? No, accept the compliment with grace.
They both started to say something, then laughed awkwardly.
‘I hope you don’t mind my choice of pub. They serve great food and I thought it might make a nice change from your normal showbiz hang-outs. Keeping it real wiv de north Londoners.’
Max was aware that she was looking at his mouth all the time he spoke. She was inexplicably turned on and wanted to kiss him.
He was wearing a dark blue, V-necked, fine-cashmere jumper and those baggy jeans again. Above his dark brown belt she caught a glimpse of his white boxers peaking out.
Laughing, she said: ‘It’s perfect.’ And it was. Ciders with funny names behind the bar, a fire in the corner she could imagine burning and crackling on cold winter nights, round wooden tables crowded by the laughter of friends and clinking glasses. Stuff starchy Nobu. This was lovely.
Max agreed when Luke suggested she try a pint of cider, which he promised was the best north of the Thames.
Settling at a table, they toasted each other with their pints and drank.
‘Did you know,’ Max said, ‘it’s seven years of bad sex if you don’t look someone in the eye while saying cheers?’
‘That I did not know, Max.’
They laughed and ordered hearty food and red wine, catching each other every now and then with a look of curiosity mixed with elation.
Luke was eager to hear all about Max’s exploits and she laughed as he lapped up her stories of meeting Angelina Jolie, Tom Cruise, Sean Connery, Nicole Kidman.
‘The secret is not to be too impressed by the celebrities. Otherwise you’ll end up asking them what their favourite colour is, and who wants to read that? The cheekier the question, the better the story.’
Max loved that every fibre of Luke was concentrated on her – his eyes were dancing as he took in her words and she could almost feel the warmth of his body pulling her in.
Collecting her thoughts, she smiled. ‘Enough about me. What do you do?’
And Luke told her all about his job, training to be a human-rights barrister. Max was impressed and had so many questions for him that Luke asked if this was an interview for the paper.
‘It sounds like you can really make a difference.’
‘It’s a slow process, but that’s the plan. To be honest I didn’t get the grades to study law so got a general business degree and went travelling. There were only so many bars I could work in in Australia before I realized I had to have a vocation, something to believe in. I’d got a decent degree – a 2:1 – so I was accepted on a fast-track legal course for graduates. Somehow I got through that – I treated studying like a full-time job and it meant more to me than it would have done when I was eighteen. And now I’m taking more exams to be a barrister.’
‘So you can be one of those guys with the funny wigs?’
‘Exactly, I get to play dressing-up every day.’
Somewhere during their second bottle Max asked about his ex.
‘It all happened so recently. Surely you can’t be over her?’
Luke took her hand. ‘I don’t want to sound like a shit. I’m not. But I was over her nearly a year ago. That’s when I should have ended it but I thought I had to ride it out, weather the storm, make her happy. Trust me. I’m ready to move on.’
And somewhere during their slightly drunken conversation, Luke told Max he wanted an all-encompassing love. One that blew him away, made him want to be with that person every moment of every day.
‘My dad’s friend met a woman and proposed three days later,’ Max told him.
‘That’s it. That’s perfect.’
Max agreed, with the qualification that three months might be spontaneous enough.
As the bell rang for closing time, Max was determined to leave. You like him. A lot. So why be too accommodating on the first night? If he’s a keeper, it will be worth the wait and you don’t want him to think you put out on the first night. But Jesus, she wanted to rip his clothes off.
‘I should get a cab.’
Luke stood up and lifted Max’s coat. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll help you get a car.’
As they braced the chill of the first hint of autumn, Luke slipped his fingers through hers.
Max’s thoughts raced – was this really happening? Did she feel more for this guy than all other men she had dated for six months? More than her first love, Alfie, when she was seventeen? She’d thought girls who gushingly told of how they ‘just knew’ from the start it was love were deranged psychos. And was she really wet just thinking about kissing him goodnight? The feeling of having a hot-water bottle stuck between her legs would indicate the affirmative.
Luke turned to Max and looked at her. She didn’t know how long she had been staring at him.
‘I love the way you look at me,’ he told her.
Pulling her to him, he placed a hand to the side of her face and kissed her tenderly for what seemed a millisecond. Sensing him pull away, Max wanted more and moved forward, seeking the warmth of his breath with hers. They lost each other in a deep, longing kiss.
Max felt dizzy; everything was spinning when she pulled away.
Well, well, well, Max thought. Luke Stirling. He’s the one for me. But shit, there was no getting away from the fact he was Lucy’s brother. How would she explain that one to Lucy? Or her mum and dad? But there was something incredibly right about being here with him.
‘It’s impossible to get a cab at this time of night round here. Do you mind a ten-minute walk to a taxi stand?’
‘Not at all.’ Max had a sudden craving for a cigarette – something that always came after a few drinks. Perhaps she should hold off. Luke might detest it. Hell, what was the point in being anything other than herself? Max had often thought that when you went out on a first date, you never met the real person – it was a projection of what the guy wanted you to believe he was. Only weeks, sometimes months, down the line did you glimpse the true man. They should come with a sign which reads: ‘This is not the real me. I will show you what a bastard I am on date number four.’
‘Do you mind if I have a cigarette?’
‘Not at all. Sometimes I have a cigar after dinner. Do you always smoke?’
‘No, it doesn’t enter my head unless alcohol is involved.’
‘Every night, then?’
Max laughed as she rummaged around in her handbag for a lone cig she was sure she’d spotted earlier. Got it! It must have fallen out of a packet at some point.
Fishing out a lighter, she lit it and inhaled deeply. Then grimaced. Yuck, her perfume must have leaked on to the cig. One more puff and it might taste better.
‘Eugh, it tastes of flowers,’ she told Luke, stubbing it out.
Taking her hand once again, Luke clasped it tightly as they made their way to the main street. They settled into a comfortable silence, Max wondering how it was possible to feel so at ease so quickly.
Shit, hold on… her legs felt unbelievably wobbly. She’d heard of going weak at the knees but her legs felt as though they were buckling under her. They were. Holy fuck, Max thought as her heart pounded against her chest. This isn’t right. ‘Luke –’ she started to say, but it was too late. Her mind went blank as she fell to the ground.