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I push that horrifying thought out of my head, just in case, and then head to the hotel’s breakfast room where I get Max a fresh cup of coffee. It’s not the best, but it’s better than the coffee in the room and I figure it’ll be enough to get him going. Hopefully there’s a Dutch Bros somewhere before we hit Cali.

Once back in the hotel room though, I hear the shower running, the bathroom door closed. He’s up.

I have a few sips of his coffee, noticing he’s not even touched the coffee pods in the room, then sit on the edge of the bed waiting for him to get out.

When he does, I am totally unprepared.

He walks out in just a towel. A small towel, barely held together at the waist. He gives me a look of mild surprise, then looks at the coffee I’m holding.

“That for me?” he asks.

“Uh huh,” I squeak, and he plucks the coffee from my hand.

“Thanks. Gonna need several of these I’m afraid.” He raises the paper cup to his mouth and downs the whole thing in one go, despite the coffee being pretty fucking hot. My eyes are torn between that and the fact that so much of him is naked and right in front of my face.

I get to my feet, because being eye-level with his barely covered crotch is a dangerous place to be.

“You done ogling me?” he asks, tossing the paper cup over his shoulder where it miraculously lands in the wastebasket.

I blink, unsure what to do with him this morning. He seems to be firing on all cylinders.

“I’m not ogling you,” I tell him. “I’m just…thinking you could use some self-tanner.”

And that’s a lie. Not the self-tanner thing, his skin is pretty pale, but I am definitely ogling him. I’d never seen Max with his shirt off before, and even though I’ve definitely touched every inch of his upper body in one way or another during training—so I figured I knew how strong and built and muscled he was—seeing him like this is something entirely different.

“Self-tanner, huh?” he says, running his hand over his jaw, then looking down at his body. “You think?”

I shake my head, still marveling at him. The six-pack abs that are hard enough to grate cheese on, the sharp V of his hips, the kind of chest and shoulders that Chris Hemsworth has to suffer for. “No,” I say absently. “Actually, you’re fine the way you are.”

“Good to know.”

“I don’t know how Rose could pass this up,” I find myself saying.

He grunts. “How about we don’t bring her up today? I’ve already got a hangover.”

“Sorry,” I say, meeting his eyes. “It was a compliment.”

“Is this nice Ada or extra-nice Ada?” he muses.

“It’s just me,” I say. Then against my better judgement I reach out and run my fingers over his chest, down his abs, his skin warm and still wet from the shower. “I don’t get it.”

He clears his throat. “What?”

I walk around him, running my fingers over his back, feeling the energy flow from my skin to his. I know this is doing him some good. That’s why I’m doing this.

“How you could be in this same body for centuries and not have a scratch on you.”

“I heal fast,” he says, voice thick.

“Apparently so,” I tell him, coming back around to face him. “Not even a scar.”

“I carry my scars on the inside,” he says gruffly.

Then he reaches down and grabs the hem of his towel, adjusting it, and a flush of heat goes through me. Is this…am I turning him on?

I bring my eyes to his.

He looks uncomfortable, his brows knitted together. “Would you do me a favor and get me another coffee?” he says, clearing his throat again, his voice husky. “Gonna need one for the road.”

I nod quickly. “Sure.”

Then I whirl around and head out of the room. The minute the door closes behind me I lean back against it and exhale loudly.

Okay, so despite always feeling super comfortable around Max, especially in a physical sense, I guess there’s a line in which he starts to feel uncomfortable, and I’m pretty sure I just crossed that line. I mean, I was totally innocent in my touchy-feely fingers, I didn’t think I would have any sort of effect on him. Certainly didn’t think I’d give the man an erection, which I’m pretty sure he was trying to hide.

Then again, I am a woman and he’s a man and maybe any dude would get turned on in that situation. I feel so out of practice when it comes to the opposite sex.

Either way, I make it a point to behave going forward. We have a really good thing going, and I don’t want anything to ruin our easy-breezy relationship.

Then again, I’m not sure how easy-breezy it really is when my mere presence is what’s keeping him in this world. How the fuck are we ever going to come to terms with the implications of that?