Page 29 of After Felix (Close Proximity #3)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

FELIX

I’m still staring after him like an idiot when Max barrels out of the shop and comes to an abrupt stop in front of me.

“You okay?” he asks, his eyes raking my face, looking for who knows what.

I fold my arms over my chest and immediately regret it. His clever eyes sharpen at my undoubtedly defensive action.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well.” He hesitates, obviously searching for words.

I let him seek for a few seconds and then roll my eyes.

“Did you think I was having a moment because I’d met one of your bed partners?

” I give a laugh that I’m proud sounds very casual.

“If that was the case, Max, I’d probably end up having moments left, right, and centre.

In fact, I’d have no time to do anything apart from have a moment. ”

“So, you’re not bothered about Xavier?”

“Why would I be?”

“Because I am,” he says starkly .

“What?”

His dark eyes are turbulent. “Every single time I meet one of your men, I’m bothered, to put it mildly.”

“Why on earth would you care?” I whisper. A couple walks past, casting curious eyes over us.

“Do you really not know, Felix? Do you not see?” His eyes are filled with an emotion I can’t identify.

My heart picks up speed, and I go on the defensive. “See what? A dog in the manger? What? You can do it, but I can’t? You haven’t got any say in my life anymore, Max. You haven’t for a very long while. So if I want to shag the whole Arsenal team, I will do.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous,” he mutters, swiping a hand through his hair.

“Oh, no. I do what I want. They’ll be so thoroughly shagged they won’t even be able to whisper, ‘New balls please’,” I say triumphantly.

That strange emotion leaves his eyes as he laughs and shakes his head. “That’s tennis, Felix.”

“Oh, how should I know?” I say, waving a dismissive hand. “They use balls, so they’re all the bloody same.”

“Not exactly.”

Our gazes meet and hold, and it’s as if the busy London street fades away. I want to look away, but what I see in his eyes keeps me stuck. There’s humour, but also something that looks like desperation.

“Felix,” he says.

“Excuse me.” A voice breaks in, and we both spin around to find Connor.

“What the hell is it now?” Max snaps in an irritable and highly unusual manner for him. To my amazement, Connor just smiles and hands Max a large envelope and his jacket.

“The signing is finished. Taxi’s waiting and your luggage and everything else you asked for has been delivered to the destination.” He hands me my rucksack and my jacket. “I’ll see you both in a few days.”

“In a few days ?” I echo, looking after Connor as he walks away.

I turn back to Max. “What’s happening? There's a gap in your diary which I presumed was so you could have a break from being charismatic for a bit. I imagined myself doing something ridiculous like, oh, I don’t know, going back to my own home. ”

For a second, I think he’s going to continue our interrupted conversation, but then humour returns to his gaze and he says, lightly, “So you think I’m charismatic then, Felix? I knew it.”

“Does charismatic mean twatty?” I say in a worried voice. “You know how I get my words mixed up.”

He shakes his head. “You have never got anything mixed up. You’ve got the sharpest brain of anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Not always,” I mutter.

“Yes, always,” he says stubbornly, something dark crossing his face. He catches my arm as I go to walk past him to the waiting taxi. “You always saw things much more clearly than me, Felix. I wish…”

“What do you wish?” I ask sharply.

“A hell of a lot, but it’s not the time to discuss my regrets.” He shrugs into his leather jacket and walks towards the cab. I think of what Xavier said and my stomach clenches. Did he mean it? I shake my head and grab my bag.

Don’t be ridiculous, Felix. You’ll be believing in Father Christmas, the Easter Bunny, and fairies next. Max was very clear on who he loved, and that has never changed and probably never will.

Max directs the taxi to St Pancras station, and I wonder if we’re going back to the cottage in Chipping Camden. I suppose that makes sense, but when we get to the station, he refuses my kind offer of what platform the Cotswold train is on and instead steers me in a different direction.

“Where are we going?” I ask, hurrying to keep up with his pace. I’m a little breathless because the man has legs that go on for a century.

“You’ll see,” he throws over his shoulder.

The station is as packed as ever, and I wheel around the tourists who are everywhere, keeping a close eye on Max’s broad shoulders showing over the crowd. He turns and looks around in consternation until he spots me.

“What are you doing?” he asks, amusement colouring his voice. “You’re bright red. ”

“I’m just trying to keep up with your jog through the station. There’s got to be better routes for a run,” I gasp.

“I wasn’t jogging .” He laughs. “I was walking at a quick pace.”

“Which to a normal person is jogging,” I mutter.

“You need to get fitter,” he calls over his shoulder, charging forward again.

“I am fit,” I say indignantly. “I get tons of exercise.”

“Lifting your pint glass to your mouth isn’t exercise.”

“Neither is sex,” I say sweetly. “Just in case you were thinking that counts as an energetic activity.”

“Then I’m not fit either.”

I stare at his back. He keeps throwing about comments like this, but I refuse to bite. I say no more, and his sidelong glance tells me he knows his lures aren’t working on me. I break my silence when we get to the platform.

“The Eurostar?” I ask, turning to him. “Are they running to the Cotswolds now, then?”

He grins and ushers me onto the platform where the train is waiting. “They’d have to knock down a few antique shops and pubs to make that possible. Never going to happen.”

“Where are we going?” I ask, stopping dead and refusing to let him usher me any further. A businessman tuts and, giving me a filthy glance, he manoeuvres around me.

Max glares after him but then turns back to me. “Well, we’re catching the Eurostar over to France, and then the rest of the destination is a bit of a secret.”

My insides thrill at the thought of going abroad. I still haven’t travelled much. I always meant to do it after our breakup, as a gesture almost of defiance, but real life intruded and, also, the desire to keep a roof over my head.

Carl and I planned to go to Spain, but then the Aunt Sally had needed a new engine and that had put the mockers on that.

It had also finished Carl and me, as he’d refused to accept why I couldn’t just let my fucking boat sink.

I’d explained that I wasn’t Captain Bligh, but he’d taken that as an example of my woeful flippancy and dumped me .

I become aware that I’m smiling and hasten to wipe the grin off my face. Max’s mouth quirks and his eyes shine delightedly, so I know I’ve been unsuccessful. I follow him into the sleek interior of the train, and roll my eyes when I find that we’re in business class.

“Why does this not surprise me?” I ask as we take a seat. The car’s hush is rapidly being filled with the sound of fingers tapping on laptops as the business people around us settle down.

I look around interestedly. I wonder whether I could do business on a train, and I briefly imagine myself hopping on with my briefcase and my phone and then hopping off in Paris or Amsterdam or Milan.

Then I think of missing out on the breakfast meetings with Zeb where we sit on his roof terrace in the sunshine, inhaling the scent of the flowers that Jesse tends and eating sandwiches from the bakery next door.

I’d definitely miss the gossip that Zeb persists in trying to call workplace information, and those bacon and sausage sandwiches are epic.

I smile. These people can keep their world. I like my own little one.

Max grins. “I’m six foot four. I need legroom.” He passes me the menu. “And so will you when you eat the lunch. It’s gorgeous.” He nudges me. “And they serve wine. In a glass .”

“How very lush. It’s like the Titanic without the water and Leonardo di Caprio on a wardrobe door. You certainly know how to treat a boy.”

His brow furrows, but clears before I can analyse it.

“Going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask, nudging him.

“Nope,” he says cheerfully.

He keeps to this decision as we cross the Channel on the incredibly smooth journey.

We eat the lunch provided, and then he buries himself in his laptop, tapping away furiously at his work in progress while I answer his emails and deal with some of the things I left undone at work.

I sneak a glance at him. His face is almost fierce with focus.

Slightly baffling because I’d been sure this was a booty call in some form or another. It’s almost pro forma for Max to attempt one of those every day. I’m a little disappointed at the lack of a come-on, but I’d never admit that to another living soul.

I’m still baffled when we don’t stay on the train at Calais.

Instead, we hop off at the train station.

Doors slam and the train pulls away, leaving us alone on the platform for the moment.

It’s a bright, windy day, and I stand next to him, clutching my jacket and rucksack as he looks around for something that only he knows.

“Are you looking for Paris?” I enquire. “Because if you are, I’ve got bad news for you. We should have stayed on the train.”

He shoots me a wink as he ushers me out of the station and then grins as a car toots from the kerb. I look over and see a taxi waiting.

“It’s going to be a lot more expensive getting to Paris in a taxi than the already-paid-for train journey, Max. But then, you do seem to be a bit of a wanton spendthrift at the moment.”

“We’re not going to Paris,” he says gleefully. “Well, we’ll pass through it, but we won’t stop. ”

“I do so wish that I knew what was happening right now,” I say wistfully. “It would be rather nice. “

“Surprises are much nicer than knowing everything,” he says, opening the door to the car and ushering me in with a courtly flourish.

He gives instructions to the driver in very fast and fluent French, and I listen raptly, but hopefully unobtrusively.

Max is never hotter than when he’s speaking another language.

He’s confident and engaged and so fucking sexy.

I clear my throat and stare diligently out of the passenger window at a brick wall until my cock pipes down.

Max gets into the taxi and grins at me.

“So we’re in another country, and I’ve got into a strange car with you, and I don’t even have a change of underwear,” I observe. “This is like one of those PSHE lessons we had to sit through at school. How I wish I’d paid attention now rather than staring at Jake Philips in the front row.”

“I’m absolutely positive that I’m far more attractive than Jake Philips,” he says loftily.

“Well, he did have braces and spots, so you’re an inch ahead at least.”

“We never had PSHE lessons,” he observes thoughtfully.

“Did you even have schools ? Weren’t you scampering up and down chimneys at that age?” I say tartly.

“I was a very tall child, so I’m afraid that avenue of work was ruled out for me. ”

“What did you do, then? Did you live in an attic and steal things with the other street urchins?”

“Your knowledge of days gone by seems to be lifted mainly from Oliver .”

“Only the musical,” I say idly. “But if you even think about breaking into ‘As Long As He Needs Me,’ then I’m going to hurl myself out of this moving car.”

He laughs, his face lively and engaged and so gorgeous that my breath catches, and I have to cough to conceal it.

His eyes sharpen, but luckily the car slows, and I look out of the window in time to see another small station with a train waiting and… I rub my eyes and look again. Yes, it’s still there.

“Why is there a brass band and a welcoming committee waiting on the platform?” I ask faintly. “Just how important are you, Max?”

He laughs loudly, his whole face alight with mirth and glee. “Look closely,” he says.

I stare at the band and the men dressed in blue uniforms with gold piping and then past them to the train. I’m perplexed until one of Max’s long fingers taps my chin and directs my gaze towards the name on the train.

“Oh my fucking Lord,” I say faintly. “It’s the motherfucking Orient Express.”

“I do so adore your command of the English language,” he says happily. “Welcome to our home for the night.”