Read Saving Max for Free Online Page B

“You first.”
    “It’s too clichéd,” he says. “I’m going through a divorce. My wife prefers that I live elsewhere until it’s final.”
    Danielle raises an eyebrow. He laughs. “No, really—it’s the truth. I have family and friends here.”
    “So, what are you doing at a hotel?”
    He gives her a wry glance. “Would you stay with family when you’re the one who wants the divorce?”
    “Point taken.” Danielle takes a sip of water, flaming the small hope that it will cut the vodka already swimming around in her head. “Do you have children?”
    “No.” His voice has something bitter and raw about it.
    “Sorry. I shouldn’t pry.”
    “Not at all. And you?” He takes off his jacket and folds it crisply over the back of his chair. Danielle catches a waft of something—Old Spice mixed with man, perhaps. It creates an urgent longing in her, one she immediately dismisses. She can’t afford these selfish thoughts, not while Max is in that terrible place. As if he reads her thoughts, he touches her hand. “Listen, if the subject makes you uncomfortable, let’s talk about something else.”
    She looks at him gratefully. “Thank you.”
    “Are you married?”
    She laughs. “I thought you were going to change the subject.”
    “I did,” he says. “Now we’re talking about you.”
    She swivels a bit toward him and crosses her legs. “Let me try to cut right through this. I’m not married; I have a son; and I don’t want to be in Plano, either.”
    “Hmm.” He slowly unknots his tie and leans back in his bar stool. Everything about him exudes a quiet confidence. “Which begs the question—why are you here?”
    Danielle blushes. She set him up for that one. “Is it important?”
    “No, not really,” he says. “Except for one aspect.”
    “And what might that be?”
    “Do I have to dazzle you tonight, or will I have another chance tomorrow?”
    “I’m afraid not.” She is surprised by the playful tone of her own voice. “This is your only shot.”
    He shakes his head. “Damn!”
    Amazingly, she feels lighter than she has in months. She dismisses the possibility that she is also drunker than she has been in months. She doesn’t care. “Where do you live when you’re not hiding out in Plano?”
    “Des Moines,” he says. “So tell me, what is it you do in Manhattan?”
    Danielle is uneasy. She doesn’t want to talk about Max, her work, her problems—anything about her real life. Her grip on her emotions is a frayed thread. If she even mentions Max’s name, she will burst into tears. The alcohol is already fomenting feelings she hasn’t permitted herself to have in years—a yearning for intimacy with a man who could love and support her during these grueling times with Max.
    She hasn’t had a real relationship since Max was born. Her short affair with Max’s father—an unhappily married lawyer at an ABA convention—ended in a pregnancy he never knew or cared about. Since then, no potential suitor was permitted entry into the inner circle reserved to her and Max. Tonight there is no possibility of complication—not with this kind stranger at the bar.
    “Let me make a proposal,” she says. “No questions about the real world—kids, marriage or work. And no last names.”
    He raises his eyebrows. “Isn’t that usually the man’s line?”
    “Maybe, but those are my ground rules.”
    “Then you’ve got a deal.” The brown eyes twinkle. “Are books and music okay?”
    The tension in her neck subsides. “Absolutely.”
    They spend the next hours in rapt conversation. He loves opera; Danielle has a subscription at the Met. She is an avid hiker; he goes white-water rafting every summer. They are both amateur chefs. Danielle’s specialty is Indian; his is Thai. His humor and warmth enchant and delight her. When Danielle finally checks her watch, she is shocked to see that it is almost midnight.
    “It’s getting late,” she says.
    “I know.”
    “I think I should