"Oh," I say, clearly having pegged her wrong. "So your dad...he's the photographer?"
She glances over at him, her lips curving upward and her eyes shimmering with adoration. "That he is. I'm just hanging out with him this evening and then we're going to catch a late dinner together."
"Cool," I say with a nod and then point a finger at myself. "I'm Julianne but I go by Jules to most everyone."
She tips her head Max's way. "I'm guessing girlfriend, right?"
I give a soft laugh even as my cheeks go pink a little, because I think that's the first time I've been referenced by someone as Max's girlfriend. It kind of feels nice.
"Oh, my gosh," she says as she taps my forearm with her hand. "You're adorable...how that just got you a little embarrassed."
My eyes shoot to Max, who looks extremely bored with everything, and then back to Camille. "Well, it's all still a little new and overwhelming to me."
"How long have you two been dating?" she asks, sliding a little closer to me with a look that says, Hey, let's dish about hot guys.
"Just a little over six weeks," I tell her. "But it seems like just yesterday we met."
"So how does one go about meeting a famous hockey star?" she asks with a grin. "Because I want to go hang out there."
I laugh and lean in a little closer to her. "We met at a convenience store where I was working."
"No fucking way," she says, her eyes going round.
I nod with a chuckle. "Yeah...two rednecks were harassing me and Max sort of ran them off."
"Oh my God...that's so romantic."
Sighing, I slide my eyes back over to him and keep them there when I tell her, "You don't even know the half of it."
"Well, we're in for a lot of photos and wardrobe changes and I'm not going anywhere. I want to hear all about it," she says with a grin.
Over the next hour, Camille and I watch from the couch as Max poses for photo after photo. The two bikini models were only used in one setup and that was where he was in his training shorts and nothing but his training shorts. I know it probably should have bothered me, watching Max flex his biceps while each skimpily clad woman flanked his sides, but I couldn't find it within me. They were extremely professional, and in between sets, Max only had eyes for me.
Camille entertained me with stories about famous people she'd met through her dad's work and I learned that she was a senior at the University of North Carolina. She was also very knowledgeable about photography, taking the time to explain some of the lighting and posing techniques.
Finally, when it was all done, Max practically bolted to the bathroom to scrub all the makeup off his face, and when he came out, he looked utterly exhausted and for the first time I felt bad for him. He'd had a really long day, flying back from Pittsburgh and straight into a photo shoot, and while I had my fun teasing him a little bit, it was time to get him home and to bed.
"I want to stay at your place tonight," Max says in the car as we head out of the downtown area.
"Baby...you're exhausted. You should sleep in your own bed tonight. As much as I love having you with me, your body's going to suffer for it."
And that's the truth. Max stayed at my house on Saturday night after the "Dwayne fiasco" and again on Sunday, and because Annabelle sleeps in my bed, that meant he slept on the couch.
It also meant I slept on the couch, and while couches are great for cuddling and snuggling for movies or something else that lasts no longer than two hours, they are not great for getting a good night's sleep. In order for both of us to sleep, we had to press ourselves close to each other, which is great in theory but not so great in practicality when you're constantly trying to shift to get comfortable and the temperature of your two bodies together rises to about a thousand degrees Fahrenheit.
"You're probably right," he mutters and then punctuates that with a yawn. Yeah, he's exhausted and needs a good night's sleep. "Maybe you and the kids could stay at my house sometimes," Max suggests.
My nose wrinkles slightly and I tell him straight up, "I don't know. How do we explain that to them? I mean...is it kosher to bring them to my boyfriend's house for an overnight? For them to see us sleeping in the same room together?"
"They saw us sleeping on the couch together," he points out, and I giggle when I think about Sunday morning when Annabelle ran out of the bedroom and jumped on top of both of us when she saw us there.
"Let me think about it," I hedge, because while I would love nothing more than to take him up on his offer, I'm just not sure morally that's the right thing to do.
My heart becomes heavy as I realize that Melody would know what to do. She was such a good mom and always seemed to know exactly what her kids could handle and what they needed to be shielded from.
"You know," Max murmurs, breaking into my thoughts. "You could move to a bigger apartment. A three-bedroom."
"Maybe," I say thoughtfully, and on its face, that would definitely give Max and me more time together as he could stay the night. But on the flip side, again...is that cool to do with young kids in the house? Again I hedge. "I'd have to check the cost out and see what I could afford."
"Speaking of things you can and can't afford," Max says in a slight change of subject, "I did something that might piss you off."
My head snaps to the left and I look at him across the dim console. He turns his head briefly and glances at me but it's too dark to see much. When he looks back to the road, he says, "I bought you a TV. It's being delivered tomorrow."
"What?" I blurt out.
"Your TV is broken and you need a new one, so I bought you one," he says, and I note there isn't an ounce of apology in his voice.
"Max," I exclaim. "I do not need you buying TVs for me."
"You wouldn't buy it yourself," he points out.
"Because I can't afford it," I retort.
"And I can," he says simply...and again, unapologetically.
"I can't accept," I say firmly, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring out the window.
"You can," he says.
"I won't," I promise him.
"Fine," he says with a shrug. "Just don't accept the delivery. They can leave it outside your door. I'm sure someone in the apartment complex could use it. Figure it will get stolen as soon as the sun goes down."
I growl low in my throat and turn in the seat to face him, my eyes narrowing, which is completely lost on him since he's paying attention to the road. "Max...it's too expensive. Too extravagant."
"Are you not worth it?" he asks quietly. "What's the difference between that and buying you a pretty piece of jewelry because you're my girl? If I do that, Jules...you going to throw that back at me too?"
I open my mouth to tell him yes, that's exactly what I'll do, but then overwhelming shame hits me. Here Max is trying to do something nice for me--and let's face it, he's doing it for the kids too--and I'm being a bitch about it.
With a sigh, I mutter, "I'm sorry I'm being this way. It's just...hard for me to--"
"Whoever taught you that it's wrong to accept help, baby?" he murmurs. "Would you not help another person if you had the means to do so? I mean, haven't you done that in the past?"
"Yes," I whisper.
"You pay it forward, Jules," he says, and that causes a jolt of awareness to pulse through me. "I was taught to give and help, not only by my parents but when I've had others help me out when I needed it."
Of course you pay it forward. I know this. It's a great philosophy in life. But I hate that it makes me feel awful to have Max do this for me, because I never want to be viewed as a charity case.
I feel his hand slide over my shoulder then up my neck, where his fingers curl gently around the other side. He gives me a slight squeeze and says, "I'm not going to lie, Jules. From the start, your plight touched me like it would any human with an ounce of compassion, but what you have to realize is it's more than that with me. I've got a vested interest in making you happy because that makes me happy, so you got to know..
.I do this as much for myself as I do it for you. It makes me feel like your man when I can do things for you, and while I've sat back and let you figure things out on your own and stubbornly work your fingers to the bone, we're at the point in our relationship that I should be able to do nice things for you and not have you freak out."
"Max--" I say as I turn my head to face him.
"Jules," he cuts me off softly. "Give this to me, okay?"
God...this man.
This utterly beautiful man with a heart made of pure gold and a soul guaranteed to ascend to Heaven the minute his time is up on this earth.
This man who is mine and who cares for me like no man ever has before.
I reach my arm up, wrap it around his wrist and pull his hand away from my neck. I bring it to my mouth, where I turn it and press a kiss to his palm.
"I'll give you anything you want, Max," I tell him quietly. "Anything at all."
And I mean that.
I walk into the training room and see Hawke on one of the treadmills, running at a breakneck speed. He's drenched with sweat and his face is beet red as he pounds the rubber belt that whizzes under his feet. I'm due to train with Vale in about ten minutes, but I always arrive a little early to get in a short, easy run for warm-up.
I hop up on the treadmill next to Hawke and look over at his screen. He's going into his tenth mile and I blink in surprise. He's not a long-distance runner.
"Dude," I say as I start my treadmill up, set it to a moderate pace and begin a jog. "You're killing it."
He responds with nothing but a grunt. I take this to mean he's too winded to talk so I leave him alone and focus on my own run. Well, not really focusing on the run, but rather enjoying memories of last night with Jules. I ended up taking her to her apartment and going home myself because she was right...I needed a good night's sleep and her couch would not have given that to me.
But rather than pull right up to the staircase that led almost directly to her apartment door, I pulled into the back of the lot, right under a large streetlamp that was burned out. In the dark, I leaned across the console and I made out with Jules. We went at it for several minutes, necking in a dark car and fogging up the windows.
We didn't do anything but make out, although I did jack off when I got home, thinking about making out with Jules because she is so fucking fantastic, just memories of kissing her is part of my spank bank.
After fifteen minutes I look at my watch and note that Vale's late.
She's never late, and the first thing I do is worry that something may have happened to her father, although if that were the case, surely Hawke would have said something to me the minute I walked in, right?
I turn my treadmill off and as it slows to a walk I turn to Hawke, who has slowed down his pace quite a bit, and ask, "Where's Vale? We're supposed to train."
He's silent a moment and then his hand reaches out and he stabs the Stop button while he mutters, "She's gone."
"Gone?" I ask in confusion. "Gone where?"
"Back to Sydney," he says, and turns to hop off the treadmill, grabbing a towel he had draped over one of the arm rails and rubbing his face. He doesn't look at me but starts to head out the door and toward the showers.
I grab my own towel along with my iPhone, which I'd put on the treadmill tray, and scramble after him.
"She went back to Sydney?" I press, hot on his heels. "Sydney, Nova Scotia?"
"Yup," is all he says, but there's no mistaking the underlying hint of anger in his voice.
I reach out, grab his arm and turn him toward me. He pulls violently and wrenches away from my grasp but pins his eyes on me, and they are blazing with fury.
"What the fuck, dude? Why did she leave?"
Hawke actually gnashes his teeth together and practically spits out, "Because apparently I can't tell her I love her and so she's punishing me for that."
"What?" I ask, completely dumbfounded.
Hawke takes a step toward me and lowers his voice. "Last week she told me she loved me. I couldn't say it back to her. Thus, she decided she can't be around me anymore and just chose to leave."
"I can't believe it," I mutter, my eyes dropping down in contemplation.
"Well, believe it. She jetted out of here last night."
"No," I say as I raise my gaze back to his. "I can believe Vale left. I can't believe you didn't say it back to her."
Hawke actually rears backward, his face awash with stunned surprise. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah," I tell him honestly. "I am. Life's too short to be hung up on past bitterness. Let it go, man, and wise the fuck up."
He narrows his eyes at me. "I can't make myself feel something that's not there."
"Bullshit," I tell him smoothly. "It's there, you're just too fucking chickenshit to acknowledge it."
He opens his mouth to say something back to me, but then snaps it shut just as quickly. He stares at me a long moment, and I cringe a little when I see disappointment in his eyes that I'd take Vale's side.
I should tell him though that I'm not taking her side. I'm taking love's side, and if Vale were here right now, I'd tell her to get her head out of her ass too and work with Hawke to figure this shit out.
Some of the anger fizzles from Hawke's eyes and his lips press together in a grimace. He gives me a little nod of acknowledgment for my position, but I can tell he doesn't agree with a thing I just said. He turns away and walks into the showers, and I turn in the opposite direction, deciding on a longer run for my workout today, since clearly my session with Vale is not going to happen.
--
After I get done with my run, I hit the weight room and work on lats and shoulders, finishing up with some core work. I then head into the hallway that winds around the arena and do some reflex work. It's one of my pregame rituals but I also do it when I need to think about something in my personal life.
I take a small ball, bounce it hard from the floor to the wall and then catch it as it comes back my way. But I do it fast, zipping the ball with lightning speed at the floor so it hits the wall and flies back at me in a nanosecond, only to sling it away just as quickly. Someone once told me I looked like Forrest Gump playing Ping-Pong and that I was moving so fast you couldn't even track the ball with your eyes.
I liked doing this though while I let my mind wander, so that my inherent reflexes would get sharpened and my brain wouldn't think too much about where the ball was. I did it so my body just trusted itself to snatch the ball from midair, and while my mind drifted from my actions of catching and throwing, I could ponder other things.
I set up a quick pace, ball going from concrete floor to painted cinder-block wall then back to my hand. I walk down the length of the hallway as I do it.
Throw, bounce, grab, throw again.
"Max," I hear from my left, and my rhythm is broken. My fingers miss the ball by a millimeter and it zings by me to hit the back cinder-block wall before bouncing off the back of my head.
I turn to see Garrett walking toward me.
"What's up?" I ask as I bend over and pick up the ball, which is rolling away from me.
He comes to a stop before me and says, "I take it you haven't seen it yet."
"Seen what?" I ask as I snap the ball to the ground again. I get ten more repetitions in while I see from my peripheral vision Garrett pulling something up on his phone.
"It's a SportsGab article," he says, and I snatch the ball from flight as I turn to him.
"What the fuck's a SportsGab article?" I ask.
"It's like this online blogging community that has articles on all different types of sports stars, focusing in on their personal lives rather than the actual sports they play. Stevie apparently saw this a little bit ago, showed Olivia, and she called me.
I step to Garrett's side and my gaze drops to the screen of his iPhone and I see a headline in big bold print that says, "Cinderella or Gold Digger?"
My eyebrows knit inward in confusion and I look up to Garrett. He nods ba
ck down to the phone, which he hands to me and says, "Just read."
I take his phone and with my finger start to scroll the article as I read along silently.
Cinderella or Gold Digger?
By Camille Parks
SportsGab Contributor
While the hardcore hockey fans probably don't give two iotas about this, you ladies that were holding out hope of finding your very own Max Fournier to come sweep you off your feet...hate to tell you, but "too late." It appears hockey hottie Max Fournier, star goalie of the defending Stanley Cup champion Cold Fury team and current top ten candidate for Sports World magazine's Hottest Sports Bachelor, looks to be officially off the market.
I had the pleasure of sitting down for a candid gabfest with Fournier's sweetie, Julianne, and boy did she talk my ear off. I was also able to snap some photos of the two lovebirds while they attended a photo shoot for Sports World.
--
I look at a photograph that scrolls up next and it's a picture from last night of me kissing Jules just before I went over to the wardrobe rack.
I scroll past it to the lines underneath.
They look like a genuine couple, right?
Well, on its face, it would seem so. Julianne has a sweet personality when you first talk to her, and she's not shy at all about telling you how her romance with Max started. But the more of the story you hear, the more skeptical you get.
According to Julianne, Max saved her from possible attack by two very suspicious and aggressive men when she was working at a convenience store.
That's right, ladies!
She works at a convenience store.
Julianne went on and on, and then on and on some more, in nauseating detail about how Max was her hero and saved her from destitution. She apparently is raising some kids from a family member or something, but one has to wonder if this is a true Cinderella story or, in the words of Kanye West, is she a Gold Digger?
I can't tell, but to me, in this photo, I can see a hint of opportunism in her eyes, right?
Or is it just me?
I scroll to the photograph that comes up next. It's with Jules smiling up at me, her hands on my chest, and she does not look like a fucking opportunist. She looks like she adores me.
Below that photograph are just a few more lines.
So pardon me if I'm being a little skeptical here, but I'm sorry...no one's story is really that good. There are no real Cinderellas, and let's admit it...we see a hot woman who is essentially a nobody on a celebrity's arm, we all pretty much know what she is.