Chapter 118
Richard looked toward the direction I pointed. “Dr. Hilton is gay p>
Patting the back of my quick-witted friend, Richard, I said, “You always get me p>
Shaking his head, Richard replied, “Nah, Dr. Hilton isn’t gay. He’s the epitome of integrity. How could he be p>
I frowned, forgetting Richard had a soft spot for Max.
I made a bet. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll go ask him. If I win, you down another beer, but if I lose, it’s on me p>
Perhaps it was the few beers we had downed, but I found the courage from somewhere and staggered to Max. Losing my balance, Max caught me with his free hand, his expression as calm as a cucumber.
Raising my beer bottle to his glass, I said, “Dr. Hilton, here’s the thing. Richard and I have a bet about you being gay p>
In that instant, his calm face turned icy, his eyes seeming to simmer with fury.
“Claire, you’ve lost. Dr. Hilton can’t possibly be gay. Here, drink up!” Richard followed up, handing me another beer.
Both of us had a low tolerance for alcohol, but that never stopped us from enjoying it. Yet, I wasn’t ready to concede defeat. I reached up, wrapping my arms around Max’s neck, tiptoeing as my breath brushed past his lips. “Richard, look at this. He’s not reacting. You’re telling me he’s not gay? Immune to seduction p>
Before Richard could respond, I swept off my feet as Max varied me in his arms. I clung tighter to his neck, curling up in his embrace.
Then, daringly, I touched his chest muscles, “Richard, look, his heart isn’t even racing p>
Richard grimaced, giving me a look that said I was on my own for it. “You checking his heartbeat? I think you’re doomed p>
I pouted, pressing closer to hear Max’s heart pounding fiercely. “Dr. Hilton p>
I tried to see if he was blushing, but his warm hand covered my eyes. He said, “I’ll take you home p>
I asked, “And what about Mr. Collins p>
“He can manage p>
I asked again, “And Richard p>
“He’s got someone p>
I wasn’t sure what Max meant, but the alcohol fuzzed my thoughts, and before knew it, I got tucked into a car. The car was spacious, its roof dotted with stars, probably just my drunken vision blurring.
Nestled in Max’s arms was secure, the first sense of safety I’d felt since starting over. Somehow, my heart had started to lean toward him.
I confessed, “If you’re not gay, I might fall for you p>
I admired his emotional stability, his perfectionism in his work, his clear distinction between right and wrong, and, of course, his impressive
asique.
“Want to try?” Suddenly, he kissed me, a planned move, diving deep, stirring between my lips.
‘What? Max is kissing me, heh? He’s not gay? Have I lost the bet?’ I screamed inside.
But the kiss, heavy with the taste of alcohol, reminded me of that night, the night of the event at the Golden Gateway Hotel.
Snapping back to reality, I asked, “Max, were you at the Golden Gateway Hotel’s Room 6088 one month ago p>
His response was a murmur that could have been affirmation or question. Then his kiss enveloped me, overwhelming and passionate. So, my advances had swayed the always dignified Max.