Flowers for Jill Ch. 07

Max's hand was warm and felt too big when he cupped her shoulder, "I appreciate it, it really means a lot to me." his thumb swiped back and forth, his touch reassuring through the light wool fabric of her knit sweater.

Laughing nervously, she glanced at him from under her lashes as she arranged the flowers in a vase, "You like board games that much, Maxime?"

Her comment made him laugh and tighten his fingers around the ball of her shoulder before sliding his hand to her elbow where the sleeves bunched up in the roll she put them in. Direct skin contact.

"For welcoming me and Caleb into your home; your sanctuary, Jillian."

"Oh." She met his eyes, and for the first time felt a stirring in her tummy. It wasn't the combustible dynamite desire that Marc ignited, but it was warm and definite, sudden yet familiar while still being exciting.

"You're welcome." She mumbled keeping her eyes on his.

She had to kiss him. The urge came out of the blue, nudging her forward, and prompting her to cant her head up and part her lips in a soft inhale.

And he knew. He just knew that she was ready. He'd waited for her to come to him, she saw it in his eyes; his consideration, hesitation, his deep attraction, and the manners that kept him in check.

While Marc went for what he wanted, rash and intrepid, Max waited for it to come to him as he bided his time and seduces with subtlety and courtesy. Marc's seduction came like the molten lava of an erupted volcano that encompassed and overtook everything in its way, no limits, no barriers, no excuses. Max gave her the time and space that Marc didn't, and she was thankful for that. She must be, isn't that how it should be?

Unfortunately for Jillian, it was too late for a crash course in relationship Dos & Don'ts. Her brain chastised her to stop comparing the two men, and she obeyed the minute his full, sensuous lips pressed against hers. She banished Marc's suggestion that she might suffer from some degree of anxiety that made her stick to an extreme of either stagnant safe routines, or flighty impetuousness. Dropping him as the Model Man to hold against every potential partner, she followed his advice and stopped over thinking things and just surrendered to the novel feeling of experimenting without any expectations.

Max's mouth had a pleasant spicy taste of cinnamon gum, and she reveled in exploring his taste, his touch, and his warmth. Taking his cue from her, Max sent his hands to clasp her waist getting bolder as his kiss grew more intimate. She wore leggings and a sexy slouchy sweater for comfort, and his fingers crept under the hem of the sweater to caress her skin. It didn't take long after that for the heat to seep into her and spread under her skin and along her limbs. Their teeth clanked against one another's and she rotated to the side, twisting her lips for a better fit against his when he was about to pull back shyly.

Sex was a messy business. Not just the act itself, but everything that came with it including foreplay. Savagely graceful, if that was a thing, elemental and base. You didn't pause to cater for timidity or any awkwardness you might feel; the sudden halting of a groove chases the momentum away. Jillian knew when to slow down and resume with a different strategy without pulling to a complete stop, and she communicated it to Maxime with every touch, every brush of her breasts against his, and every swipe her tongue took of his mouth and lips. Her attitude either shocked or thrilled him...maybe both, for his hands stilled for a moment as he seemed uncertain before groaning and taking her lips just the way she offered them.

Needing air, she pulled back momentarily and caught the aroused look in the mossy pools of his eyes that encouraged her to give him a little saucy smile before brushing her lips against his chin and the corner of his mouth until settling on his lips and canting her face to the right this time. She had a hand cupping the back of his head as she tasted him from every angle. Her fingeres threaded in the curling waves at his nape as her other hand settled on his chest and contracted on the flannel of his shirt when a little voice crept into her ears.

Pulling back, she swallowed and focused her gaze on little Caleb who was tugging on his dad's pants leg again with a wrinkled nose and an adorable expression on his innocent face, "Dad! Gross!"

With an embarrassed laugh, Max pulled back wiping his mouth with a shaky thumb, "Grownup stuff, buddy, you're not supposed to watch."

Jillian thought that she must be shameless because she didn't even blush peering back at Maxime as he tucked his shirttail back in his jeans and tugged at the legs. A bulge had started to form at the crotch of his pants after a mere kiss and a few caresses, and she had to fight the urge to smile smugly.

There were two reasons for her to smile; his prompt arousal after touching her, and her overcoming her hesitation with him. She was ready to share herself with him. It didn't take a miracle worker to get her to take that step, no lightning bolts struck her on her way home, no burning bushes appeared in her kitchen, and she didn't hear a chorus singing Hallelujah either. The realization made her admit that she still preferred Marc, but had to be realistic. The hurdle, the lump in her throat that she couldn't swallow when she loved Curt wouldn't stay lodged in her esophagus; Marc had made it go away. And even when a different kind of pain, a desperate yearning lingered inside her after everything that's happened with him, Marc still helped her unearth her resilience and ability to adapt and change...to live her life when the world around her went up in flames.

Sure, she was thinking of him again while chatting with her guests and offering them some snacks in her den, but she wasn't lamenting what could have been or speculating on whom he might be bedding that night.

"No sir, not me." she hummed an extension of her thoughts.

"What was that?" Max asked her and she realized that she'd said that out loud.

"Nothing," she shook her head changing the direction of her thoughts and the conversation, "I have a bunch of fun activities planned, but I can pop a cartoon video as background...um...TV, you know, background!"

Max chuckled at her klutzy little declaration as his son chirped, "The Kings are playing tonight!" and hopped to the console to snatch the remote.

Tsking, his dad frowned, "Is that the behavior of a gentleman at a friend's house?" then to her, he shrugged, "Hockey is another new flavor of the month for him -or has been since The Kings won The Stanley Cup last summer."

"That's absolutely fine," she smiled, "I was watching The Avalanche game, but The Kings are fine with me."

Max obviously struggled to focus on the game as he made a dozen excuses to touch her with liberal familiarity, now that the ice hadn't just gotten broken, but was completely melted by their steamy kiss earlier. At one point, he had his fingers laced with hers and compressed her hand slightly to get her attention and whisper, "You taste better than I imagined."

Burrowing closer to him on the sofa, she murmured, "Does that mean you had dirty fantasies about me?"

"You'd be shocked to know just how dirty they are!" he wiggled his eyebrows, and she had to fight the urge to say, "I wouldn't bet on it." as her mind recalled the nature of the activities she and Marc had crammed into their various sexual marathons. And no, she wasn't thinking about Marc again, and it wasn't difficult to keep him locked outside of her head everytime the commentators mentioned the results from The Canadiens' game earlier that night.

"I read somewhere that hockey was supposed to be organized chaos, but so far all I see is chaos, I'm not following anything," Max griped as his son started to cheer, "What's icing?"

She started to explain it to him when her cell phone started to ring, and she excused herself, "I won't be long, I'll just see who it is, and get us some gelato from the kitchen while I'm at it."

Her sure steps faltered when she slipped the phone from its cover to see Marc's name on her screen. She picked up the phone without a "yes" or a "hello".

"Jillian?" Was all he said and silence followed for a good half minute.

"Yeah?" she glanced back at her date and his son as they both pointed at the screen, the man asking questions and the boy explaining the happenings to him. Max looked up and smiled at her, and she gave him a shaky smile before entering the kitchen. She was being ridiculous, there was no reason for her to be nervous.

"I'm kind of busy right now, what can I do for you?" she opened her freezer and stared unseeingly at the ice cream tubs.

"You watching the game?" he ventured in a smooth voice that was too low to be his characteristic tone, "I heard your TV earlier."

"I have some people over." She placed the three containers of ice cream on her table and went looking for her tall ice cream glasses.

"Oh..." he cleared his throat, "Are you on a date?"

"Marc!" she began and shook her head not knowing how to proceed, "Marc," she repeated lamely.

"About the other night, I...I...you have to understand...it wasn't...I've missed you, and..."

Her hand stilled on the counter door as she squeezed her eyes shut trying not to lash out on him again after supposedly putting that whole mess behind her.

"Marc, it's okay, I was being difficult and I had no right to intrude on your life or speak to you like that." She told herself that she meant it.

"No, Jillian, it's me, of course you have the right to be-"

She interrupted, "Be nothing. It doesn't affect or bother me, believe me. We had an agreement, and as long as I'm in Chicago -which is where I'm staying- we lead separate lives. It took me a while to digest that thought, I guess, but now I'm completely okay with it. You don't need to worry. I hope I didn't ruin your evening."

"All my evenings get ruined when you're not with me."

Her legs started to shake, and she wanted to sit down badly, but she shook her head again as if he was looking at her, "Please don't."

"For almost two months now, I've tried to drown the sense of loss and desperation by forcing myself to indulge into pleasure, but it's not working, Jillian, I'm failing miserably, and you need to know that. I need you to know it."

"Why? Why? Why?" she repeated waving her hand and not knowing how to proceed with the question.

"Because you're not doing anything towards solving the issues you have. You know you can ask me for help, I'm here for you. I'll listen, offer advice, and even help you find someone to talk to-"

"A shrink? I'm not crazy, Marc."

"I didn't say you were, we all have our down moments and need to talk to someone."

"Talk to a professional." She gave up looking for the glasses and set a trio of ramekins on the table.

"Yeah, a professional, what's wrong with that?" he reasoned.

"Nothing, only I don't need to, I'm perfectly fine -mentally, professionally, and now socially, I assure you."

"You miss me." he took another shot from a different direction making her halt speechlessly.

"I know you do, because I miss you, and I want you to be happy, you know that. We always end up arguing about something, and I know I'm not the most accommodating, easiest man in the world, but I also know that it's not impossible to work things out with me, you just don't want to because you're incredibly stubborn, and so set in your ways. We always end up arguing because you're afraid that-"

But he was accommodating and sensitive to her needs. She interrupted him when alarms started to ring in her head warning her that he might be right, "We always end up arguing, yes, maybe because we just need to stay away from each other." She didn't mean it, and it sounded like nails being dragged across a blackboard even to her ears.

He uttered a foul curse then said forcefully, "I'll pretend you didn't just say that."

"Pretend whatever you want, buddy boy, in the meantime, I have guests I need to tend to." She couldn't tell him that she was spending the evening with a man, despite the fact that things wouldn't progress beyond kissing and petting with Caleb being there.

Yet, he didn't relent confirming it, "You're on a date." He said, "Okay, I can respect that, but whoever he is, you don't want to be with that bozo," He decided on a low blow, "he's not the one you want to take into your pussy, your mouth, your ass, Jill, but me. I bet I've been on your mind all evening. I bet you compared him to me ever since he stepped foot in your house, and that he came out lacking. You won't admit it to me, but I know I'm right."

This was a more abrasive side of Marc that she wasn't acquainted with. Sure, he's always been persistent and used crafty tactics to get her to bend to his will, but this was just blatant and insolent. He must've been running out of patience.

Instead of an angry reply that put him in his place, she took a deep breath and a small lick of strawberry gelato then said, "I think you're the one with anxiety, not me, and you probably suffer from delusions brought on by your narcissism."

She could just see him smirking triumphantly when he countered silkily, "You haven't fucked him yet, have you? I bet you haven't even kissed him."

"That's when you're wrong, Dussant," she started to embellish a little story when Max knocked on the kitchen door which she left slightly open, then poked his head in, "Can I help with something?"

Not what's taking so long, he wasn't a pushy, arrogant smartass like the man on her phone.

"It's just work," she scrunched her nose and signaled the phone, "My boss back in New York has me mistaken for an IT tech."

"IT tech, huh?" Marc chuckled in her ear as Max nodded sympathetically, "Everyone in my office treats me like I should be some sort of computer wizard."

"Does he know I'm the reason why you're not fucking him?" Marc taunted, and she felt her cheeks flush with fury and an unnamed sensation that she shouldn't dwell upon.

Hoping to shut him up, she scrambled for a generic answer, "The fastest solution would be to press Control, ALT, and Delete and close the tasks that are lagging if you don't want to reboot and risk losing your work."

"Does he know that he's just a poor attempt at a rebound?"

Maxime started scooping the ice cream into the ramekins and she had to take a step back pretending to look in the pantry for something because Marc's voice grew intentionally louder, "Does he know I'm the reason he's never gonna get a taste of that pussy? Does he know that you won't touch him because you want me and no one else? Does he know where I've been? How I've taken you everywhere until-"

Flustered, she managed to construct a candy coated retort and delivered it in a false saccharine tone, "Mr. Dussant, your problem sounds serious, I suggest you call someone in town to help you. Try Sheila, or Meg, they should be readily available. You might even need them both to try to tend to it since your situation seems to be grave."

His voice lost the wily teasing taking on a penitent tone, "I meant to explain to you about that-"

But her small victory had her on a roll, and a stroke of genius made her ask Maxime without taking the phone away from her mouth, "Does Caleb like sprinkles?"

"He probably does, I know I do! Let me check for you." Max opened the door and called out for his son.

She knew she scored big when Marc let out a short gasp and stuttered, "Two guys, Jillian? That's how you get back at me? Two fucking guys?"

"You can look up some numbers in the phonebook, too, if you need a pro to help you." She went on, smiling at her use of the word "pro".

"Jillian, this isn't you, you need to stop before it's too late."

Her moment in the sun was short lived, though, cut short when Caleb came sprinted into the kitchen chanting, "Daddy! Daddy! The Kings scored!"

"That would be a 'yes' to the sprinkles!" Maxime grinned.

It took Marc a moment, but he started to chuckle and it turned into loud laughter that made her slide the volume down on her phone, "It's a kid? He brought his kid over on a date?"

Max gave his son a bowl of gelato, then grabbed the remaining two toasting them to her with a smile and signaled that he'd wait for her in the living room before following the boy back out.

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Dussant, I'm celebrating Valentine's Day with my boyfriend and his son. I don't think I can be of much help to you tonight." as an after though, she added, "Or any other night, considering that we live in two different states."

"You were the one who told me that what's between us is more than just good sex, and that we're great together," he insisted, "You were the one who told me she didn't want another man, and didn't do what you did on your knees for any other man but me, Jillian. I want you to open up, to stop being so afraid of believing that you deserve a good relationship, I want you to be brave, Jillian. I want you to be truly brave for yourself."

She started to shake her head vehemently sinking into a well of denial, "It was different back then," she watched the door to make sure Maxime and his son weren't coming back, and couldn't overhear her, "Whatever it was, I don't want it anymore." Then hung up and turned her phone off before he could say anything else. For a lie that big, she thought that something should fall from the sky to smite her for her dishonesty.

The phone call was a guaranteed mood ruiner, Jillian surmised with a sinking feeling as she joined Max back on the sofa. He had to remind her to pick up her ice cream bowl in which the three sweet balls were melting and mixing into each other. She knew he was privy to the subtle negative shift in her mood, but he kept his observations to himself, and gentled his tone with her.

Burrowing closer to him, she whispered in his ear, "I'm inviting you to a more private dinner here after Caleb goes back to his mother." She was trying, God knows she was trying.

"Where do I RSVP?" he smiled softly dropping his eyes to her lips.

"Right here." She replied pressing her mouth to his.

But the moment was gone. The earlier success shrunk back and regressed to that uncertain feeling that made her wish she was miles away with a certain ornery blue-eyed Canadian, or just alone...working. She even felt a huge sense of relief when Max and Caleb left after the boy dozed off with his face pressed against her coffee table.

There were two voice mails from Marc on her phone when she turned it on in the morning, but she deleted both messages without even listening to them. No use chewing the same bite over and over again when she just needed to swallow it and be done with it.

Her date with Max on Monday night didn't sound as promising as she built it in her mind to be after all. But she went all in wearing a spaghetti strap, brushed silk Alexander Wang dress that looked more like a shift than an outer garment, and told herself she wasn't trying too hard. She didn't bother with a strapless bra or a background music pick for the dinner she didn't bother cooking, dragging out the evening might make her balk and end the date just like every one of their previous ones.

He was a few minutes early, and armed with another bouquet of generic date red roses, but she smiled and expressed how she loved them before putting them in a vase on top of a sideboard across the room from the roses he brought her on Valentine.

"Something smells really good." He said following her into the kitchen when she went in for the screw-pull wine opener she forgot to set on the table with the chilled wine bottle and glasses. He must've been nervous because it was clear there wasn't anything cooking on either the stove or in the oven, and the only thing he was smelling was her potting spicy herbs, and the coffee she ground earlier that day.