Anything beyond that my mind wouldn’t let me focus on, because I was pretty sure my heart was screaming at me to stop before it got broken, but I couldn’t help it.

Max’s kisses made me forget myself, which at this point? I needed. I didn’t want to think about the weeks after the show, the money—anything. I just wanted to focus on Max and how everything felt so perfect when we were together. He kissed me harder. Those kisses of his were dangerous, because they made me focus on everything all at once—but that everything was him and only him. He made me feel on fire, yet safe at the same time.

“I really like you, you know,” Max said a half hour later. His clothes were everywhere. Hades was facing the wall, clearly embarrassed at the free show he’d just received, and I was happily relaxed against Max’s shoulder, rubbing his chest, his golden-bronzed chest.

“I like you too,” I said softly.

“More than the others,” Max added. “More than anyone.”

“Not because of the show?” I asked quietly, not wanting to make eye contact lest my heart shatter into a billion pieces if he joked or said that we were only together because of the show.

I hated how vulnerable I felt in that moment. Like one wrong sentence coming from his lips would destroy my world, altering me forever.

“Becca.” Max shifted and then tilted my chin toward him. “The show brought me you, but it doesn’t define what this is.” He pointed between the two of us, then pulled me in for a kiss. “Speaking of the show, we should probably get ready for our date.”

“What are we doing?”

“Told you”—he winked—“I saved the best for last.”

I sighed as he slowly got out of bed and did the naked walk to the bathroom, where he turned on the shower. I was staring like a lunatic but he was just so . . . firm everywhere and sexy and . . .

“Becca?” Max grinned. “You okay?”

“Yeah?” I said breathlessly. “Why?”

“You’re about ready to fall off the bed and I could have sworn I heard a moan, but hey, it could have been Hades.”

Wasn’t Hades.

My skin went hot all over.

With a grin Max walked over to me and kissed my head. “Join me?”

“Huh?”

“Shower,” he whispered against my ear. “Join me.”

“But—”

“Come on, just a few minutes.”

“But the date is in a half hour and—”

Max silenced me with his lips and then lifted me into his arms and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Hot water cascaded down my back as he walked us both into the shower and then pressed me up against the wall. “You were saying?”

“Good idea?” I opened my eyes.

Water dripped down Max’s dark hair and across his full lips and strong jaw. Damn, the man was so good-looking it hurt.

“So . . .” With one hand he kept me firmly placed against the wall, with his other hand he gripped my fingers, interlocking them with his, and then gently pressed them against the wall, sliding me higher until he was able to position his body beneath me. “Let’s start this date off right, shall we?”

No speaking took place over the next fifteen minutes. Some laughing, a lot of moaning, and a few slaps, but that was it. The shower was over too soon. Just like our time on the show would be and I was left to wonder.

Would it always be like this?

Or was I just another sucker falling for the lie that was reality TV?

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

MAX

Because of my impromptu shower session with Becca, I’d had no time to get ready. Then again, she was the type of girl I figured I’d never actually be ready for. She was more like a hurricane-force wind blowing in my direction. You can duck and take cover, but it’s best to just stand out in the middle of the road and embrace what’s happening.

If I thought about it too much, my man card started getting shaky. Every guy has one. Trust me, I don’t lie. When little boys are brought into this world they’re given what I like to refer to as a list of instructions. A boy must always chase things. A boy must always reference bodily fluids when he is uncomfortable. Until the age of eight, boys by their birthright are allowed to throw rocks, grass, or any itchy object in the direction of little girls. By age twelve all boys are allowed to bathe in Axe body spray in order to deter their own body odor. The list goes on and on, but the point I’m trying to make is that guys go through stages. When they finally get to the stage where they’re faced with the rules about commitment, a guy does one of two things. He commits and gladly hands over his man card, receiving a new one in the process titled husband, also known as whipped. Or the man hesitates, trying to hold on to his card while also trying to reach for the husband one.

Doesn’t work that way, my friends.

I’ve seen many a man lose a limb because he overestimated his ability to reach and hold on at the same time.

So at this point? As I was walking toward the beach to join Becca? I was stuck in the middle zone. If I stepped into commitment it meant I was leaving everything behind.

It meant uncharted territory.

And I think it’s already been established I would have been a terrible explorer.

The film crew followed me down the beach. Becca was wearing a long, black halter cover-up and that same white swimsuit that made my entire body heat on sight.

I needed to focus on this date. There was no future, no past, only the present. Me and her . . .