Why the hell was she arguing with him about this? What was wrong with her? She shut her mouth and let him guide her legs open.

He knelt at her feet and pushed her legs further apart.

“I know I don’t have to, but I really, really want to.”

Well, if he put it like that.

He tiptoed his fingers up the inside of her thighs, and she giggled.

“Any more objections?”

She folded her arms behind her head and smiled down at him.

“Not a one.”

He slid first one finger inside her, then a second. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. God, the way he touched her, she couldn’t get enough of it.

He spent a while exploring her with his fingers, touching her in slow circles that felt so good she could hardly bear it. And then, thank God, she felt his tongue against that spot where she most wanted him. Finally, she screamed, and dropped her hands by her sides.

He sat up, disheveled and grinning.

She sat up, too, and smiled at him.

“Now do I get some pie, so I can decide if that was actually better?”

Max let out a bark of laughter and stood up.

“Oh, Olivia. I like you so much.”

The smile fell from her face as he cut their pie. She liked him so much, too. Oh no.

Chapter Eight

Olivia fell in line with Jamila on the way out to her car on Wednesday night. In the past few weeks, it had become a routine that Jamila would drive her home after her volunteer shift. It had been another productive evening: this time they’d made forty servings of lasagna, with roasted carrots as a side. Olivia couldn’t believe how proud she felt at the end of the night when she saw the sealed packages, all lined up in the fridge and ready to be delivered the next day. It felt amazing, like this was a real accomplishment—no matter what else she’d done today, she’d done one tangible thing to help people.

Not only that, but she felt a real sense of community here. Some of the other regular volunteers had been working at the food pantry since it had started, and after she showed up the second time, they’d taken her under their wing. They’d laughed at her—but in a kind way—when she asked questions, they’d taught her to chop and dice, and they always oohed and aahed over her outfit when she walked in on Wednesday nights. She felt like she was part of something; that there were people who embraced her, and whom she embraced right back. Many of them were from the neighborhood and so they knew some of the recipients of the meals well, which almost made it feel like they were cooking for family. Olivia wondered what they would think of Max.