~Sparks~ A Max Verstappen Story

Chapter Three-I Learn Max Hates Tea and That I Clean as a Coping Mechanism

We're tangled in the sheets, and I'm currently trying to recover. I'm on my stomach; my cheek resting on Max's chest, arm thrown over his waist. Max is drawing patterns on my lower back when I say, "Blue. Honey and obnoxious amounts of cream, Soy and strawberries."

The hand on my back stills. "And that's supposed to mean what exactly?" Max says probably questioning my sanity.

I mentally facepalm for not elaborating further, but you try to be coherent after Max is done with you. I'm surprised I was able to say that much.

I turn my head now resting my chin on him. "Give me a minute, I'm trying to—just give me a minute," I say, upset I can't get the words out.

"That good huh?" He smirks down at me.

"Don't let it go to your head," I say, and he raises his eyebrows at me. I place my hand over his mouth before he can make the joke, I know he's dying to.

When I'm sure he won't make jokes, I remove my hand and say, "You said earlier that you didn't know my favorite color, or how I took my tea, or if I was allergic to anything. I'm answering you." I am now able to string two thoughts together.

"Tell me again," he says.

I pinch his waist, "you mean you weren't listening earlier," I fake pout.

"I thought you were speaking French again, like you tend to do when I make you c—" he gets cut off by my hand again. He laughs into it, and I join in.

"As I was saying earlier, my favorite color is blue like the ocean, I take my tea with honey and obnoxious amounts of cream, and I'm allergic to soy and strawberries," I tell him watching his face as he takes in the information.

"Tell me more," he says, and I prop myself up on my elbow to really look at him.

"You want to know more?" I ask him earnestly. I miss his answer because I start overthinking again. Why would he want to know these things? I was so sure he was just using me as a rebound for Kelly. And before you say anything, yes, I was ok with that. Have you seen the man, and don't even get me started on the sex. Was it slightly degrading? Yes. Was I owning it? Also, yes. Did I need him in a way that's concerning to feminism? I'm gonna leave my answer to that open ended.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" Max says, poking my forehead for emphasis.

"Am I not just a rebound? A one-time fling? Why do you want to know things about me? It won't make any difference come tomorrow?" I say and a crease forms between his eyebrows.

"I do believe we gone at it more than once. What are we up to now? Five? Six? You want me to make it Seven to get my point across? I enjoy your company. I want you here, in my bed, with me. I don't know why you're stressed. Stop overthinking things, we're just seeing where things go," he says, and I can't help but get a little annoyed.

I push myself all the way up, turning away from Max. "You might be able to just go with the flow Max, but I'm married. I shouldn't even be here. I just can't see where things go, I don't have the luxury," I say to him. It might be dramatic, but I can't be as nonchalant about this. I was cheating on Pierre with another driver for gods' sake. The reality of it kind of hits me all at once. I had cheated on my husband. No matter how distant he was from me. How much he despised me. I had signed a paper; I had made a vow. I had sunk to his level.

Max's hand on my shoulder makes me turn to him. "I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me to say. I didn't mean to invalidate your feelings. I just meant that we could worry about it when the time comes. If you want to stop this, I'll take you home. If you want to see how the day plays out, I'm here. Tell me what you want liefje, forget about me for a minute. What do you want?" Max says and it honestly blows my mind. He not only apologized, but validated how I was feeling. Then asked my opinion. Is this how emotionally mature men actually acted? In comparison, Pierre had the emotional maturity of a child.