I’m not at home. I’m at Max’s.” A laugh followed. “Max? No, he’s not like that.” Max Cress frowned at the closed door separating him from his friend Anastasia Cooper. They’d been friends for years, she’d been to his house a million times yet she didn’t know he could hear her conversation through the door? Or maybe, she just didn’t care that he heard. After all, he was “just Max” who wasn’t “like that”. Wasn’t like that? For fuck’s sake. She always managed to make him sound like he didn’t have a penis. Not like that, indeed. Brooding, he slouched back into the couch, his tense mood tipping toward bad. His frown deepened into a scowl. Ana was searching for a dominant man. Wouldn’t she be surprised if she discovered exactly how “like that” he was? Wouldn’t she be stunned by his carefully hidden nature? “Sorry ‘bout that,” she said, coming through the kitchen door and flipping shut her cell phone. She shoved a long hank of curly black hair behind a slim shoulder, the dark, silky length a striking reminder of her gypsy heritage.
