Page 66 of Misadventures with a Time Traveler

“It’s like a newspaper, but it only exists on the internet.” I pause again, unable to ignore the perplexity in his eyes. “We good now? You know the internet, right?” I turn to my side and brush my fingers along his shoulders, unable to resist soothing the new tension there.

“Just go on,” he finally says, leaving me hanging on the answer. But maybe that’s a good thing.

“Anyhow, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t want to be involved in the fashion world.”

I pause for a long moment. Then another. Well, there’s another first. I’ve never said those words out loud to anyone, even Drue and Raegan. I skim my hand down Max’s arm and take his hand, hoping he can sense that. Relief warms my chest when I see his gaze tighten as if he does.

“It’s not just the clothes themselves. It’s the attitude. The fantasy. The idea of these artworks being created but not just stuck in a gallery or on a wall. Clothing is walking, moving art…and it changes all the time. That’s been exciting to me since I was little. I guess it was always my favorite way of escaping, you know?”

“Escaping?” His echo is a genuine curiosity. I see that much in his narrowed gaze. “Escaping…what?”

At once, my insides twist.

Well, crap.

I’ve painted myself into this little figurative corner, haven’t I?

But right away, another observation hits.

Maybe this corner is exactly where I want to be. At least with him.

Especially with him.

It feels right to tell him this. It feels good to tell him this.

“I was raised by a single mom. She had me young, and though she and my dad tried to make things work, he skipped out before I was three. Things were hard. I think Mom had a list of stuff that made him run—and a lot of times, I was at the top of that list.”

Max twists his lips. Shoves out heavy air from his nostrils. Mutters a lot of pissed-off stuff in French.

“Stop it.” I smack a hand to his chest. “It’s fine, okay? I’m fine—and fashion was a big part of why that’s the truth. It saved me. Took me to lots of beautiful places, even when I wasn’t allowed to leave our apartment. Some little girls watch princess movies and dream of getting the prince. I watched them and drooled over the costume design.”

Despite my wry laugh, my confession seems to weigh the air. With his shoulders dipping as if sharing that burden, Max pulls up my hand and turns it over. He presses a patient kiss on the back.

Just like the prince I never wanted. Who’s crimping my heart like a damn accordion pleat.

Focus. Just get the rest of it out.

“When I grew up and started chasing my dream, I learned it wasn’t going to be as easy as saying I wanted in—especially because of my zaftig silhouette. But I was damned and determined to fit in. At first, I starved myself to that goal. I was proud of the size six I finally whittled down to, despite being too dizzy to even pick up the hair I was losing.” I pause long enough for him to inject a rough exhalation. “And the shittiest thing about it? Nobody in New York even cared. To them, a six was still outside the magic circle of perfection. So I came up with a new goal.”

A gentle smile returns to his generous lips. “Which was?”

“To widen the circle.”

“And you did.”

“And I did.” I flick a finger back over the phone, closing the image of the catsuit goddess. “And I still am.” With another tap, I open the InStyle app and click the link to the article I filed for them three days ago. “In addition to my Fine Things blog, the big hitters in the industry are listening to my feedback about how their designs need to be changed and refined for the girls that have flesh to sink into.” I tuck a fast kiss to the bottom of his jaw. “You know I might have to borrow that line, don’t you?” I murmur. “Want to negotiate a byline?”

“Of…course…”

But this time, I know I’ve lost him. While I’m sure he’s listened to everything I said, he’s fixed on my phone like I just yanked a star out of the sky. “Uhhh, mister? If you’re looking for the pizza delivery apps, I’m pretty sure Sottocasa doesn’t deliver here from Brooklyn.”

He hardly blinks. “Brook…lyn?”

“Where I live. Well, at least for now. I’ve submitted some test reels to the Hemline streaming fashion channel. If they respond positively, it could mean a reporter job—and in a few years, maybe my own show.” I sigh with meaning. “The big-time. It would change everything.” I tilt my head, amused at how he peers between the phone and me like a puppy figuring out a new pull toy. “Want to see some pictures of my apartment and neighborhood?”

His face brightens. I don’t hold back on my answering smile, though I’m flirting with disaster and know it. What is my problem? I came up here to confront the man about being either an overboard cosplayer or a deceptive freak, not to end up offering him a virtual tour of Brooklyn in the nude.

But what the hell do I do about that revelation now? Totally join the crazy, of course. “Okay, settle in.” Crap, I’m even giddy about it, rolling to my stomach and using the rumpled covers to prop up my phone. Max slides close, lazing his massive thigh across my ass while leaning his cheek on his opposite hand. With his other hand, he restarts his magical caresses along my spine.