The Billionaire Playboy's Regret (Lark and Max) novel Chapter 82

Lark felt hand snaking around her middle and hugging her from behind and she shot a startled look over her shoulder.

“You’re supposed to be in the chair.”

“Nurse told me to get up and walk around a bit.” Max’s voice was warm in her ear. “Chère, rumor has it the Hoffman family are drunk.” He chuckled as she stumbled against his frame.

“I am, we are,” she snorted. “Mom got tired of refilling one flask, so she got me my own,” she tapped the pocket of her dress. “The best thing about this dress is the deep pockets.”

“The best thing about the dress is the woman wearing it,” Max kissed her temple. “Why are you drinking? Is today so hard? How can I help?”

“Nana Prue had a bunch of last wishes and one of them was for Dad to be drunk the day of her funeral and she always told me to never let a sad man drink alone. I think she was preparing me for today.”

“It is possible.” He said as she leaned her head back and rested it on his shoulder. “There are a lot of people here.” “Mom pointed out there are a lot of men over the age of fifty coming to pay respects,” she giggled. “Look around. It’s weird.”

“Hey,” Max pointed off in the distance, “isn’t he the guy who chased her a couple weeks back with the diamond?”

“It is. He and another guy got into a shoving match,” she pointed to a man glaring at him from far across the room. “Fallon managed to find out on the cruise, Nana spent opposite nights in their cabins.” Her giggle was followed by a snort and a hiccup.

“Your father took a lot of delight in telling your grandfather how his mom probably f****d at least eighty percent of the men in this funeral home and probably even some of it’s past clients.”Stop reading the wrong and incomplete storyline, jo b ni b.co m has the correct and complete book. “He didn’t!” she turned around completely to look up into Max’s eyes. She traced his jaw and the thin groomed beard he was wearing with her nails. “I like this look.”

“I’m glad you do. I have a little fantasy of turning the inside of your thighs red with it.”

“Max!” her eyes widened at his bold teasing. “You just had a heart attack. You’re not allowed.”

“You can sit on my face.”

“Pretty sure it’s against the rules.”

“Pretty sure overall it’s inappropriate talk for a funeral home,” Ollie popped over his shoulder.

“Jesus Ollie, you’re starting to piss me off with your constant bouncing in and around me,” Max griped. “I get you’re happy about being Santiago’s little woman now but you’re freaking me out with this meerkat routine.”

“Did you know Mom cornered him and asked him when he intends to do with me? I told them he wanted to marry me, but he said nothing to her or Dad. Mom flat out asked him his intentions and he said he has to clear up some other matters before he proposes.”

“What other matters?” Max grunted.

“I think it has to do with the weird artist lady who uses poo.” Ollie grinned. “His sister is also finally back on American soil so maybe my time is coming up after he cleans up his literal s**t relationship.”

“Gross.” Lark reached into her pocket and pulled out her flask and took a sip.

“What are you doing?” Ollie swiped the container and sniffed it. “Bourbon?”

“Yup. Nana Prue insisted.” She giggled as Ollie sipped it and held it away from Max.

“No Max. You can’t have any liquor at all because you’re sick,” Ollie sang the last word as if enjoying her brother’s misery. “You do know once I’m all healed up, I’ll be able to do whatever I want again.”

“No, you can’t. They put a rubber patch on a deflated bike tire. Don’t you remember your ugly bike when we were kids and you kept having to put air in the tire even though you patched it?” Ollie mocked him. “Your heart works but it isn’t going to let you run marathons.”

“Yes, it will,” Max grinned. “Already talked to my cardiologist.” He looked straight into Lark’s eyes, “he told me I could run all the marathons I wanted so long as I properly prepare and stretch well before hand.”

She shivered as she remembered their conversation on marathon s*x. “Max.”

“Again, not appropriate for a funeral home,” Ollie slipped the flask back into Lark’s pocket. “Though neither is this. And why are there so many leathery men here? I feel like I’m at a George Hamilton convention.”

“Grady thinks his mom boinked most of them,” Johan’s voice cut into the conversation. “He used the word boinked. He’s wasted by the way, Lark. Your mother and he are sitting in the chapel waiting for the rest of the people to finish paying their respects and they’re giggling like fools.”

“Really?”