“You’re spending the night with me.” He fastens my bra, then lifts his gaze. “All night?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say flippantly.
He frowns, but his lips quirk as he grabs my hand and takes me out. I can’t breathe or concentrate or think when Maverick leads me back to the table.
A new song starts just as we sit down in the booth.
He sits beside me, and my friends all go mute as he stares at them. No, not them. He stares at Miles, singling him out immediately.
I struggle to find a way to introduce him. “Guys,” I say, and put my hand on his thigh as he stretches his arm behind me and curls his hand on the back of my neck. “Miles, Avery, Gabe, this is . . . Maverick.”
“I think I just shit my pants,” Gabe says.
Miles purses his lips in displeasure.
Avery is about to burst with excitement. “You . . . you two . . . know each other, Reese?” she declares, eyes wide.
Maverick waits for me to speak.
I don’t know how to explain him to them.
How to explain my avenger to anyone?
“Hey, Reese. Can I talk to you?”
Maverick is just staring at Miles. Especially after he said that.
His orgasm tamed him . . . somewhat. But he’s still putting out dangerous airs and watching Miles like he’s the next man to hit the canvas—and soon. “Is something wrong?” I ask Miles.
Miles looks tortured. “I wanted to talk to you . . . alone. About . . .” He looks at Maverick, then at me. “I’ve been thinking about you . . .” he begins.
“Hey, dude.” Maverick leans forward, his face as harsh and violent as I’ve ever seen it. “She’s with me.” He takes the back of my neck and pulls me back into his arm, keeping it around me and silently looking at Miles after that.
Miles scoffs. “A guy like you? For how long? Huh?”
Maverick cuts him a cocky smile. And he keeps it simple as always. “Forever.”
♥ ♥ ♥
WE’VE BEEN IN the club for a half hour—Maverick and I stealing heated looks and touches of each other—when Maverick’s gaze trains on two guys coming in our direction. One looks Native American, beautiful and olive-skinned, with dreads tied into a ponytail that hangs down his back. The other has closely cropped hair and a big diamond earring and a thousand rings on his hands and bracelets on his arm. They’re both wearing T-shirts that read we’re here for the fight.
“Fuck, man, the flight delays just pissed us off. Heard you took over,” the one with the jewelry says as Maverick stands to slap his back.
The one with the dreads leans over to pop an olive from Gabe’s drink into his mouth. “Hey, people, I’m starved,” he says, and then he straightens and looks at Maverick. “You fucking lethal cunt, you’re an asshole, you know that? You wiped it clean tonight and didn’t wait for us?”
Maverick reaches for my hand and draws me to my feet, looks at me with pride. “Reese, these are my guys from back home, Ward and Seneca.”
Ward is the one with the jewelry. “Ah, the girl who walks on water,” he says drolly.
I smile as he kisses my knuckles in mock gallantness. “I can swim too.”
Seneca grabs my other hand and kisses the back. “At last we meet the lucky charm.” He looks at Maverick. “That face can cure cancer, man,” he says, then he turns to my friends, who look as entertained/shocked/disbelieving as if they were watching a thriller. “May we?” Seneca signals to the table and the food there.
Avery drops Gabe’s arm and scoots over. “Please,” she purrs, lifting the little plate of olives for Seneca to devour.
“You look a little pale, man. Can I get you a drink?” Ward asks Miles.
Maverick is smiling smugly as he takes a seat and, since we’re all so crowded, draws me onto his lap. His friends are clearly both rebels at heart, like Maverick. And a whole lot of trouble compared to my friends. But we end up all having a good time, even Miles, who’s soon overcome by the fact that he’s clubbing with the Avenger and his buds.
“Hey,” Ward tells me, jerking his scowl in Maverick’s direction as Seneca tells him about the waves the rumors of his fights are making back home. “This fucker left without a word. Without a goodbye. Obsessed with proving himself. Don’t let him forget he’s not alone, huh? His mother misses him. We miss him. He’s not fucking alone.”
“I know,” I say.
“You’re with the Tates, aren’t you?”
“But I’m with Maverick too.”
He’s still scowling. “But whose side are you on at the final?” He raises his brows, then lifts a beer to his lips. “You can’t be on both.”
I nod and stare morosely at my mineral water, with its little lime at the top. And I remind myself the strength and resolve I need right now won’t come from anywhere but me.
THIRTY-NINE
INTIMATE
Reese
Love is a funny thing. I don’t even know if you can call it a “thing,” precisely. It’s a force. An energy. A feeling. A moment. A look, a kiss, a smile. All of those things in one.
It sneaks up on you; you never see it coming. And when it does finally hit you, it isn’t a small little poke. It’s like a rhinoceros rammed itself against your chest. Or you just got run over by a car. It knocks the wind out of you. Slams you against the wall. Kick-starts your heart.
You lose your appetite. You can’t sleep.
Some can call love a sickness.
Seriously, you’re sick over another human being. You belong to them. They control your feelings with a look in their eye. They change the way you see yourself, feel about yourself. You feel like your world shifted, and everything’s the same, but you aren’t.
I say it’s funny because it seems to bend and twist every concept of reality you have.
You can survive off nothing. The only thing sustaining you is this feeling, energy, force. You can go days without decent sleep. You’re not hungry for anything except that one person who seems to occupy your every thought.
Time slows down when you’re without them. Seconds feel like hours, minutes like days. And when you’re together, time moves at the speed of light. It’s all a blur, and when it’s over, you don’t remember half the things you were doing but you just remember this feeling. This bliss. And it is all over in a flash. And you’re back to counting the long, eternal minutes until you see him again.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say flippantly.
He frowns, but his lips quirk as he grabs my hand and takes me out. I can’t breathe or concentrate or think when Maverick leads me back to the table.
A new song starts just as we sit down in the booth.
He sits beside me, and my friends all go mute as he stares at them. No, not them. He stares at Miles, singling him out immediately.
I struggle to find a way to introduce him. “Guys,” I say, and put my hand on his thigh as he stretches his arm behind me and curls his hand on the back of my neck. “Miles, Avery, Gabe, this is . . . Maverick.”
“I think I just shit my pants,” Gabe says.
Miles purses his lips in displeasure.
Avery is about to burst with excitement. “You . . . you two . . . know each other, Reese?” she declares, eyes wide.
Maverick waits for me to speak.
I don’t know how to explain him to them.
How to explain my avenger to anyone?
“Hey, Reese. Can I talk to you?”
Maverick is just staring at Miles. Especially after he said that.
His orgasm tamed him . . . somewhat. But he’s still putting out dangerous airs and watching Miles like he’s the next man to hit the canvas—and soon. “Is something wrong?” I ask Miles.
Miles looks tortured. “I wanted to talk to you . . . alone. About . . .” He looks at Maverick, then at me. “I’ve been thinking about you . . .” he begins.
“Hey, dude.” Maverick leans forward, his face as harsh and violent as I’ve ever seen it. “She’s with me.” He takes the back of my neck and pulls me back into his arm, keeping it around me and silently looking at Miles after that.
Miles scoffs. “A guy like you? For how long? Huh?”
Maverick cuts him a cocky smile. And he keeps it simple as always. “Forever.”
♥ ♥ ♥
WE’VE BEEN IN the club for a half hour—Maverick and I stealing heated looks and touches of each other—when Maverick’s gaze trains on two guys coming in our direction. One looks Native American, beautiful and olive-skinned, with dreads tied into a ponytail that hangs down his back. The other has closely cropped hair and a big diamond earring and a thousand rings on his hands and bracelets on his arm. They’re both wearing T-shirts that read we’re here for the fight.
“Fuck, man, the flight delays just pissed us off. Heard you took over,” the one with the jewelry says as Maverick stands to slap his back.
The one with the dreads leans over to pop an olive from Gabe’s drink into his mouth. “Hey, people, I’m starved,” he says, and then he straightens and looks at Maverick. “You fucking lethal cunt, you’re an asshole, you know that? You wiped it clean tonight and didn’t wait for us?”
Maverick reaches for my hand and draws me to my feet, looks at me with pride. “Reese, these are my guys from back home, Ward and Seneca.”
Ward is the one with the jewelry. “Ah, the girl who walks on water,” he says drolly.
I smile as he kisses my knuckles in mock gallantness. “I can swim too.”
Seneca grabs my other hand and kisses the back. “At last we meet the lucky charm.” He looks at Maverick. “That face can cure cancer, man,” he says, then he turns to my friends, who look as entertained/shocked/disbelieving as if they were watching a thriller. “May we?” Seneca signals to the table and the food there.
Avery drops Gabe’s arm and scoots over. “Please,” she purrs, lifting the little plate of olives for Seneca to devour.
“You look a little pale, man. Can I get you a drink?” Ward asks Miles.
Maverick is smiling smugly as he takes a seat and, since we’re all so crowded, draws me onto his lap. His friends are clearly both rebels at heart, like Maverick. And a whole lot of trouble compared to my friends. But we end up all having a good time, even Miles, who’s soon overcome by the fact that he’s clubbing with the Avenger and his buds.
“Hey,” Ward tells me, jerking his scowl in Maverick’s direction as Seneca tells him about the waves the rumors of his fights are making back home. “This fucker left without a word. Without a goodbye. Obsessed with proving himself. Don’t let him forget he’s not alone, huh? His mother misses him. We miss him. He’s not fucking alone.”
“I know,” I say.
“You’re with the Tates, aren’t you?”
“But I’m with Maverick too.”
He’s still scowling. “But whose side are you on at the final?” He raises his brows, then lifts a beer to his lips. “You can’t be on both.”
I nod and stare morosely at my mineral water, with its little lime at the top. And I remind myself the strength and resolve I need right now won’t come from anywhere but me.
THIRTY-NINE
INTIMATE
Reese
Love is a funny thing. I don’t even know if you can call it a “thing,” precisely. It’s a force. An energy. A feeling. A moment. A look, a kiss, a smile. All of those things in one.
It sneaks up on you; you never see it coming. And when it does finally hit you, it isn’t a small little poke. It’s like a rhinoceros rammed itself against your chest. Or you just got run over by a car. It knocks the wind out of you. Slams you against the wall. Kick-starts your heart.
You lose your appetite. You can’t sleep.
Some can call love a sickness.
Seriously, you’re sick over another human being. You belong to them. They control your feelings with a look in their eye. They change the way you see yourself, feel about yourself. You feel like your world shifted, and everything’s the same, but you aren’t.
I say it’s funny because it seems to bend and twist every concept of reality you have.
You can survive off nothing. The only thing sustaining you is this feeling, energy, force. You can go days without decent sleep. You’re not hungry for anything except that one person who seems to occupy your every thought.
Time slows down when you’re without them. Seconds feel like hours, minutes like days. And when you’re together, time moves at the speed of light. It’s all a blur, and when it’s over, you don’t remember half the things you were doing but you just remember this feeling. This bliss. And it is all over in a flash. And you’re back to counting the long, eternal minutes until you see him again.
