Page 42 of Best Part of Me

But let’s just say, you’d be so proud!

Rosie

You know I’m always proud of you!

I love you, Cam-Cam!

Me

I know. Love you more!

I flip my phone over before dropping it onto the table.

“Just touching base with Rosie,” I elaborate because he still looks uneasy while he lifts his coffee mug to his mouth.

Oh, sweet nectar. My fingers instantly go to the carafe sitting on the table, and I fill myself a cup. Maverick’s darkened gaze is set on me, but I try to ignore it until I’ve at least dressed up my coffee exactly how I like it. Two creams and two sugars. Black coffee is doable only under dire circumstances like this morning at the campsite.

I take a sip and peek at Maverick over the brim of the mug. We lock eyes. My mind flashes to the night before when he was in between my legs, looking at me exactly as he is right now. Heat floods through me, and I adjust in my seat.

I swallow before saying, “What?”

He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Did you tell Rosie about last night? About how I made you come? Twice?”

Coffee shoots out of my mouth like a sprinkler, and I choke. But instead of being stunned or embarrassed by my reaction, he simply leans back and flops an arm over the back of the booth, a satisfied grin on his perfect lips.

“Geez, Maverick,” I finally gasp, wiping my mouth with a napkin and checking if people are staring from my peripheral.

“Now you’re gonna get fucking shy on me?”

“This place is swarming with old people.”

He shrugs. “Exactly. Meaning they’ve all been around the block a time or two.”

I dare another sip before I say, “I didn’t give her details. But she knows. That the two of us...” I gesture at him with my chin. “You know... well, she’s my best friend.”

“Yeah, just make sure she doesn’t tellmybest friend.”

The details of this arrangement weren’t specific. We never went over any rules or guidelines. The only thing we agreed on was Jones couldn’t find out.

“You don’t need to worry about Rosie. She’d never hurt Jones.”

Just saying those words out loud twists in my gut. This, the two of us here, together now, would obliterate him. Maverick must be thinking the same thing because when I glance up at him again, his brown eyes are downcast.

He reaches an open palm across the table, and instinctively, I set my hand into it. Clasping it firmly, he says, “And neither would we. That’s why he’s never going to find out.”

“Maybe we should set some rules then,” I suggest.

His eyes darken, and he caresses my hand. For someone who hasn’t been in a real relationship for a long time, he sure knows how to act like he’s in one. And I think he might be damn fine at it.

“What kind of rules?”

“I don’t know. But this,” I say, my eyes pointing at our adjoined hands, “feels very relationshipy.”

“What? Friends can hold hands.” He smirks.

“Is that what we are, Mav? Friends?”

His thumb rubs gently over the top of my hand, and my heart gives this soft pitter-patter without permission.

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