Page 79 of Best Part of Me

Yes.

Jones

You were supposed to text me.

Me

I’m texting you now.

Jones

Doesn’t count.

Me

How did you know anyway?

Jones

Rosie.

Ah, shocker. Of course Jones has been bugging Rosie. I try to imagine a world in which Jones and Rosie are dating. Would I be upset? In all honesty, I think I’d be okay with it. As long as they were happy. Even though it would be more likely that Rosie and Jones would have killed each other if they’d gone on a trip together instead of winding up in bed.

Or having sex in a tent.

Or a hammock.

Or a hot springs.

My stomach flips. I’m instantly missing Maverick again. My body aches for him.

It doesn’t matter though. We made the decision before we even began; ten days. Besides, ten days isn’t long enough to fall in love with someone.

But my brain should probably tell my heart that. Because right now, it’s battered and bruised and mourning Maverick. With all the willpower I can muster, I refrain from texting him. It won’t do any good. It will only make things harder and more confusing for both of us.

I slip out of bed and rummage through my suitcase that I haven’t had the energy to unpack yet and pull out Maverick’s sweatshirt. It’s the one I wore that first night at his apartment. Crumpling it and holding it to my nose, I close my eyes as I breathe in his familiar, musky scent. My eyes water. I tug the sweatshirt over my head and crawl back into bed, wrapping my arms around myself and fantasizing I’m hugging Maverick.

CHAPTER23

Maverick

Avoiding Jones the past two days since I’ve been home has been difficult. The excuse of work can only last for so long. That’s why it’s no shocker when I awake to him banging on my apartment door at 8:00 a.m. after a late night spent on my laptop editing photos. It’s embarrassing how much of that time was devoted to looking at the pictures I took of Camille.

“Whoa, you look like shit.” Jones barrels into my apartment, giving my shoulder a shove with his fist as he heads straight to the coffeemaker.

“It’s good to see you, too,” I mutter, shutting the door behind him.

“And here I thought you’d come back looking refreshed after ten days of camping.” Jones snatches a mug from the cupboard and pours himself some coffee while my brain is still trying to process seeing him for the first time after everything that happened with Cammie.

I scrub a hand over my unshaven face, feeling grateful at least that I programmed the coffeemaker the night before. “Yeah, well, you know I was working, buttfuck?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, waving me off.

“I was up late. I have a lot of data to compile and get my blogs written.”

“I know, man. But I missed you.” He gives me a one-arm hug, not letting go of his mug in the other hand.

The hug is the same as it always is with Jones. Only this time, there’s more weight to it. The guilt of being with his sister presses into me. It’s almost enough to make me want to confess. But that won’t help anyone. Confessing would only drive Camille and me further apart. And it would devastate Jones.

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