Page 24 of A Little Complicated

“Are you gonna call earthquake yet?” Griffin interrupts from a few feet away. He’s currently on his tiptoes, balancing between a couple of coasters tossed haphazardly on the floor with his partner clinging to him like a human backpack.

He’s right. We’re playing a game. And now isnotthe time to be sandwiched between two guys—especially when neither is my boyfriend—let alone discussing Spin the Bottle, Truth or Dare, or Seven Minutes in Heaven.

My tongue darts between my lips, pulling another smirk from Reeves, and I call out, “Earthquake!”

Reeves grabs my wrist to keep me in place, preventing my escape—ourescape—as the rest of the teams scramble around us.

“Reeves,” Maverick grits out from behind me.

Reeves ignores him, chuckling, “That was a foul, Lia.”

“Oh, it was?”

“Mm-hmm.” He nods. “Freeze!” The hustle and bustle around us ceases almost instantly. “I’m gonna need you to lose some clothes,” he adds.

“Reeves,” Maverick grinds out.

“Two fouls?” I ask.

“You called earthquake when it wasn’t your job,andyou didn’t move when you were supposed to after it was called,” Reeves clarifies.

“You were holding my wrist,” I point out.

“Happy coincidence. You need to take off your shirt and pants now.” He locks eyes with Mav over the top of my head. “You, too, man. I don’t make the rules.”

“Pretty sure you’re the only person who makes the rules,” I muse.

Reeves smirks but doesn’t deny it as his eyes fall on me again. “Chop, chop, Ophelia.”

Rustling sounds behind me, followed by a light weight pressing against the chain connecting me to Maverick. Cotton skates against the back of my hand, and I look down. It’s Maverick’s T-shirt.

Apparently, Reeves wasn’t kidding about the fouls.

Maverick bends down but is careful to stay planted on the coffee table as he shoves his jeans down his thighs and kicks them onto the ground, creating another option for us to stand on.

Smart.

If he wasn’t so insane to oblige Reeves’ bullshit rules in the first place.

Looking over my shoulder at Mav, I ask, “We’re really doing this?”

“Mav’s a competitive fucker, isn’t he?” Reeves chimes in.

My lips bunch, knowing he isn’t wrong, while I attempt to come to terms with the fact that I’m standing six inches from an almost naked Maverick covered in fresh tattoos.

What the hell?

Those are new.

Like, really new.

My fingers itch to reach out and touch them to see if they’re real. To see if he’s really had countless tattoos added in a matter of weeks. It’s…strange.

Isn’t it?

Once Maverick finishes stripping, Reeves grins down at me. “It's your turn, Opie.”

“Don’t call me Opie,” I warn him.

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