Page 60 of A Little Complicated

Maverick raises them into the air and waits. I slip the dark T-shirt over his head, revealing muscles stacked on muscles.

My mouth dries instantly. It’s been three months, maybe more since I saw him up close and personal without his shirt? Since he let me touch him? Let me run my hands—my tongue—along every inch of tan skin on his Adonis body?

But it never looked like this. He’s been working harder than ever. Probably preparing for the NHL next year, but what do I know? And the tattoos? It’s the first time I’ve ever been able to get a close look at them. Dark ink takes up most of his chest now. Intricate lines and bold drawings cover every inch, turning the man I used to know into nothing but a stranger.

My fingers itch to reach out and run my hands along the V leading to his jeans, but I stop myself and breathe out, “Damn.”

Mav’s lips lift with amusement. “Like what you see, Goose?”

Tearing my attention from his shadowed torso, I tuck my messy hair behind my ear. “Don’t call me Goose.”

“But I’m your Maverick, right? Just likeTop Gun. Except Goose is the one who dies.” His forehead wrinkles. “Probably should’ve been the other way around.”

“What?” Confusion taints my words as my attention bounces from his stupid chest to his stupid comment.

“Nothing.” He licks his chapped lips and drops his chin to his chest, clearly still drunk out of his mind despite spilling most of the alcohol he consumed earlier tonight in the toilet.

“Since when do you have tattoos?” I ask.

“Ah, you noticed, did you?” He smacks his hand against his pec, right above his heart.

“They’re kind of hard to miss,” I muse.

“Yeah. Gotta deal with the pain somehow, right?”

“What pain?”

“I don't know? Hockey and shit,” he deflects.

I stand in front of him. Unsure what to do or say or…anything. Because it’s annoying. The way he talks to me. So hot and cold. Sometimes, it makes me believe we’re almost friends again. Other times, it reminds me of what we used to do together. When it was dark and late, and he treated me like I was more than a friend. When we would kiss and touch and talk about our hopes and dreams. Our future. One we’d build together.

Frustration hits between my ribs, and I press my hand to his chest. “Lay down.”

He doesn’t budge. “Why? So you can climb on?”

“Very funny, Maverick. Come on.” I push my hand against his chest with more force, and he rolls onto his back, tugging me with him.

Shit.

Yeah, laying on top of your ex while being half-naked is not a great position to be in. My long hair pools around us. My hands are pressed against his pecs, and my hip is pressed against his—yup. That’s a hard-on.

He forces his eyes open. They stay hooded and dark as he stares up at me, drinking in our precarious position. A devilish smirk greets me. “Nowthisis a wet dream.”

“No, this is a ticking time bomb.” I push myself away from him and stand, ignoring the way my hands shake from the feel of his skin against my palms.

Snap out of it, Lia, I remind myself.

His sheets are nothing but a lump at the foot of the bed, so I reach for the hem and tug them up, covering Maverick’s half-naked body. “Have you had any water or Gatorade yet?”

He shakes his head.

“Any painkillers?”

Another shake.

“I’ll be right back.” I start to step away, but he grabs my wrist, keeping me in place.

“There isn’t any in the bathroom or in my room. You’ll have to get it from the kitchen.”

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