Page 68 of A Little Complicated

Goosebumps race along my skin, and I close my eyes, focusing on the man behind me. His steady breathing. His strong arms. His thighs cradling me.

Breathe.

I force my muscles to relax further into his hold, stealing what little warmth I can from his chest and legs as the rest of the world slowly disappears, leaving me alone with Maverick Buchanan. Without the jabs. Without the baggage. Only me and him. And I hate how good it feels.

I don’t know how much time passes. Honestly, it’s a blur of molasses-coated quicksand, but soon, Griffin’s sharp voice cuts through my focus as he announces, “That’s it. You beat today’s record!”

People whoop around us, and applause fires from all angles, but I don’t hear any of it. All I hear is the slight rasp of Maverick’s voice as he whispers in my ear. “It’s over, Lia.”

It’s over.

I grasp the edge of the tub, a numbness washing over me. Both physically and emotionally. Every inch of my torso and legs feels like they’re being pricked with tiny needles as I stand up. A low whistle sounds, and I look down, realizing Maverick’s shirt has ridden up during the plunge and is plastered to my stomach, leaving my underwear and legs on full display. Warm hands grip the hem, tugging it away from my body and pulling it lower to keep my ass from hanging out. This time, I most definitelyamwearing a thong. I look down to find the hands’ culprit. Yup, my practically naked butt is inches from Maverick’s face as he covers it with my—well, technically his—soaked shirt.

“Thanks,” I whisper weakly.

Icy rivulets drip down my thighs, and I fold my arms, attempting to hold whatever warmth my body can produce close to me while keeping my freaking nipples from saluting every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the vicinity. I need to snap out of it. What it felt like to be in his arms again. To not have him acting like an ass or pushing me away. But it’s hard. Being given a glimpse of the guy I fell for. The guy who would’ve never broken my heart over a stupid phone call…until he did.

Maverick climbs out from behind me, and I follow suit, exiting the tub. His discarded towel is on a chair, and he picks it up, wrapping it around me.

“You did good.” He runs his hands up and down my arms in an attempt to warm me, but it’s useless.

My teeth chatter as my head bobs up and down. “Thanks.”

“Ophelia!” a voice yells.

My head snaps toward where it’s coming from, and I find Jaxon jogging toward me. “Bad news. Archer might kill me, but I need you to man the kissing booth.”

“But I thought—”

“I know,” he interrupts. “It’s Emily’s turn, but she’s fifteen minutes late for her shift, and I’m not sure how much more Morgan can handle. Can you cover for her?”

Maverick’s grip tightens on my biceps, but I ignore him, holding Jaxon’s gaze. “Sure thing. I’ll be right there. I need to change really quick.”

His gaze flicks over my half-naked body, and he nods. “Probably a good idea. Thanks.” He turns to the main booth where Reeves is sitting. “You still good manning the ticket booth?”

Reeves gives him a thumbs up. “Sure thing, Jax.”

“Thanks, man.”

Slipping out of Maverick’s grasp, I ignore his death glare branding my back, grab my folded clothes off the table and race back to the bathroom, changing as quickly as I can.

Apparently, Iwillbe working the kissing booth.

Today keeps getting better and better.

23

OPHELIA

My teeth are still chattering when I reach the kissing booth to support the rest of my team. There’s a short line. They bumped the age requirement up to eighteen, but otherwise, there weren’t any stipulations other than the kiss has to be close-mouthed and all that jazz. Regardless, I don’t miss my teammate’s relieved expression when I approach her.

“Thank goodness.” Morgan stands from her barstool and steps away. “The floor’s all yours.”

“Gee, thanks,” I quip, taking the empty seat and gripping the edge of it with my hands. I’ve never volunteered for a kissing booth. Honestly, I didn’t even know they were still a thing, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Lockwood Heights is all about tradition, and apparently, a kissing booth makes the cut.

Shocker.

The first guy in line looks older than my grandpa as he hands Grace Temple a single red ticket. She’s the designated collector for our booth and the Lady Hawks’ left wing. After she takes it, the old guy faces me again and motions to his cheek. “Gotta support the Lady Hawks, am I right?”

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