Page 13 of Maverick
It’s been so fucking long since I’ve felt the touch of a woman. Soft hands on my skin, hot breath on my neck, nails in my back.
I can imagine her strong legs wrapped around me, urging me deeper.
Hell. Fuck. Damn.
Stop.
My imagination needs to get a goddamn grip.
I can’t touch a woman if I’m this on edge. There was a time when my life was drunken bar hookups. Both of us stumbling back to the motel and just screwing our way into oblivion because we both needed it.
The alcohol was key because I was horny, but not edgy. There’s all this anger inside of me, this intensity, and I’ve never wanted to unleash that on anybody.
When I met Sadie, I knew I had to bedifferent.
More thoughtful. More careful. Present. Definitely not out for my own drunken pleasure, and not…this feral thing rising up inside of me and demanding that I devour Stella like the little lost lamb she is.
I’ve got to get myself sorted out before anyone gets caught in my personal crossfire.
I didn’t make a vow of chastity or anything.
But my ability to sort myself out as a human being all feels caught up in the rodeo. Like there’s a chapter that I can’t quite close yet, and it needs to happen before I can…
Yeah. That seems reasonable.
Not that I really care that much if I’m reasonable. That’s not the goal.
The goal is just winning.
To get through.
That’s all.
The coffee maker finishes percolating, and she takes out two metal camp mugs and pours a generous amount for both of us.
“I hope you don’t mind it black.”
“I prefer a pumpkin spice latte,” I say, accepting the mug from her offered hand, and smiling slightly when I see the lengths she goes to in order to make sure our fingers don’t touch.
“Do you really?”
“I’d like you to guess. I prefer a little bit of mystery, if I’m honest.”
“You’re definitely a mystery. What was all this?”
“I told you. I wasn’t going to let you make a fool out of yourself. But I wasn’t going to embarrass you by exposing you as somebody who wasn’t going to be able to follow through on a bet. Anyway, this suits us both. I remain the villain, andyouare a wild card.”
“They’re probably going to call me a slut.”
“Probably. That’s life. But you’re the one who threw your body in the mix.”
She shifts uncomfortably, and I feel like a dick. Which is fair, because I am one.
“Yes, I am the one who did that. Thanks for the reminder.” She grimaces, almost comedically. I almost envy her for a second.
For that brief moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to be a decade younger and to care about all thatso much.
What other people think. What they expect.
