Page 33 of Maverick
Maybe this is why I went into the rodeo in the first place. Maybe it was meant to be a broader stepping stone to proving myself. And maybe I’ll never be my sister. That’s fine. But maybe I’ll find some success on my own.
I finish up my cheese – or at least as much of it as I can eat and cover the rest in Saran Wrap before putting it back in the fridge. Then I decide to treat myself to a nice, long shower. I hum as I move into the bathroom and turn the water on. I get undressed and stand beneath the hot spray, and my mind turns back to those condoms again. As I move my hands over my water-slick skin, it’s far too easy for me to think of Maverick,his hands, moving over my body, making me yearn, making the ache.
That man is such a problem. Such a gorgeous, sexy problem.
As my hand skims over my breast, I feel an answering pulse between my legs, and just for a second, I move my fingertips between my thighs and touch myself. I shouldn’t do that. I shouldn’t touch myself and think about him, because I’m going to have to look at him tomorrow. We are supposed to do something together with Frank, and if I fantasize about him right beforehand, I’m only going to make things uncomfortable for myself.
I’m about to indulge myself, about to give in, when I swear, I hear water coming from outside the shower.
I open up the door, look out, and see water pouring through one of the light fixtures in the ceiling.
“Oh shit,” I say, scrambling out of the shower and surveying the situation. The water is pouring out, fast and furious through the light, and I feel myself starting to panic.
I shut the water off in the shower quickly, but the water coming through the light fixture doesn’t stop.
“Oh no!”
I scramble to grab a towel, wrap it around myself, and run out of the bathroom to grab my phone. I send Maverick a panicked text. There’s water everywhere.
Well, there wasn’t water everywhere, but there was enough water. Enough water that it’s seriously concerning me.
The phone rings a second later. My face is all wet, and I put him on speakerphone because I don’t want to bring the phone up to my ear and electrocute myself and die.
“What do you mean there’s water everywhere?”
“I mean that there is water pouring through the ceiling in the bathroom. Through one of the lights. And I don’t know what to do.”
“Hang on,” he says. I hear the sound of fabric rustling, and then boots stomping, before I hear a door close firmly.
“Are you…”
“I’ll come rescue you. I’ll be there in two minutes.”
“Thank you. But… I didn’t do anything. All I did was turn the shower on.”
“I’m sure,” he says, sounding furious and grumpy. Fair enough.
I realize that I’m still in a towel, and I can tell that he is on his way. I’m frozen. Because I could tell him that I need to get dressed, but that feels awkward. And if I go get dressed, and he comes, then he’s going to end up standing on the porch. “I’m only wearing a towel.”
“We’ll go put some talking clothes on,” he says, his voice a low growl in my ear.
“Right. You can just come in.”
“Thanks.”
I scurry into the bedroom and drop my towel on the floor as I realize that I’ve put none of my clothes or personal items away, and everything is still in a bag.
I growl and unzip my suitcase, digging out my pajamas, which I put on quickly. He’s already seen me in those a couple of different times. So it’s fine. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and for the first time, I realize that the top I’m wearing is borderline see-through. I can see the shadow of my nipples through the white waffle print, and I really had no idea. It’s a cozy shirt. And the fabric feels plush, so I thought that it provided more coverage than that. I don’t quite know what to do with that revelation.
And it’s too late, because I hear the front door open. So, I go barreling out of the bedroom, just as he is coming down the hall toward the bathroom.
“Sorry, there’s water pouring in through the light.”
He peers into the bathroom. “So, there is. I know where the shut off is.”
He growls under his breath as he walks out of the bathroom, back out to the front of the house. He probably hasn’t even noticed that he can see my nipples through the shirt. The man could not be less interested in me sexually if he tried. I think about all the things that he said to me that first night. Where he basically called out my immaturity. All the things I find interesting about his age are things that make me uninteresting to him, I think.
And that’s fine. I think about the box of condoms on the bed, and I decide not to internalize any of this. It’s fine that I bought a box of condoms mainly with him in mind, and he seems totally uninterested. That’s not about me or my breasts.
