Page 38 of Face Off
“I see.” I rub my lips together to stop myself from smiling. “I didn’t realize there are rules now.”
“There are.” Emerson spins around so she’s facing me, and there’s even less distance between us now. I can smell her perfume. See the freckles across her nose and a small, jagged white scar above her eyebrow. “Is your tattoo for June?”
She surprises me when she reaches over and taps the back of my left hand. The touch jolts me, and I feel like I’ve been short-circuited. Shocked awake and buzzing with energy.
I smile and put my hand over hers. I guide her fingers over the curve of the heart and the hook of the J, and I hear a quiet hitch in her breathing.
“Have you been looking into me, Hartwell? I’m flattered.”
“Maven told me. I didn’t ask. I thought it was for some woman you got drunk with and married in Vegas.”
“I’m not the marrying type, and definitely not one to tattoo a woman’s name on my body.” I keep my hand over hers and trace the heart, slower this time. She hasn’t pulled away yet, and I’m going to enjoy this for as long as I can. “Except for June Bug. Dallas didn’t know she was coming into his life, and when he did, he panicked. Reid and I stepped in to help, because he would’ve done the same for us. I know she’s not mine, but sheismine. I’m going to take care of her for as long as I can. Spoil the shit out of her. Love her and help teach her life lessons—the good and the bad. She can run away to my apartment when she’s pissed at her parents, and I’m absolutely going to interrogate her first boyfriend until I’m sure he’s a decent guy.”
“You’ll also dress up like a carrot and look like an idiot.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Maven showed you those photos?”
“You had a stem on your head.” Emerson steals her hand back, and I miss her touch. “And orange shoes.”
“Damn right I did. And I’d do it again.”
Ralph, one of the bartenders, finally makes his way over to us and jots down Emerson’s drink orders and the basket of fries. I pull out my wallet and ignore her argument when I drop three twenties on the counter.
“I can pay for this,” she tells me, and I shrug.
“I know you can, but I wanted to.”
“Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” I stare at her collarbone then the spot where her shirt dips toward her chest. “Do you have a tattoo?”
“You already used your question up.”
“I did, but, per your rules, I’m obligated to get an answer to the question you asked me.”
Her cheeks flush a dark red, and she licks her lips. “Yes,” she says slowly. “I do have a tattoo.”
“Where is it?”
“Someplace you’ll never see.”
“That makes me want to see it even more,” I say, and I imagine where it could be hiding. On her ribs. At the jut of her hip or her lower back. “Is it?—”
“Excuse me,” a voice says, interrupting us. I turn, and a blonde woman smiles at me. “You’re Maverick Miller, aren’t you?”
“Depends. Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” She flashes me a flirty smirk. “But I’m hoping you’re in the mood to be a little bad. My friends are leaving, and it’s too early for me to call it a night. Want to come back to my place?”
“Sorry,” I tell the blonde with a grin. “I’m kind of in the middle of something with my baby’s mother right now. The kid is half alien, half potato, and we’re trying to figure out where they got these genes from.”
“Ooookay,” the woman says, and she wrinkles her eyebrows. “That’s weird. I didn’t know you had kids.”
“Are we classifying tiny extraterrestrials as kids? I guess we should. It’s inclusive and better than calling them skin dogs—since we all call dogs fur babies, you know?—or something like that.” I point my thumb over my shoulder. “I better get back to it. Janet here thinks the UFO has her eyes, but I’m pretty sure he looks most like me.”
“I’m so confused,” the woman tells me. “You’re not Maverick Miller, are you?”
“No way. That guy is way better at hockey than me. All I bring to the table are alien children.”
