“Weren’t you supposed to get a haircut?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Why not, cuz?” Mav chimes in. “Startin’ to look a little shaggy there.”
Maya laughs into her beer. We’ve been teasing Maverick about his curly mop for months. To be fair, the dark curls—sun-tipped and beautiful—hit his shoulders and stretch halfway down his back when they’re wet.
“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
Mav rolls his eyes as the private elevator doors open.
Silas—Sy for short—steps out with his service dog Cupcake, a hundred-pound dark-gray Cane Corso. Sy, tattooed from neck to ankle, is definitely the scarier of the two.
They silently make their way past the broad foyer and down into the living room. Mav gets up, tossing his unopened bottle at Sy, who catches the beer with practiced ease and sits in the far corner of the couch, Cupcake at his feet.
Maya sends him a smile. “How’s it going?”
“Fine.”
“Did you see what happened at the gala?” Mav asks as he grabs a few more beers.
“I did.” Sy twists off the cap with an inked hand and takes a swig. “Sucks how it ended.”
“We’re trying to convince Rahm that it wasn’t that bad,” Maya says with a too-broad smile.
Sy’s brows meet in the middle. “But it was bad. Like, really bad. The judge refused Brantley’s bond.”
I throw my hands up. “See?”
Silas points his bottle in my direction. “Weren’t you supposed to get a haircut?”
Maverick laughs. “Careful, Sy. It’s a touchy subject.”
Maya’s mouth quirks into a grin, and she gives me a look that’s about to ruin my evening. This is the problem with having a brilliant sibling.
“And why is it such a touchy subject, Rahm? I thought you were looking forward to seeing Mr. Valentine.”
“I thought you wanted me in a better mood.”
“I changed my mind. Teasing you is way more fun.”
Seriously, shoot me now.
I take my time and polish off my beer, ignoring her rolling, spit-it-out gesture.
Fine.
“Bastard kicked me out and told me to find a new barber.”
Maya’s eyes widen. “Oh my God.Why?”
Ugh. I let my head fall back to the couch, trying not to remember the look that passed through his eyes when I told him I’d be good for him.
“I hit on him,” I moan to the ceiling.
Probably could’ve timed that better. Maya does a spit-take all over the expensive leather, and I jump up, looking for something to clean up with. Yes, it’s leather and stain-resistant, but still.
Silas somehow beats me to the kitchen and is holding out the hand towel I was after.
