“What do you even carry in that big bag of yours?” he asks, leaning over just enough to peek inside. “Cold brews? A backup cold brew for your cold brew?”
I snort and push his shoulder. “No, it’s my markers and notepad, thank you very much.”
His brows lift. “Markers?”
“Yeah, I used to come here all the time and just draw, color. Whatever I felt like. Guess it’s my version of peace.”
He observes me for a moment, that gentle, silent awe in his eyes making my skin feel too warm. “You feel like drawing now?”
I shake my head, a teasing smile tugging at my lips. “Don’t have the inspiration for it, Maverick.”
He hums like he’s thinking. “Okay. Then, how about this? You sit on my lap, baby, and color my tattoos instead. Bet you’ve got inspiration for that.”
My cheeks heat immediately. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re not denying it,” he says, reaching over to hook his hands around my waist. Before I can protest, he’s pulling me into his lap, settling me so I’m straddling him with the ocean at my back and his chest solid against mine.
He reaches into my tote, pulls out my markers, and hands me the red one. “Go on. Make ‘em pretty.”
I roll my eyes but uncap the marker, lowering my head to shade the roses inked across his forearm. My hair falls over my shoulder, brushing against his skin as I work in the petals, layering depth and shadow.
His eyes track every movement like I’m doing something far more intimate than coloring.
I focus on the lines of his tattoos as his mouth finds my jaw. A slow kiss, then another just under my ear. His breath is warm when he whispers, “You could sit here forever and I’d never get tired of it.”
I keep shading, trying not to let the way his lips graze my skin make my hand tremble.
“I like you here,” he says between kisses, trailing another kiss along my neck. “I like knowing you’re mine.”
The marker stills in my fingers, but I don’t say anything. I can’t. The tide flows past us, while his voice weaves through the sound of the waves—gentle promises I’m not sure I’m ready to hold, but I let them sink in anyway.
maverick
. . .
Whiplashby CRANKDAT and Sofi thumps through my gym speakers so loud that the walls probably vibrate. My palms are chalky, sweat slicking my chest as I push the barbell up one last time, my triceps burning.
I’m halfway through the rep when I hear the soft click of the door opening.
Amelia’s bare feet glide across the hardwood, the soft drag of sleepy steps.
“Mav… It’s four in the morning.”
I glance over, and she’s standing in the doorway with her hair a mess, eyes still heavy-lidded from sleep. She’s wearing a loose cotton tank that clings in just the right places, shorts so tiny I can see the crease where her thighs meet her hips, and fuck me, her pierced nipples are visible through the thin fabric, catching the low light.
“Gotta get a pump in before we leave, baby,” I say, racking the barbell and sitting up, my breath still ragged from the set.
She leans on the doorframe with her arms folded. “Normal people sleep before big trips.”
“I’m not normal people.” I grin. “I’m extraordinary people.”
One brow lifts. “You mean cocky people.”
“Confident,” I correct, grabbing my towel to wipe my face, then tossing it aside.
My gaze scans her, starting at her bare, black-painted toes and ending where her tank drapes loosely around her ribs. My mouth lifts in a smile. “And right now, I’m confident you’d look incredible straddling me before sunrise.”
Her lips twitch, fighting the urge to smile. “You’re in here lifting weights, Hayes. Save the lines for later.”
