“Sorry, I was making sure my house was presentable for you.”
I arch a brow. “Who says I’m staying with you?”
His lips quirk into a grin, flashing his pearly whites. “Me, I said you’re staying with me.”
Greattttt.
I sit quietlyin the passenger seat with Rex’s carrier nestled between my legs, all while Maverick hums along to the radio, tapping his finger against the steering wheel.
He’s annoyingly attractive.
I sneak a glance at his side profile; his jawline is sharp, and there’s a dimple in his right cheek that only shows when he grins, which, unfortunately, is often.
But it’s his right arm gripping the steering wheel that catches my eye.
It’s fully inked, a sleeve of detailed black and grey roses, and a broken clock stuck on a time on his outer bicep.
I catch myself staring, eyes lingering a second too long.
He must feel it, because without turning his head, he grins, opening his big mouth.
“You like what you see, doll face?”
I roll my eyes so hard I practically see stars.
“You fucking wish.”
He laughs, and it’s infectious, but I try to suppress it. That same shit-eating grin spreads across his face like he’s been waiting all day for me to look at him.
“I missed you, too,” he mutters under his breath.
Rex lets out a grumble from the carrier, which Maverick finally notices.
He glances down. “What’s in there?”
I smirk. “You wanna see him?”
His eyes narrow, curious. “I’m a little scared, but yeah.”
I unzip the carrier and pull Rex out slowly, cradling his hairless, wrinkled little body in my arms like the prince he is. He’s wearing a purple knit dinosaur hoodie with soft felt spikes down his spine. His face remains unbothered, judgmental, as always.
Maverick glances over and lets out the most high-pitched, genuine scream I’ve ever heard from a man his size.
“What the fuck is that?! Is it sick? Why is it bald?!”
I snort. “That’s my literal son, you fucking bozo.”
He swerves slightly. “That’s not a cat, that’s Smeagol!”
Rex blinks at him.
Maverick gags like an impetulant child.
“It’s staring at me. Why is it staring at me?”
“He senses weakness.”
“I’m not weak,” he mutters, “just not emotionally prepared for a naked alien on my dashboard.”
