I grin and kiss Rex’s head. “He’s majestic. You wouldn’t understand.”
“I don’t understand any of this,” he says, eyes still flicking back to Rex.
I dismiss him and shift my body to look out the window.
For a while, we drive in silence.
Outside, pine trees rush past in a green blur, their needles catching the wind and scattering it like whispers. The sky is bleeding into dusk, muted oranges and smoky reds swirling together like spilled paint on wet canvas. The light through the windshield is golden, casting long shadows across the dashboard and catching on Maverick’s jaw as he drives.
I can feel the question sitting between us, heavy and unspoken.
So I ask it.
“Why am I here?”
His fingers tighten slightly on the steering wheel as his jaw tenses.
He doesn’t answer right away.
“We’ll talk,” he says finally, glancing at me.
I nod, but I don’t look away.
“Wanna grab a drink before we get to the house?”
My fingers tap aimlessly against my thigh, and against my better judgment, I respond.
“Sure.”
Forty-five minutes later, we finally pulled up to Boots & Bourbon. The whole drive had been Maverick rambling about plays I couldn’t care less about—then, mid-sentence, deciding he was Justin Timberlake reincarnated. He wouldn’t shut the fuck up, screaming SexyBack at the top of his lungs.
At one point, he looked over, winked, and told me this song “gets him jacked in the gym.” Like, I needed that visual burned into my brain forever.
Such a douche.
Maverick kills the engine, slams his door, and sprints around the Bronco like a wild beast. He yanks my door open with a flourish, grinning like an idiot.
“Arise, princess. Your chariot has arrived,” he announces, bowing low enough to let his hair fall into his face. “Careful stepping out—can’t have you tripping and suing me.”
I snort. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Unbelievably hot, unbelievably funny, unbelievably good at opening doors for beautiful women, take your pick.”
He extends his hand, and I slowly reach out, pushing itaway with my claws. He looks at my hands until his eyes meet mine and smirks.
Asshole.
He guides me inside, as if I don’t have two damn eyes and a functioning sense of direction. I glance over my shoulder, throw him a glare that should’ve burned him alive, but he grins before pushing the wide, wooden ones open. We’re instantly hit with the too-familiar twang of country music and the heavy mix of whiskey and fried food clouding the air.
Reed’s behind the bar, leaning an elbow on the counter as he watches over the patrons. His gaze flicks from Maverick to me, landing on the Rex.
“What in the hell is that?” he asks, brow lifting.
“This is Rex,” I say, shifting the blanket so Rex can poke his head out from his hoodie. His ears flatten at the sound of someone popping a beer cap nearby.
Reed smirks. “Cute. Don’t think I’ve ever seen a cat in my bar before.”
“Well, there’s a first for everything.” I shoot back, keeping my tone flat.
