When she’s gone, I shoot Maverick a look. “Didn’t know you were such a troublemaker.”
His lips twitch. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right.” I flick the coaster back to him. “I appreciate you making it clear there are two of us at this booth. But it wasn’t necessary. I’m starting to get used to women eye-fucking you.”
Maverick grimaces. “You shouldn’t have to get used to that. I’m not used to having someone else with me like this.”
“You don’t go on dates?” I realize what I just said and immediately try to backtrack. “Not that this is a date, but I mean…” Shit, whatdoI mean? “I mean…you don’t normally go to a restaurant with a woman?”
“No.” He digs into the pizza, making sure to pass me a slice before taking one for himself. “Like I told you before, between football and family commitments, my life’s pretty full.”
“Right.”
I shut up then. I need to stop prying into his personal life.
I’m developing a bit of a crush on my road trip companion. And that is very bad. Like he’s made very clear, Maverick Court doesn’t want a relationship. And I’m not a casual girl.
Still…
Something about being casual with Maverick feels different.
I drink my mug of beer quickly. Maverick orders us two more.
I order two more after that.
And then, I lose track.
By the time we leave the pizza joint, I’m drunk.
“I never drink,” I mumble as I stumble outside to the sidewalk.
Maverick catches me around the waist before I face plant. “You don’t say,” he teases me.
A laugh bubbles out of my mouth. “I’m always working. And before that, I was always studying.”
“Maybe you and I aren’t as different as I thought,” he says as he nearly hauls me down the sidewalk toward our hotel. “We’re both focused on our goals to the exclusion of other things.”
“Maybe.” I’m barely following his train of thought.
Because hello…his hard body is pressed against my side. Granted, that’s because I’m so drunk I need assistance, but that doesn’t take away how good he feels next to me.
He feels right. I can’t deny it, and I don’t want to either.
As we round the corner toward our hotel, the warm Nevada breeze hits me square in the face. Even though the sun is setting, the air is still hot as sin.
“Sinfully hot,” I murmur. “Perfect for Vegas.”
I didn’t mean to say that so loudly.
Maverick clears his throat. “We’re here.”
He noticeably shifts away from me, using both his hands to practically propel me through the revolving hotel doors and into the lobby.
“Mav,” I say as he hustles us toward the elevator bank.
“Yeah.”
“Can I ask you something?”
