“Oh, I’ll come with you,” I say, then drop my voice so only he can hear me. “I’ll even comeforyou if you ask nicely.”
The officer coughs into his fist, and I wonder if maybe I said that a little louder than I’d intended.
Raising his brows, he asks Boone, “You sure you’ve got this?”
“I’m sure,” Boone answers, a sharp edge to his voice that sends a shiver down my thighs. “You’ve probably got plenty on your plate tonight as it is.”
The officer’s walkie-talkie goes off. He grabs the call and then sends Boone a look. Boone responds with a nod, and Officer Genie-No-Fun-Pants disappears into the night.
9
BOONE
“You gonna takeme back to my condo, Officer Booney?” Maverick asks, leaning against me.
Jesus, he’s a solid guy. And he’s wearing smudged eyeliner, a personal weakness of mine.
He’s also sniffing my shirt.
“Are you a smoker?”
My jaw tightens. “Occasionally. When the day requires it.”
“Oh.” He presses his nose to the divot at the base of my neck and takes another deep inhale. “Mm. Why does that smell so good?”
I dunno. Why the fuck doesMaverickBash have to be exactly my type?
Bigger than me.
More muscular.
In touch with his feminine side and cuddly as fuck.
No, he’s just drunk.
Setting those thoughts aside, I pull the silver case from my side pocket. “I use pipe tobacco and roll my own.”
“How does that even work?”
I open my mouth, a little thrown by the question. Most people would assume pipe tobacco and cigarette tobacco areinterchangeable, but they generally aren’t. I doubt he wants to hear all of that.
“It’s…uh. It’s a process.”
“You should tell me about it sometime,” he says, his smile coy. Humming, he leans in for another sniff. “I’m sorry you had a bad day.”
I’ve already been a font of really bad ideas this evening, so I let him lean against me for a few more seconds.
Long enough to remember that I’m the responsible adult in this scenario.
“To answer your earlier question, I’ll make sure you get home. First, though, I need to find out how much of that flask you had to drink.”
Mav scratches his jaw, as if trying to remember. “Not mush.”
Ooof. He’s slurring.
He’s also…spinning in place?
Brushing against my stomach, he completes the circuit. I’m slow to pick up that he’s spun because he’s handcuffed. Because I handcuffed him.
