I shake my head. “I’m not crying. I’m laughing because I think you meant to sayintimidatedby your package.”
He shoots me the finger, then nearly busts ass trying to put on his shorts.
“Words suck, even when I’m sober,” he explains, still fighting the fabric. “Stupid dyslexicon.”
I let him lean against me, helping him figure out the holes and slip the expensive fabric over his perfect fucking ass.
“These barely cover more than your underwear,” I mutter, zipping him up.
“They’re designer.” He gestures at himself with a silly, pretentious air. “And at least they’re not see-through.”
I snort, finally working the button through the hole before slipping his phone into his pocket.
“Go to UT. Get a criminal justice degree,” I say, mocking myself. “What the fuck am I doing with my life?”
Maverick starts to laugh, then loses his balance again.
“Where are your shoes?” I ask, catching him just in time.
“I dunno.” He looks around, and I wonder if he can focus at all. “Where’s my designer shirt-shirt?”
I grab it from a nearby bush and help him put it on.
“Oof. That made me dizzierish,” he says, attempting to fix my stretched-out collar. “I wish we were doing this in reverse.”
Honestly, I’m glad he’s inebriated. I might otherwise have a hard time disagreeing with him.
He starts scanning the ground, a prelude to another disaster.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for my flip-flops,” he says as one floats by.
I make Mav sit on the edge of the fountain while I stretch out over the water and grab it. The other is stuck under one of the bronze horses, and I fish that out as well.
“I feel like you wearing wet flip-flops would be a mistake,” I say, flicking the water off them.
Maverick waves me off, then windmills, off balance. I drop the flips and grab his shoulder just before he falls backward into the water.
“Seriously, let me take you to the hospital.”
“No, thank you.” He shudders. “It’ll be bad enough with Maya. She’s gonna insist on IV fluids, and her bedside mannersucks.”
I examine him a little more carefully than before, unsure whether I should force the issue.
“And you’re sure she’s home? I can’t leave you alone like this.”
He holds up his hands. “Don’t worry. Homes is holme too.” He scrunches his nose, as if rethinking his words. “Holmes…ishome.”
Yeah, that’s the one.
“He’s your twin, right?” I ask, wrapping my arm around his waist. “The one who went into the military?”
Leaning into my hold, he nuzzles my neck. “Stalker.” Snort. “Mm. I need to find out what brand of pipe tobacco you smoke and buy several pounds of the stuff so I can roll around in it.”
I ignore the spike in heat, as well as the delicate drift of his nose across my neck, desperately needing to focus on the situation at hand. I don’t want him wearing those death traps on his feet, but the asphalt between here and his car is glittering with broken glass.
“Look, don’t make this into something it’s not, but I’m going to have to carry you across the street. There’s glass everywhere.”
