“You have not changed.”
“That’s not true.” He grins, crossing his arms over his chest. “For one, I’m not sixteen anymore.”
“You weren’t even sixteen back then,” I point out. “And you shouldn’t confuse handcuffs with a come on.”
That may be more for me than him.
“I’m not confused about a damn thing,” Maverick continues, relentless. “All I’m sayin’s if handcuffs are your move, it works for me.”
I shove my hands back into my pockets, retreating.I don’t even like handcuffs in bed.
I just…
…needed to keep him close for just a little longer.
He makes his way through the gate and closes it between us. “Sorry, Booney,” he says through the bars. “Some crushes never die.”
I let my eyes find his again, shocked by the sincerity in them.
My mind returns, again, to the fistful of wildflowers.
Shaking my head, I angle to leave. “Keep an eye out for that guy in the truck and let me know if he ever comes around again.”
I’m not worried for one second about that guy.
Maverick winks at me, his smile bright. “Will do, Booney.”
I wait until he’s safely inside the building before turning back to Rainey. As I walk away, the security cameras reposition themselves, reminding me of their presence.
Which…fuck me swimming. I was talking about an active case while standing too close to a man I’d just improperly cuffed.
Because I haven’t been enough of a rookie today.
Reaching the street, confused and frustrated, I stand on the sidewalk for a beat, letting people stream around me.
What’re you doin’, man?
That question goes way beyond the Maverick of it all and spills all the way into my life.
I’m following every lead on this case, no matter how small, mostly because I’m trying to prove to myself that I don’t feel conflicted about tracking down the men who saved a little girl from a fate worse than death and then took out the drug dealer who’d been supplying Rohypnol to the town’s rapists.
Which reminds me… That Pierce guy from the night of the fountain hasn’t checked in with his parole officer this month.
Good. I hope they revoke his parole and drag his sorry ass to jail.
I turn toward the garage where I parked, thoughts churning over how relieved I’d been to recognize those pretty curls, pure brain stem when I’d pulled out my cuffs, all tunnel vision and testosterone, not a single coherent thought to be found. How easy it was to open up to him.
How I can’t stop thinking about him, no matter how hard I try.
How I completely forgot about the security cameras when he was in front of me.
Sure, I can trust Maverick to keep what I said to himself, but I hafta find a way to get those recordings erased. Thumbing open my phone, I know the answer is easy.
Just ask Maverick to help you.
I hate showing my cards though. He’ll know I was talking out of turn, showing off for him.
He’ll love it.
