I bite through the slightly out-of-date bar and smile. Hop tends to get hyperfocused when he hits his stride with a project, and Liam couldn’t come with him this trip, so there’s no one to make sure he eats, sleeps, or showers.
Using my knuckle, I tap “Sure” from the preset options.
Liam: And bring a project to work on. He’s been a hermit.
Liam: Then, when you’re ready to pack it in for the evening, drag him out of the warehouse.
That’s the danger of the artistic process. I learned a bit more about bronze casting, and when Hop’s working the clay, he’s usually in that big warehouse all by himself unless one of his buddies is using the equipment for one of their own projects.
I love my uncle to death, but that’s not a man who should be puttering around in solitude.
I hit the thumbs-up right as my bag catches the wind, whacks my face, and I lose the wrapper.
Shoving the bar in my mouth, I toss my phone in the duffel and race after the bit of trash. The wind has it out for me, though, and the wrapper catches a current, taking it beyond my grasp.
And now…it’s stuck up in a tree.
“Littering, Maverick? Really? Haven’t we had this discussion before?”
I do a little shoulder shimmy and turn around, holding the protein bar like an old-timey cigar.
“Boo-ney,” I sing-song.
He’s wearing workout clothes and his shoulder holster, sweat dripping down his neck. Fuck, I’m so happy to see him.
And I wonder about the shoulder holster. He was wearing it the night of the fountain. Does he feel like he needs to wear it all the time?
“Stop smiling and turn around,” he says, failing to hide the twinkle in his eyes. “Hands behind your back.”
I chuckle, practically happy dancing as I do what he asks, keeping the smack talk going. “You must get some sort of sick pleasure out of putting me in handcuffs.”
“I don’t need your commentary, just your cooperation.” He takes the half-eaten protein bar from my hand and carefully slides it into my front pocket before snapping the cool bracelets around my wrist.
“You know, I could tell my fathers about this.”
He leans in, a noticeable bulge against my ass. “What, exactly, would you tell them?”
“That I’m being falsely detained.”
“Did you or did you not litter?” He gestures to the building. “Right outside of my apartment.”
“Wait,” I say, ignoring the cuffs as I turn to take in everything. The old complex. The abandoned complex next door. The overgrown trees. “This is where you live?”
“Like you didn’t know that.”
“I didn’t.”
I don’t know why Boone cuffing me turns me on so much. This is harassment, and my cock needs to behave.
Not even my brain buys that one.
“Also,Detective, littering is a misdemeanor and implies intent. I had no intent to litter. I have no say about what the wind decides to do.”
“Then failure to keep control of your trash.”
“Which is not an actual statute.”
He stands in front of me, shorter, but no less powerful. Deliciously disapproving as he takes in my body.
