“I love it. It’s so—” He looks around, smiling. “You.”
If it’s possible for me to see him, then maybe he can see me.
I run my fingers up and down his sternum, admiring his impressive pecs.
“And do you really think your friend, the fashion designer, would want me to walk in her show?”
Maverick scrunches his nose. “You should actually do print media for her.”
“Why?”
“Because you have a terrible walk.”
I look down at myself. “How do I have a terrible walk?”
“You walk like a cop. And you dress like one too,” he says, capturing my hand to run his nose up my palm.
“What’s wrong with the way I dress?” I ask, wondering if every place on my body is just as sensitive to his touch.
“Not only do you look like you shop at thrift stores, which?—”
I scoff. “Not all of us have multi-million-dollar trust funds.”
“Let me finish,” he says, giving me that Mavericklookof his.
I gesture for him to continue.
“Whichwould be completely fine if it didn’t look like you put your wardrobe together with your eyes closed.”
I’d take offense, but I do struggle to make things look interesting.
“Oh, and I suppose you could make me look better,” I say, keeping up the banter while throwing down a challenge I know he won’t be able to resist.
“Naked? Not a chance in hell.” He sends me a salacious wink. “Clothed?Please.”
“Fine. Maybe I’ll let you help me up my fashion game.”
“Fine. Maybe I’ll let you fuck me again before we go to sleep.”
We share goofy smiles, and I kiss him softly. “Been a while since I’ve stayed up all night.”
“Me too.”
“I wonder if I can convince you to hang with me today. Maybe stay with me tonight as well,” I whisper.
He winks. “My plan is coming together perfectly.”
28
MAVERICK
Boone walksin with a greasy bag of breakfast tacos from his buddy up the street.
“Got you the extra hot salsa,” he says, closing the door with his foot.
I jump up and manhandle him a bit before I walk into the little kitchen area.
Despite my world-class distraction, he clocks the project I’ve started.
