“Who knows. Old injury?” I gestured to his left knee, watching his thighs bunch as he stretched his legs out. The way those muscles moved beneath the denim of his jeans had me shivering, wondering if he could pick me up and toss me around the room like a rag doll.
Down, girl.
Leave it to me to form some sort of weird, unhealthy obsession with a guy who answers in grunts and insults. My libido and I needed to have a serious discussion about what was acceptable and what was not, especially with the way Bev kept glancing at us from the kitchen.
“More like old age,” he answered, plucking Tito from my lap and scratching behind his ears. “I’m too old to be sitting on the floor like a freaking child throwing a tantrum.”
“Wow. Great analogy, Cinnamon Roll. Always a pleasure talking to you.”
“Don’t call me that,” he growled, but the bite normally present in his words wasn’t there. Not that things were warm and fuzzy between us, but the undercurrent of anger had dissipated.
Perhaps a delayed benefit of seeing me practically naked.
“Then you’ll have to stop being so sweet.”
His head jerked as he turned to face me, then shook his head as I batted my eyelashes. His mouth opened—likely to make another passive-aggressive comment—but Bev cut him off, knocking her sandal against his shin.
“Here we go,” she said, holding a large platter of freshly made biscuits. “Get up and come sit at the table, you two. Let’s chat.”
“Oh, no. I don’t think so, Mom,” Maverick said, holding his hands up. “I will not be bribed with food.” He playfully bumped my shoulder. “And you’d do well to stay away from those biscuits, Summer.”
I fought to keep myself still, because the irrational part of my mind wanted nothing more than to rest my body against him. I met Maverick’s eyes, noticing how they sparkled in the bright light, then bit the inside of my cheek—hard.
The momentary pain grounded me enough to drag my thoughts from the gutter and back to the drama that was my life.
“Why? They look delicious,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. My stomach chose that moment to make a very unsexy noise, reminding me I’d been depending on cold coffee and crackers for too many meals.
“Those are highly powerful and shockingly efficient Emotional Manipulation Biscuits that contain some form of truth serum or hallucinogenic element. With every bite you take, more emotional nonsense will spew out until you’ve confessed your deepest secrets.”
Bev raised one eyebrow and held back a grin as she centered the plate on the table, then added several dishes with butter and jelly. The smell had my mouth watering, and I pulled my legs to my chest, ready to stand and dig in. Emotional manipulation or not, this woman could cook.
“How charming, Son. Don’t say things like that. You’ll scare Summer off. There are enough twatwaffles in the world already.Let’s do without your snarky attitude. Plus, no one makes better biscuits than me. With or without the truth serum.”
“Really, Mom? Twatwaffle?” Maverick laughed, and this low, gruff sound came from deep within his stomach. The noise was like someone attempting to growl with a smile on their face, and I laughed at the mental image of Maverick growling with an ear-to-ear grin stretched across his handsome features.
“Yes. Twatwaffle. Unless you’d prefer twatapottamus.” Bev motioned for us both to stand up, and he stood first, then bent down, offering me a hand. His large, warm palm engulfed mine as I stared at his long fingers and the dark smattering of hair across his knuckles. I felt his hard calluses under my fingertips as I grasped on, noticing several of his fingers had small silver scars, like he’d spent a lifetime working with his hands.
“Twatapottamus. That’s a good one, Bev. And an apt name for my ex, I think.”
“Sure seems to be a lot of animosity between you two. What’s that about?” Maverick asked as my eyes darted to his and he pushed the biscuits toward me.
I hummed, grabbing the top one and slathering it with honey butter. Maverick reluctantly grabbed one as well, breaking it up into small pieces and pushing them around his plate.
“Nothing worth talking about except poor life decisions, I guess.”
“We’ve all made a few of those,” Bev said, slicing her biscuit in half. One side she covered with strawberry jelly and the other with orange marmalade. The combination looked delicious.
“Some of us have made more than others,” Maverick added, still not eating anything.
I scoffed and took a bite. “I promised myself I’d never settle, but the prospect of being single and thirty terrified me. So, I convinced myself how perfect the guy I was dating was. It tookyears for me to see the writing on that wall. That and him knocking up his secretary.”
“Jesus. Twatapottamus is too nice of a word for him,” Maverick said, pushing his uneaten biscuit away.
“There’s that sweetness you’re known for,” I joked, focusing on my plate.
“I was never meant for marriage, but I did it anyway. Stupid mistake cost me so much.”
If I hadn’t been listening, I would have missed his quiet words. There was much more to the story—that much was clear—but Maverick seemed about as likely to open up as I would be to do a Mexican Hat Dance on Bev’s table.
