“Not funny!”
Rudy’s predicament was hella funny, actually. I tried to imagine how I’d feel in his shoes. But when I tried to imagine this so-called guy looking at a dick pic, Maverick’s face with his shiny lip gloss popped into my head.
Weird.
I lifted my beer for another gulp, then focused on cooking the steaks to perfection. There was no room in my mind for images of Maverick gazing at a screen, biting his bottom lip, then slipping a hand down his pants…
“Yo, Damon!”
Rudy’s voice jerked me back to reality.
“What the fuck now?” I snapped, irritated that my mind had drifted into such unsettling waters. I’d never been into guys, never even thought twice about it. I was just putting Maverick into that imaginary scenario because he was the gay guy I knew best, right?
I mean, I knew Lyle really well, but he was taken—and I wasn’t gonna perv on someone’s boyfriend, even in my mind. That was all. Mav was single and ate me up with his eyes. He’d probablyloveit if I went for men.
Not that I would. Because I was straight.
Obviously.
“Are you expecting someone else, man?” Rudy said. “A big-ass pickup just pulled up outside.”
“What?”
I clicked off the grill and went to the front door. I pulled it open at the same time Maverick opened his. Speak of the gay devil.
He cut his eyes my way. “What do you want?”
I raised an eyebrow, sweeping my gaze over him. Tight jeans, shimmery silk top, and more of that damn lip gloss.
“Just seeing who rolled up.” I checked out the big truck idling loudly at the curb. “I wasn’t expecting any visitors.”
Maverick nodded. “That’s because he’s here for me.”
I did a double take, doing the math. Maverick looked dressed up, and his date drove a beast of a truck. What were the odds?
“No way,” I said. “You’re not telling me…”
Maverick smiled sweetly. “Iola was very helpful in helping me find a good match. She even had a profile already done for me.”
My jaw dropped. What the fuck?
Maverick was supposed to be pissed that I set him up. He wasn’t supposed to smile those glossy lips at the man emerging from the truck at the curb. Wasn’t supposed to sashay those narrow hips down the steps or half turn and give me a smug little wave.
“Don’t wait up, Damon,” he said with a wink. “I plan to havefuntonight.”
“You’re bluffing,” I called from the steps, gaze darting over his shoulder to the six-foot linebacker of a man headed up the walk.
“Am I?”
“That is not your type at all.”
Maverick tilted his head. “He’s not?”
“No! I filled out that profile to annoy you. I put in everything I thought you’d hate. You don’t like big pickups or going to The Stag Pub for beer and darts.”
Maverick shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe it all depends on who’s doing the driving, Damon.”
“What?”
