“I need your number.”
His brows pinch. “We’ve never exchanged numbers?”
I chew slowly again. “We’ve never needed to, wolf scout.” When we were younger, I only saw him when I had to tag along my dad’s on-call appointments or the holidays the Hales invited us to. Labor Day cookouts, some birthdays. It’s not like Moffy and I were friends.
He was only fifteenwhen I was twenty. I was in college with friends my own age.
I tilt my head, watching him stare off into space. I wave my hand at Maximoff. “Did I lose you?”
He moves my hand away, mentally present, and then he reaches out. “Pass me your phone. I’ll put my number in your contacts.”
“Or you could just hand me yours.”
“No.”
I roll my eyes at the firmno, but I decide to just comply and give him my cell for now. It’s not an argument I need to win. “What about after your work ends?”
He types his number on my cell and hands it back. “Dinner plans are up in the air. I’ll let you know if I’m going to a restaurant.”
“Are you in for the night after dinner?”
Before answering, Maximoff pulls his damp shirt off his head and balls the fabric in a fist.
My brows hike at his sculpted body, broad swimmer shoulders, and lean torso that gleams with sweat. Photograph-worthy, a money-shot for paparazzi. Certain clients want money-shots “blocked” from cameramen. Some post money-shots on Instagram so they’re worthless for paparazzi to sell. Others don’t care.
His Rule #67:don’t worry about money-shots. It’s not important.
I eye the curvature of his long arms. “Is the gym a constant pit stop? Because your mom was a certified couch potato.” I used to spend mytinyfree time at Studio 9 or passed-out asleep.
Maximoff rubs his damp forehead with his bicep. “The pool.”
“Just the pool?”
“Yep.”
I scratch my throat where my tattooed swords lie. “I can count eight places on your body that say you’re full of shit.” I casually point at his abs.
Maximoff scrutinizes me. “You look unimpressed.”
He’s used to people outwardly fawning. I begin to smile. “Because mine are better, wolf scout.”
He huffs, then glares and motions to me. “Take off your shirt and we’ll find out.”
I pop my gum. “I love a dare.” I pull my V-neck off my head and then toss my shirt on the mattress.
His gaze sweeps the black ink on my chest, ribs and abs—almost everywhere. My fair skin is a mosaic of skulls, crossbones, swords, rough swelling water and sailing ships.Colorful sparrows and swallows intersperse the gray scale pirate imagery.
I follow his eyes as they descend. All the way to the hem of my black pants.
Normally I’d think he was checking me out, but Maximoff has more ethical boundaries than a football field stacked on top of a tennis court stacked on top of a hockey rink. I bet he’d drive a sword through his heart before he broke his morality.
“Mine are better,” he retorts.
“We’re going to need an unbiased judge.”
Moffy glances at the door. “Janie isn’t home yet.”
“I saidunbiased.”
