“Because I passedthe requirements faster than the average person, Harvard Dropout.”
“Really?” he deadpans. “Maybe you just sucked.”
I roll my eyes and laugh. “That’s not how that works.” I sift through the kit’s items. Gloves, cotton balls, a plastic syringe, thermometer, but I’m still missing something.
“Farrow,” he says seriously, “if you’re not sure?—”
“Maximoff.” I look right at him. “I’mone-hundredpercent sure that she has an infection from a really shit tongue piercing. If you don’t trust me, then go Web M.D. her symptoms. It’ll tell you that I’m right.”
He cracks a knuckle. “I trust you. I’m just”—he gestures to his head—“processing that my sister stuck a sewing needle in her tongue a week ago, and it’s still bleeding and she may have a low-grade fever. You know, the usual Friday night.”
I take out my supplies and shut the first-aid kit. “It’s a good Friday night when no one’s crying or dead.”
“Which is exactly why she didn’t want to tell my parents yet.” He rotates his stiff shoulders. “My dad will fucking die, and my mom will cry out of worry.” He keeps shaking his head, thinking about something else. “Fuck.”
“I need to make a saline solution, so take yourfucksdownstairs with me, wolf scout.”
He carries the mouthwash while I have the rest of the supplies. Once downstairs, we bypass the living room where Luna and Jane talk quietly on the loveseat.
Not even a foot into the kitchen and Maximoff already fills a pot with water and sets it on the stove. I smile and place my supplies on the counter. He slides salt to me and ropes my gaze tenfold.
“You know saline solution is just distilled water and salt,” I realize. “Where’d you learn that? Wolf Scout Training?”
“Common sense.”
Who knew common sense could be so fucking attractive? The heat ratchets up.
I end up saying, “Common sense is a good look on you.” I pass him to grab a cup out of a cabinet, and my shoulder slides against his bare skin. Barely any room for two bodies in this cramped kitchen.
He tenses, breathing shallow, and he looks back at me.
He’s still only dressed in drawstring pants, his ass literal perfection in them. I’ve never wanted to touch, hold and fuck someone as much as I want to touch, hold andfuckhim. And even though I just massaged Maximoff, it still feels like not enough.
Not nearly enough.
Still, he saidno, and when a guy saysno, I’m at full-stop.
Maximoff pours the distilled water into a glass, and I mix salt and then I measure a small amount of mouthwash into another cup. Our biceps and forearms keep crossing and skimming.
His breath audibly catches a few times, husky, and he clears his throat.
My muscles burn—if he does that again, I may harden. “What was eating at you from before?” I ask, referring to his earlier exclamation offuck.
Maximoff glances at the archway, then to me. “My little sister pierced hertongue. So I’m thinking about what other people think of tongue piercings, and what they’ll say about her, how it’ll affect her, the media, and the subsequent headline:Luna Hale Gets Tongue Piercing, She Likes to Give Head.”
I can’t say I’m surprised. “We’ve officially established that you think way too much about what other people are thinking.”
“I have to,” he refutes. “People judge my family every damn day, and if there’s any way I can save my siblings and cousins from harassment—then I’m taking it.”
Using the syringe, I suck up the saline solution. His parents pay people to predict headlines, soften fallouts, and obsess so hedoesn’t have to. They’re called publicists, but Moffy tries to be everything for everyone.
The quality that I like the best about him may also be his worst trait. He’s too caring.
“Most likely,” I say, “your sister isn’t that worried about other people’s judgment.”
Maximoff shakes his head, skeptical.
“Do you see me?” I ask, motioning to my facial piercings. My left ear is also pierced, but I took out my earring last month for a change. And a barbell is hooked through my right nipple. “Those of us who get piercings and tattoos generally don’t give a flying shit what people think of saidpiercings and tattoos.”
