My smile stretches.Just wait, wolf scout.
Akara’s voice crackles over the earpiece speaker, audible to me andMaximoff. “I need to know if Moffy plans to go to a drugstore or grocery within the next week. We’ll have to put extra security on him.” With the Camp-Away approaching and its annual popularity, he’s been in entertainment news almost nightly.
“And?” I ask Maximoff. He knows that Akara can’t hear me unless I touch the microphone.
He leans forward, forearms on the table. “Tell himno.”
I click the mic. “No, not anytime soon.”
Akara says, “Thanks.” The line goes quiet after that.
Taking a deep breath, Moffy straightens up, and neither of us unfastens our strong gazes.
“Did you like that?” I ask, my lips lifting.
“So badly it hurts,” he says dryly, but a real smile crests his mouth. “Would you be willing to do that for me all the time?”
“Would you want me to?”
I love giving him things that no one else can. For a guy who has the world at his fingertips, you’d think there’s nothing left to offer Maximoff. But he’s been denied some simple pleasures and human rights.
Like the ability to drive safely down a fucking highway.
Maximoff cracks his knuckles. “Actually, no. Security will kill you.”
“Now you care if I die? What happened to shoving me out of the car and backing up over my body?”
“Give me five minutes,” Maximoff says, “we’ll be back to your death.”
I roll my eyes into a wider smile, and my tattooed fingers rotate a saltshaker like it’s a coin. I catch Maximoff staring at my fingers for two long beats.He’s in love with my fingers.I try to seize his gaze.
He purposefully glances behind me.
I follow his attention to the bar, and I run my tongue over my molars, my smile slowing hardening. A guy about my age sits on a tattered leather stool, dressed in a black beanie and graphic T-shirt.
My jaw muscle twitches. I look between them, and the guy gives Maximoff a suggestiveI-want-your-assonce-over.
Maximoff begins to smile back.
I can’t tell if he’s just being nice or if there’s real interest. My narrowed gaze pings from him to the guy, my muscles burning the longer they scrutinize one another.
I shouldn’t care.
I set my elbow to the table and put my hand to my mouth. I spin a saltshaker with my free fingers while a million replies grind at me.
He’s not good enough for you.
You could do better.
You really like that dickhole?
You’re here with me.
Don’t flirt with him.
Don’t fuck him.
The saltshaker falls on its side.
