“Oh, I wasn’t studying. I brought it just in case inspiration hit, I guess.”
“No dice?”
I shrug my shoulders and look around. Anywhere but at the closed laptop that’s been mocking me all morning.
“Want me to take my shirt off?”
“Tempting. But I guess it’s less of an inspiration issue and more of a perfectionist issue.”
“Ahh. I got it. Performance anxiety?”
A soft chuckle takes me by surprise.
“Don’t feel bad. It happens to the best of us,” he says as he bumps his shoulder into my thigh. “I mean, not me. But I’ve heard horror stories for other people.”
I laugh again, and it’s easy. It’s alwaysso fucking easywith him.
“Maybe a canoe trip will help release the nerves,” Maverick offers after a moment. “There’s a cool spot around the bend, where if you get there just as the sun comes over the trees, the water turns crystal clear.”
I pause, caught somewhere between my mess of thoughts and being in the present moment. And whether Maverick is trying to deflect again or just better at letting things go than I am, I don’t know. But when he stands, extending his hand to me, I take it without hesitation, hopping down from the table.
There’s no traction under my purple vans as I slide down the last bit of the hill to the canoe tied up at the water’s edge. If I thought it was quiet up on the hill, the dock at the bottom is near silent.
Maverick pulls two life jackets from a crate I hadn’t noticed was in the grass. He hands one to me, and I pretend not to pay attention to the way his fingers brush against mine. Before he slips his on, he gives me a quick once-over, then looks down, hiding the grin on his face.
“What?” I ask, holding up the life jacket, inspecting it.
“Nothing.”
His smile lingers, but it’s the way he avoids my eyes that tells me it’s obviously something.
“Tell me.”
“No, I just like your outfit.”
My cheeks flame when I remember I put his sweatshirt on for an extra layer this morning. “You want it back?” I reach for the hem but pause, because in this weather, I’m one hundred percent bluffing.
“Nah.” He shakes his head with a smile. “I like the way my clothes look on you.”
The life jacket slips from my hands, making a plopping sound when it hits the water. Maverick lunges for it before it can drift away, and when he holds it up, freezing cold water drips from the straps. With another grin, he flings it up the hill away from the lake, then peels off his own vest and holds it out to me.
“No.” I wave him off. “You keep it.”
“Take the vest, Chlo. I’ll let you Jack Dawson me if it comes to that.”
A laugh slips past me before I can stop it and I take the black vest from him, ignoring the hammering of my heart as I buckle it.
Maverick climbs into the canoe and holds his hand out for me. I take it, wobbling slightly, and he steadies me with his other hand cupping my waist. Even through all the layers, the contact still sends a familiar shiver down my spine.
“Good?” he asks, holding me with a firm grip.
I take a breath, which proves to be a mistake when all of my senses are invaded by his scent. He guides me to sit on the seat across from him, and I strum my bottom lip, pretending to focus on anything other than the way my heart constantly thrums when I’m around him.
The lake is surprisingly still as Maverick cuts through the water with the paddle in steady, effortless strokes. Across from him, I try to seem concerned with his technique, but I’mjust caught up in watching his every movement. His muscles flex with each pass through the water, andfuck he’s hot.I blame it on the way I woke up this morning, pressed against him, warm and heavy. Pulling myself out from under him wasn’t in a panic like I told myself, it was a struggle. I let myself lie there for a minute longer than I should have, thinking about all the other times those arms have held me in place. Against a bookshelf, a wall, a counter, a patio railing. And every time, if I had been capable of forming a coherent thought, it would have been,I hope this isn’t the last time.
“Is it working?”
I inhale, pulling my gaze from his arms, and up to his eyes. “Is what working?”
