He cocks a brow, all challenge. “You offering to rub me down?”
Yes. “No.”
The sun climbs higher, the lake glimmering in front of us, and for one suspended moment, I can’t remember why I thought it was a horrible idea being trapped in the same cabin with him.
“What’s your favorite food?” he asks lazily, as if he plans on napping in that chair all afternoon.
“I love fruit. Strawberries, mango.” Juicy, delicious fruit ...
“Yeah. I could fuck with fruit,” he agrees. “What about burgers?”
I hum. “Mmm. Love. And pizza.”Obviously.
Maverick turns his face in my direction but still doesn’t open his eyes. “Know what else I love? The state fair.”
This surprises me. “Really? I would never have guessed.”
“Yeah. I love Disneyland and shit too.”
“So you’re into rides?”
I feel him nod. “Roller coasters and stuff. I was an adrenaline junkie in another life.”
Ha. “Not me. Those scare the shit out of me, but I’m cool sitting and waiting for my friends to ride them.”
He cracks one eye open and lifts his head. “What, you stand there holding their jackets?”
“Yeah,” I admit with a shrug. “Designated bag holder. Food. Someone’s gotta do it.”
His chuckles have my skin feeling five degrees hotter. “You’re missing out.”
“Missing out on puking my guts out after getting spun around? Hard pass.”
“Oh come on,” he drawls, propping his sunglasses on his forehead so I can see those annoyingly intense eyes. “Have you even ridden one?”
“I was on a Tilt-A-Whirl once,” I protest. “I was twelve. Traumatized. Another pass.”
“Spinning doesn’t count.” He argues, voice going rougher, teasing. “You need the big stuff. Magic Mountain and Space Mountain, all that.”
I can’t help laughing, picturing him at Disney, towering over every ten-year-old in line, getting recognized, signing autographs. The mental image is painfully adorable.
“I like thrills.”
Oh boy.I bet you do.My cheeks go pink just thinking about what other “thrills” he might like. I glance down the dock, trying to hide my blush.
Maverick watches me for a moment, smirk shifting into something softer. “What about you?”
“Huh?”
“What else scares you besides rides?”
“Um. Bees,” I confess. “And horror movies.”
He laughs again, low and dangerous. “Bees?”
“They’re scary!” Plus, I’m allergic, which makes them even more terrifying.
He flashes me a wolfish grin. “I’ll protect you, bonnie lass.”
