29. Maverick
Chapter 29
Maverick
The motel room is a chaotic mess when we get back.
Boots kicked into corners, half-zipped duffels slumped against the wall, clean clothes tangled with dirty ones.
Colt’s digging through his bag for a clean shirt when he suddenly freezes.
“Is that my shirt?” he asks, voice suspicious.
I glance down.
Yeah, it’s definitely his.
Soft and worn, clinging a little too tightly across my shoulders.
“You left it on my side of the bed,” I say, tugging the hem down, pretending like my heart isn’t beating a little faster.
“You coulda folded it, not stolen it.”
“Folded it?” I bark out a laugh. “What am I, a fuckin’ laundromat?”
He crosses his arms, eyes dragging over me way too slowly.
“I want it back.”
I shrug, cocky. “Too late. Smells like me now.”
Something shifts in his expression, a flash of heat that makes the air between us spark.
He stares a beat too long before snapping his duffel closed a little too hard.
“Whatever,” he mutters. “Looks better on you anyway.”
I swear the whole room tilts a little under my feet.
Neither of us moves for a minute.
Not until he shoulders past me on his way to the bathroom, knocking my arm with his rougher than necessary.
Not that I mind.