Chapter 12
twelve
MAINE
Fucking hell, this girl knows how to party.
The transformation of our apartment from domestic war zone to sister care HQ to party central was so fast it gave me whiplash. One minute I was on the floor, emotionally emptied, and the next Maya’s got music pumping so loud I can feel the bass in my teeth.
I’m running on fumes, playing host on autopilot. The Maine Show, back for another sold-out performance. Nobody needs to know that three hours ago I was sitting against that same door, choking on family obligations and the familiar ache of being needed but not seen.
Because every time I feel my tanks running empty, I look at her.
Maya, moving through the crowd like she owns it.
Not just hosting this party, but conducting it like a symphony.
I watch her introduce two guys from different social circles with a quip that makes them both laugh, instantly bonding them.
She steers a drunk girl away from a creepy dude with such finesse the girl doesn’t even realize she’s been rescued.
Every gesture, every laugh, every perfectly timed joke—it’s all deliberate.
She’s not just good at this. She’s a goddamn virtuoso.
This afternoon, from the time my parents lobbed Chloe on my doorstep to the minute the door was closed behind them, she’d been perfect. She’d deployed coffee for me and candy for Chloe and been there right at the few moments where I felt like I was falling apart.
Not asking, not smothering, just… perfect.
But this is different.
Now the party has started—now the room is bright and full and loud—Maya is performing just as hard as I am. The party girl persona, the wild reputation, the way she commands attention without seeming to need it… it’s all a show. I’m equal parts intimidated and turned on by it.
But I also want to know why she needs this as much as I do?
“Yo, Maine!” Mike’s voice cuts through my analysis. “Are you planning to stand there all night like a decoration, or are you going to make a move?”
Right.
The bet.
I tear my gaze away from Maya to find half the hockey team watching me with varying degrees of amusement. Rook’s already got his phone out, probably updating the betting pool group chat. And Mike’s giving me that look that says he’s just waiting for the show to begin.
Time to give the people what they want , my mind mocks me. Story of your life.
I push off from the wall and head to the kitchen, an idea forming. I grab bottles from our meager alcohol stash, adding flourishes to every movement like I’m Tom Cruise in Cocktail , and within a minute I’ve got a crowd around me.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I announce, loud enough to carry over the music, “I present to you my latest creation.” I pour the concoction into plastic cups, making sure Maya’s watching from across the room. Our eyes meet, and I flash her my cockiest grin. “I call it… The Ice Queen.”
The name lands exactly how I intended. I see her spine straighten, her eyes narrow just slightly. But there’s something else there too, a flash of what looks like amusement or attraction, and she smirks at me like I’ve just issued a challenge she’s been waiting for.
“First round’s on me!” I call out, distributing cups to eager hands. “The drink is strong and sweet, in honor of our hostess.”
I’m mid-pour when a freshman approaches, looking nervous. “Um, Maine, Maya wanted me to give you a message.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
The kid clears his throat. “She said that, uh, to tell you, uh, you’ll have to try harder than that.”
The guys around me “ooooh” like we’re in middle school, and I can’t help but laugh. Even Cooper looks amused, and he’s got the personality of drywall. But I can’t help but watch Maya, because her smirk is loaded with both amusement and relief.
Because I know we’re only having the party because she was worried about me.
And it’s clear she needs this—running the show, queen of the chaos—like air.
Which means I’m one step closer to winning the bet.
Game on.
I drain my Ice Queen cocktail in one long mouthful, then spot one of Maya’s nursing friends, Priya, by the makeshift bar. She’s pretty, although she seems to take herself a little too seriously, complete with some seriously intense glasses. But, most importantly, she’s in Maya’s inner circle.
Perfect.
I slide up next to her, turning the charm dial to eleven. “Hey, you’re in Maya’s program, right? I’ve been meaning to ask—do you know every bone in the body?”
She giggles—actually giggles—and launches into an explanation. I don’t give a shit about anatomy unless it involves the specific woman with the specific curves currently dancing across the room, but I nod and smile as Priya talks, making sure I’m angled so Maya has a clear view of us.
It takes exactly three minutes.
“Excuse me.” Maya appears at my elbow like she materialized from thin air, completely ignoring Priya. “You’ve got something—“ She reaches up, and I freeze as her fingers brush my jaw. The touch is light, clinical, but it sends a signal straight to my dick. “—right there.”
She shows me her thumb like she wiped something away, but we both know there was nothing there.
Then, while Priya watches with her mouth slightly open, Maya straightens my collar with both hands, smoothing the fabric down my chest. The gesture is so casually possessive, so publicly claiming, I freeze.
“Much better,” she says, her voice honey-sweet, then finally acknowledges Priya with a smile that’s all teeth. “Sorry, were you two talking?”
And then she’s gone, leaving me standing there like an idiot with a half-hard dick and Priya looking at me with new understanding. It’s insane how easily this woman controls the social environment around her, and she just took my opening move and turned the tables with interest.
“So you and Maya…” Priya starts.
“It’s complicated,” I manage, which is the understatement of the century.
The game escalates from there. I find her in the living room, laughing at something some dude in a backwards cap is saying. My territorial instincts—which I didn’t even know I had until about five minutes ago—go into overdrive, but I force myself to play it cool.
I walk past, casual as hell, and snag her drink right out of her hand. She gasps—actually gasps—as I take a long sip, maintaining eye contact the whole time. The guy she’s talking to looks between us, clearly trying to figure out what’s happening.
“Thanks, I was thirsty,” I say, then wink at her and keep walking.
I can feel her eyes burning into my back. That’s a point to me.
Except Maya doesn’t just even the score, she blows up the scoreboard.
Twenty minutes later, I’m by the speakers with Rook, his arm slung around my shoulders as he shouts something about the next home game. I see her approaching through the crowd, and my body goes on high alert. She doesn’t say anything, just slides herself under my other arm like she belongs there.
“Hi,” she says, looking up at me with innocent eyes that we both know are bullshit. Her breasts press against me, and she fits against me like a puzzle piece.
“Hi,” I croak back.
Rook looks at her, then at me, then back at her. “I’m going to go find another drink,” he announces to no one in particular.
Smart man.
Maya doesn’t move when he leaves. If anything, she presses closer, her hand splaying across my stomach. “Having fun?” she asks.
“Not as much as you, it seems,” I counter, hyperaware of every point where our bodies touch.
“Best party of the semester.” Her fingers find their way in between the buttons on my shirt, and her nails graze my chest. “Though the host seems distracted.”
“Wonder why that is.”
She laughs, low and throaty, and the sound goes straight to my already interested dick. “Must be the Ice Queen Headache. They go right to your head.”
Before I can respond, someone cranks the music louder—if that’s even possible—and the living room transforms into a dance floor. Maya pulls away, but not before dragging her hand across my chest in a way that’s definitely not accidental.
I watch her move to dance, and something in me snaps.
I’m done with the games, done with the careful choreography.
The emotional wasteland of a day has left me raw and reckless.
I don’t know if it’s the bet, how good she was today, the urgent need to feel something, or the way she moves, but I need to touch her.
I push through the crowd until I’m right behind her. Without asking permission or announcing myself, I press into her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her back against me. From head to toe, I’m pressed against her, and I’m certain she can feel every inch of me.
She freezes completely, every muscle going rigid.
Fuck. I’ve misread this whole thing.
My hands start to loosen, ready to back off and apologize, when she melts into me. Her ass pushes back, grinding in slow circles that match the heavy bass thumping through the speakers. The contact shoots straight to my cock, and I have to bite back a groan.
This isn’t dancing. It’s a promise of what she could do to me if we were alone.
My hands find her hips, gripping tighter than strictly necessary. She responds by grinding harder, her movements deliberate and torturous. The party fades to static. All I can focus on is the heat of her body against mine, her smell, and how soft she feels under my calloused hands.
Around us, I’m dimly aware of people watching. The guys are definitely taking notes for the betting pool. Good. Let them watch. Let them see that I’ve got Maya melting against me like butter on a hot pan. After the day I’ve had—fuck, after the year I’ve had—I need this.
To feel seen and in control.
Except then she turns in my arms, slow and deliberate, and the look on her face stops my mental victory lap cold. “Hi,” she smirks.
She’s not melting. She’s hunting.
Her arms wind around my neck, pulling me down until our faces are inches apart. Her hips never stop moving, maintaining that maddening friction that’s rapidly destroying what’s left of my self-control. But it’s her eyes that really fuck me up—dark and knowing and completely in control.
“Is this what you wanted?” she murmurs, her lips brushing my ear.
I meant to melt the Ice Queen. Instead, I’m the one who’s been captured, turned into her prey with a few moves and a smile that promises trouble. She’s taken my power play and flipped it, made it hers, made me hers in front of everyone.
And the fucked-up thing is I don’t even want to fight it. I just want her to keep moving against me, want to find out what that wicked mouth tastes like, and want to discover exactly how deep this performance of hers goes and what’s real underneath.
She saw the stripped-bare version of me, so now I want Naked (Maya’s Version).
The song changes to something slower but still heavy with bass.
Maya doesn’t miss a beat, adjusting her rhythm to match.
Her fingers play with the hair at my nape, and I suppress a shudder.
Right now, she could ask me anything and I’d tell her, demand anything, and I’d do it. She’s got me hook, line, and sinker.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” she says, still close enough that her breath ghosts across my neck.
“Funny,” I manage, my voice rougher than intended. “I was about to say the same thing to you.”
She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, and her smile is pure challenge. “Good. I was starting to get bored.”
Before I can process that, she gives me another of those little smiles, then spins out of my arms, leaving me standing there like an asshole with a visible hard-on and my head spinning faster than the disco ball someone inexplicably set up in my living room.
I watch her disappear into the crowd, probably off to orchestrate another social miracle or destroy another man’s sanity. My body is screaming at me to follow her, to finish what we started, but my brain—what’s left of it—knows better.
She set a trap, and I walked right into it.
Mike appears at my side, his expression somewhere between amused and impressed. “So,” he says. “That looked cozy.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying, for someone who’s supposed to be seducing her, you look like you’ve got the world’s worst case of blue balls.”
He’s not wrong.
“The guys are updating the odds,” he continues. “After that display, Rook thinks you’ve got it in the bag. But Schmidt thinks Maya is going to eat you alive, take everything you’ve got to give, and then bail before you blink, let alone get her to say she loves you.”
I watch her across the room, laughing at something Sophie’s saying, looking like she didn’t just spend three minutes grinding against me like the world was ending.
Hell, worse than that, she looks completely unaffected by what just happened between us, while here I am looking flushed and still rock hard.
“Yeah,” I mutter, adjusting myself discreetly. “Schmidt might have a point.”