Chapter 8 Maverick
MAVERICK
I was just dreaming about you on the plane, I think to myself as I take another swig of…whatever it was Pierce put in this flask. I’m vaguely aware that Boone went to UT, but I’m just as sure he graduated already.
What the fuck is he doing here tonight?
“Who’s Rune?” Pierce asks, tightening his grip on me as he pulls the flask from my hands, pouring the contents over the side.
Ugh. I hate his whole vibe.
“I’m Rune,” I explain, my belly heating at the thought of Boone Hitchens using my given name. “Booney knew me when I was a kid. Maverick is my middle name.”
“Rune’s kind of a stupid name,” he snorts. “Then again, so is Booney.”
Snooty ass.
“Wait,” Taylor says, pulling her shirt back on. “Isn’t Booney that camp counselor you went on—and on—about at the lake party last month?”
Pierce’s mouth thins to a flat line, and it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. You blow a guy one time, and he thinks he’s got a say.
I send Tay the cut it signal.
Boone tilts his head. “I remember thinking it was a phase when you introduced yourself as Maverick,” he says, a smile ghosting his lips, as if imagining the embarrassingly earnest, pimple-faced kid who’d had a massive crush on his camp counselor.
Ugh. So humiliating.
Glancing over at Uncle Hopper’s sculptures on the main mall, I smile to myself.
He probably came tonight to commune with his favorite artist.
Given what happened today, I’m also grateful that Boone has always been a man of principle.
As much as I’d love to think otherwise, the incident in Switzerland was not an anomaly, and there are more than a few people in the industry who wouldn’t have let age—or a clear lack of consent—stop them.
The humid breeze reminds me I’m a little underdressed, and that Booney is Detective Hitchens. I step away from Pierce’s overly possessive grip, stumbling a little as I cross my hands in front of my see-through jockeys.
Gesturing in a circle, Boone reminds us why he’s here. “Time for y’all to wrap it up and head out before the campus police make their rounds.”
God, the authority in his voice is dizzying, and don’t get me started on what that shoulder holster is doing to my parts below the waist. I’m taller and broader than him, but I’d let that man do whatever he wanted to me. In bed, on the couch, against a wall…nmph.
Tay picks her way out of the fountain, sending me a small grimace. I wave her off. Tay’s mom is the head of the English Lit department here, and she doesn’t need that smoke.
“Wait. You’re not campus police?” Pierce challenges. Dickhead.
Booney slips a wallet from his back pocket, flipping it open. “Austin PD, actually.”
I giggle at the move.
“Is this even your jurisdiction?”
Why is Pierce still talking?
And why is Booney out of focus?
I stumble, and Booney’s eyes widen.
“Hey, Rune? Maverick? You okay?”
“I’m superfine,” I answer, giggling again.
Awww. Booney’s so cute when he gets that line between his brows.
“I’ll make sure he gets back to his place,” Pierce says, wrapping his arm around my waist again.
As if.
I push him away. “Stop acting all possesh…pos…poshesive? In front of Booney. He’s my OG crush. My camp counselor crush. My Booney crush.”
I take a deep breath, not sure why the words aren’t wording right now.
“Hey, man. What was in that flask?” Boone asks, holding out his hand.
I smack Pierce’s chest. “Doesn’t he sound sexy when he acts all: ‘I’m…Mr. Cop. I’m a cop. I’m a Booney cop. Gimme your flask.’”
Er. That made more sense in my head.
“I’m out of here, man,” Pierce mutters, disappearing from my back like a magic trick.
His sudden absence throws me off balance, and I splash into the water. I look up at the bronze horses, captured mid-stride, and wonder how anyone could sculpt in metal like that.
Like, do you torch it or…? I should ask Uncle Hopper.
I try to get up, but end up falling again, inhaling half the fountain water while I’m at it. Another, bigger splash startles me, and I inhale the fucking other half. Seconds later, Booney pulls me from the water and holds me upright as I hack up a goddamn lung.
Ugh. Unpleasant.
Worse, all this coughing is making me even dizzier. Booney’s one strong motherfucker, though, and he steers me to the edge of the fountain. Getting out is trickier than it should be—why are my legs so goddamned long?—but we finally make it to solid ground.
“Hey, what are y’all doing here?” An armed officer appears out of the night, like an angry genie on a mission to ban all fun from the known universe.
Ah shit.
“The fountain is closed after sundown.”
“I’m a detective with Austin PD,” Booney says, flashing his badge once again, more of that delecticious authority in his voice. “I’m helping this one find his way home.”
The guy—campus police? —pauses. “We are required to press charges for all trespassers.”
“Just go along with this next part,” Booney whispers in my ear as he pulls a pair of cuffs from his holster. Showing them to the officer, he responds, “I’m already on it.”
The cold steel circles my wrists and, fuck me, I whimper.
God, I love it when he cuffs me.
“Sir, you’re going to need to come with me,” Boone says, adding a little bass to his voice.
It takes me a second to realize that I’m the sir in question.
“Oh, I’ll come with you,” I say, then drop my voice so only he can hear me. “I’ll even come for you if you ask nicely.”
The officer coughs into his fist, and I wonder if maybe I said that a little louder than I’d intended.
Raising his brows, he asks Boone, “You sure you’ve got this?”
“I’m sure,” Boone answers, a sharp edge to his voice that sends a shiver down my thighs. “You’ve probably got plenty on your plate tonight as it is.”
The officer’s walkie-talkie goes off. He grabs the call and then sends Boone a look. Boone responds with a nod, and Officer Genie-No-Fun-Pants disappears into the night.