27. Mckenna
TWENTY-SEVEN
MCKENNA
“It’s snowing!” Mav whoops.
“Really?” I turn in the barstool, my mug of coffee in hand.
“Ready for a snow day?”
“What?” I laugh. There’s something about Mav—his energy, his allure—that continuously pulls me out of my comfort zone. I don’t know why I give in to him, but his charm is irresistible. Especially when the sincerity behind his playfulness shines through. Since Christmas Eve, all through Christmas Day, and on the handful of days since, he’s gone out of his way to make me feel comfortable, to put us back on stable ground.
Even though I can’t stamp out the shadows in my mind—in fact, they’re growing clearer each time they appear—Mav’s presence keeps me centered. Knowing I’m in his home, with him, reminds me I’m safe.
“Come on! Let’s go make snow angels,” he suggests.
“Before breakfast?”
He gives me a look like I’m daft, and I laugh, tossing my hand in the air. “Fine.” My phone beeps with an incoming text. I shudder when I read Branson’s name. Ice sweeps through my veins, causing my shoulder blades to pinch together.
Branson: Our clinic begins January 27. Can’t wait to collaborate with you.
I flip the screen of my phone facedown.
“Who is it?” Mav asks.
I shake my head. “Branson.”
Mav’s jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow. “And?”
“The assignment we were paired up for—the clinic—it starts the end of January.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No!” I blurt out.
Mav frowns.
“Not now,” I amend. “It’s a snow day, remember?”
Mav watches me closely as I pull on my winter coat. I sense the wheels turning in his mind, but he doesn’t press me on Bran, and I’m relieved.I have too many details from that night clouding my mind, and still, there’s not enough.
Mav places a hat with a massive pompom on my head. A grin cuts his handsome face, and he pulls the cap down over my ears. “You look adorable.”
I snort, but a blush works over my cheeks.
How are compliments so easy for him to give? Does he genuinely mean the nice things he says? Or is he so accustomed to being charismatic that they roll off his tongue without a second thought?
“Ready?” His hand curls around the door handle.
“Let’s do it,” I agree.
Mav pulls open the front door, and an icy blast rushes in, hitting us full-on.
“Shit, it’s cold!” He laughs.
I tuck my chin and push against the draft until I stand in the front yard. Right now, it’s a winter wonderland.
“Enjoy this snow. In a few days, we’ll be in Vegas, and you’ll be wearing flip-flops,” he says, reminding me of our New Year’s Eve plans.The Burnt Clovers are playing a show, and, as the supportive girlfriend I am, I’m making an appearance.
Since I didn’t take time off following Christmas, Kimberly noted I’m not contractually obligated to attend. But after Mav’s Christmas surprise, I don’t want to let him down.Besides, I’ll get to spend time with Allegra, Ivy, and Nova. There’s no way I want to miss that reunion.
“True. So, are you up for making a snowman?” I ask, surprising myself. I’m not really a “play in the snow” girl. I was seven or eight years old the last time I made a snowman. Still, the excitement that radiates off Mav is infectious, and I grin. It is fun to be playful and spontaneous sometimes.
Mav doesn’t reply. Instead, he starts rolling a snowball.
I do the same, concentrating on my task. So much so I’m unprepared for the puff of snow that breaks apart in my face, coating my lips and chin in powder. The cold catches me off guard and stings my cheeks.
“Maverick Tate!” I whip my head toward him.
He shrugs and points at me, that boyish grin making an appearance.
I throw a snowball at his face and howl when it hits him in the mouth, wiping that grin right off.
Mav scrubs a gloved hand across the lower portion of his face. “Oh, Mckenna…” His voice holds a note of warning. “It’s on.”
“What?” I ask, moving into a crouching position. I lob another snowball in his direction. “You think you can take me on?”
“I think I’ll destroy you,” he taunts.
I toss my head back and laugh, but it’s cut short as a snowball narrowly misses my ear.
“Oh, it’s on,” I confirm.
Mav and I launch snowballs at each other, our gloves soaking through as we pack snow in our palms before flinging them through the air. We move around the yard, crouching by the stairs and ducking under the windowsill. Our laughter rings out in the quiet morning as we focus on our fierce competition with a side of fun.
My arms ache, and my face is half frozen, but I don’t surrender. I keep at it until Mav falls in a heap at my feet.
I point at him. “Give in!”
Instead of responding, he grips my hand and pulls me down on top of him.
“Maverick!” I holler, but I’m laughing.
Mav rolls me over in the snow, pinning me down. As he hovers over me, a grin moves over his mouth. His eyes are blazing blue, filled with humor and a dash of heat. “Give up.”
“Never!” I cry out.
“Oh yeah?” he threatens.
My eyebrows pull together, wondering what trick he’s going to unleash. In the next breath, a peal of laughter explodes from my throat.
“Don’t tickle me!” I beg as he shakes off his gloves, and his icy fingers crawl underneath my coat and up my bare stomach.
“Mav! Stop!” I squirm on the snow-covered ground as he tickles me.
“Say it!” he orders.
“No way!” I shake my head. My fingers grip his coat and try to find purchase on his shoulders.
“Man, you are stubborn,” he mutters, a smirk turning the corners of his mouth upward. “It’s sexy, Mckenna. I admire it.”
I pause, hearing the truth behind his words.
Mav’s eyes hold mine, some of their mirth morphing into a solemnity I feel spread through my limbs. His eyes dart down to my lips before finding my gaze once more.
I suck in an inhale, waiting to see what he’ll do. Part of me wants him to laugh this moment away, and the other part, a more significant portion of my heart and thoughts, is desperate for him to press his mouth against mine.
One shaky exhale. That’s all it takes for Mav to make up his mind.
Then, he pulls me into a seated position, grips my shoulders, and kisses me like he can’t wait a moment longer. His cheeks are cold, but his mouth is hot. His tongue rolls over the seam of my lips, and I part them for him, mewling as his tongue slips inside and caresses mine.
In the center of our snowball battlefield, Mav kisses me like I’m precious. Like he can’t stop. Like I’m so much more than his fake girlfriend in a sham relationship.
My hands find his waist, and my fingers curl into the thick material of his winter coat. I grip the fabric, pulling him closer, shivering as his hard length presses against my abdomen.
He’s hard for me. He wants me. Just like I want him. This with him.
A nearby cheer interrupts our passionate moment, and Mav and I break apart. I turn toward the laughter just in time for a flash to go off in my face.
“Great photo, guys. Hope you had a good Christmas,” the paparazzo comments before taking a few more pictures and walking away.
“Shit,” I murmur, dropping my head. Reminders of the last time Mav kissed me, and someone caught it on camera, flash through my mind. The Christmas party. Mav’s jealousy. My contract.His words.
You’re under contract, babe. You can hate me all you want, but you still have to kiss me.
A sourness coats my stomach, and I mash my lips together.
Mav frowns at the receding paparazzo. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”
I nod, walking up the front steps and into the warm brownstone. I shake off my wet gloves and damp coat when I get inside. Mav doesn’t seem nearly as frustrated—or surprised—by the paparazzo’s presence.
Did he know the guy was there? Is that why he initiated the snowball fight? Even worse, is that why he kissed me? Ugh! The things I feel for him…
But he thinks of me as a friend.
I frown as beads of hurt form in the pit of my stomach. As each thought and every doubt flickers through my mind, more beads accumulate. They layer on top of each other, higher and higher, filling me from the inside out. My throat tightens as disappointment claws at me.
Was that staged? Did Maverick even want to kiss me? Is anything between us real, or am I reading into it? Making this more than what it is? Am I that desperate for a connection? For love…
“Mckenna?” Mav asks, looking at me strangely.
I shake my head and back away from the front door. I grab my cell phone and slip it into my pocket. Then, I pick up my coffee mug, gripping it tightly. Even though the coffee is cold, I force myself to take a sip. The familiarity of it comforts me. The normalcy of drinking coffee centers me, and I tip my head toward the stairs.
“I’m freezing. I’m gonna take a shower.”
“What about breakfast?” Mav asks.
“I’m not hungry. You eat. I’ll be down in a bit.” My voice is monotone. I scurry up the stairs.
I need to put distance between Mav and me so I can think . It’s too easy to revel in a moment with him. It feels natural to consider a future when he’s at my side, piling compliments on my head and being so damn present. He’s too skilled at reeling me in, even though I don’t want to be caught. Can’t be caught. Not fully. Because if Maverick scoops me up, I’ll never survive the heartache he’ll deliver.
Maverick Tate is a serial flirt and a genuine charmer. He’s wildly dangerous to a searching, seeking heart like mine.