Chapter 23
An incessant beeping disturbed my well-deserved slumber, making me groan and fling my hand toward the end table beside my bed. I gripped my phone and pressed the snooze, stopping the noise before I stretched my arms toward the ceiling, grateful the annoying sound hadn’t completely jarred me awake.
As I took stock of my body—noticing the pleasant ache between my legs and through my belly from using long dormant muscles—I smiled, turning to the window and breathing deeply into the pillow that was occupied until after midnight.
I’d woken up alone, but after a moment, another smile crept across my features, remembering the feather-light kisses Maverick had pressed to my cheeks and nose to wake me after we’d drifted off to sleep.
I had giggled, swatting him away, only to open my eyes and find him dressed in his rumpled shirt and jeans. I’d propped myself up on my elbows, loving how his eyes widened when the sheet slipped from my shoulders to my waist.
“I feel like a teenager sneaking out of my girlfriend’s house, woman. And you, naked, disheveled, and looking fucking gorgeous, are making it even harder to leave.”
He glanced at his crotch and back to me, making it perfectly clear what he meant when he said harder.
I’d giggled, shaking my head and not bothering to adjust the sheet. After last night, any lingering self-doubt or nervousness I had felt at him seeing my no-longer-thirty-year-old body had disappeared, along with my modesty.
“But I am not prepared to face your dad and my mom in the morning.”
I’d nodded, agreeing with his statement, not willing to face the wrath—or perhaps unrestrained glee—of my father in the morning, either.
“I meant what I said, though. I want to take you out on a proper date. Somewhere downtown, where I have to overpay for parking or risk some douche denting my truck.”
Smiling at the way he’d effortlessly diffused any lingering awkwardness, I’d watched as he scratched the five o’clock shadow on his cheeks that had turned into the beginnings of a beard overnight.
The streaks of gray throughout his scruff made him even more handsome in the darkness of my bedroom, and for a fleeting moment, I wanted to haul him back to bed and not worry about any repercussions.
Instead, I’d pushed that thought aside and focused on the promise of our date. “I’d like that, Maverick.”
“Good,” he said, moving to scratch his opposite cheek. “And now I won’t be able to think about anything but peeling you slowly out of whatever you intend to wear.”
“Then you better not wait long before you call.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that. I won’t.”
I’d nodded again, nibbling on my lip until he’d crawled back onto the bed, bracketing his hands on either side of my head and kissing every shred of rational thought from my mind.
With a parting wave and a rare, honest smile afterward, he’d slipped out of my bedroom and down the stairs as I’d drifted back to sleep, not moving a muscle for the rest of the night.
The pleasant memory faded as the scent of pine trees in fall, sandalwood, and freshly washed cotton filled my lungs, causing me to bury my face deeper into the cool, colored silk.
I wanted to soak up every millimeter of his unique scent that still permeated the fabric on the opposite side of my bed.
His side of the bed.
Maverick Hansen.
I flipped back around to lie flat, throwing a hand over my face to stave off the morning light seeping in through the blinds, while my mind vividly replayed the events and emotions that had led to us falling into bed together.
The vulnerable expression etched across his features as I’d opened the glass door was unmistakable.
The way he ran a hand through his hair, the gesture slow and weary, and then sighed, a sound like the surrendering of a defeated army.
Malibu had risen from her place on the kitchen floor and trotted forward, pressing against him, her body trembling slightly as she let out a low whine, sensing his distress.
Even the way he’d held himself gave away his turmoil—the normally broad shoulders and chest slumped, a hand pressed against the door frame with his fingers digging into the wood.
Every minute detail pointed to a man who’d felt the brunt of responsibilities for too long and finally had nothing left to give.
My intention was not to take him to bed but to provide him with basic comfort and physical touch.
The sturdy presence of another could always quell my nerves even if that physical presence had to come from Trey. Well, until we separated.
But this was different. Maverick was different, reminding me of a cross between a frightened ten-point buck and a possessive grizzly bear.
The pleading look in his eyes yesterday stayed at war with the tight, tangible ball of anxious energy that swirled around him like a fractal aura.
How could I not reach forward and extend a hand?
How could I not melt into his embrace, feeling something so profoundly different from every other hug I’d experienced within the last decade?
Was it so impossible to think that every other decision in my life had led me to this moment? Or had I simply been denied the affection I’d craved for so long that I latched on like a frenzied barnacle?
My phone beeped again, and I groaned, grabbing it from the end table and opening my text messages.
Mina: I did it!
Mina: GIF of dancing pineapples
Me: Did what, babe?
Mina: I put in for a sabbatical from the office and booked an Alaskan cruise. This is happening! No more regrets and no more waiting!
Me: GIF of fireworks
Me: That’s amazing! All that’s left now is to meet a stunning Englishman and fall madly in love.
Mina: We’ll revisit that when I go across the pond. Now? Mimosas! Waffles! Bloody Marys! Brunch is calling, and you’ve answered.
Me: No arguments here.
Mina: Page’s Okra Grill at 11?
Me: Great choice! See you there.
I checked the clock and groaned. Although I had plenty of time to make myself presentable, I wasn’t ready to leave the warmth of my bed. Giving myself twenty more minutes, I put my phone back on the nightstand and closed my eyes, happy to replay the memories of last night for a little longer.
“There you are,” Mina said, waving from a booth tucked into a corner by the bar. “I ordered a mimosa flight and need help deciding which one is the best.”
“Then I got here right on time.” I leaned in and gave Mina a one-armed hug before sliding onto the opposite side and taking the mimosa from her outstretched hand.
“This one is mango and pineapple. I’m not sure if I like it.”
I hummed, setting my purse beside me and taking a sip from the slender flute garnished with an edible purple flower and sugared rim. The tart flavors burst across my tongue, and I savored the bite of champagne mixed with the sweet crystals along the rim.
“Oh. I like this one.”
“Well, finish it fast so you can order a full-sized glass.” Mina winked and picked up a burgundy-colored mimosa from the flight, swirling it in the glass and plucking a cherry from the rim. “This one has pomegranate seeds and orange juice.”
“Sounds tasty. But I still have to drive home and be conscious for the rest of the day, you know.”
“Ugh,” she whined, propping her elbow on the table and resting her chin on her palm. “Consciousness is overrated.”
I chuckled, shaking my head before opening the menu and zeroing in on the biscuits and gravy special.
Biting my lower lip, my stomach made a very unsexy gurgling noise, reminding me I gave up dinner for sexy time last night.
Unable to stop the smile that spread across my features, I set down the drink and hid my face behind the menu, wondering if the chocolate chip waffles with crispy bacon were a better choice.
“Whoa now. Don’t think I didn’t catch that smirk. I know we’ve only known each other since karaoke, but I need to know the reason behind that smile.”
I rolled my eyes, setting the menu down and tilting my head. “Absolutely not. This brunch is to celebrate you, lady. You and your decision to quit your job and travel the world.”
“Oh, my freaking gawd,” Mina gasped, choking on air and pressing her hand to her chest. She gripped the edge of the table with her other hand as her eyes widened with a panicked, wild gaze.
“I quit my job. I cashed out my retirement. I have to sublet my apartment. Then pack. I booked a cruise. I don’t have a place to live. ”
She fanned her face as I stood, crowding her space on the opposite side of the booth and wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “You are a brave fucking woman for doing this, and every person you told the other night is so proud of you for taking this chance.”
“Really?” she squeaked, as I thrust the rest of the mimosa into her hand and she took a sip. “I didn’t just ruin my life?”
“Ruin your life? Um…do you know how amazing your resume is going to look when you’re finished with your travels?”
“Amazingly lacking,” she said, as the server returned and we placed our orders, along with two waters and a Bloody Mary with extra green olives for me.
“Don’t sell yourself short. Think of all the skills you can hone while you travel. What about the people you meet and the connections you’ll make? You could work on photography, become a travel writer focusing on fashion and sightseeing. The possibilities are endless.”
“I minored in journalism in college.”
“See? That’s great. Start a blog. Apply to travel magazines or speak to travel agents. You have so many options.”
“So, this wasn’t a big mistake, and I didn’t ruin my life?”
“Hardly,” I said, humming at how yummy the Bloody Mary looked, complete with celery and thick, black pepper bacon. “The only way this will be a mistake is if you waste away in a hotel room, afraid of taking a chance on something unknown, instead of giving it your all and getting out there.”