Chapter 6 Maverick
maverick
. . .
“Ready?” I ask.
She glares at me, choosing not to answer as she opens the passenger door and slams it with enough force to shake my damn SUV.
I chuckle to myself as I grab her sleek black suitcase and throw her duffel over my shoulder.
She walks ahead, scanning the property as I trail behind her, smiling to myself like a damn idiot.
I’m not proud of the thoughts I’m having, okay?
My eyes trail along her figure, the curvy expanse of her ass swaying beneath her oversized tee, fuck, do I want to take a bite.
I continue admiring her body as my eyes continue to trail up to her slim waist and slender back, until I’m met with Rex’s beady eyes staring straight into my soul.
Rex hisses at me so violently, I stagger back a step.
“Jesus Christ,” I yelp, fumbling with her bag as I stumble. “What the fuck was that?!”
Amelia doesn’t even stop as she keeps walking up the porch steps like she didn’t just get her ass spiritually guarded by a six-pound demon.
“He saw you checking me out,” she says casually.
I blink. “That’s not illegal!”
Rex hisses again.
“I wasn’t even staring,” I lie, adjusting her duffel as I follow her in.
“He’s a feminist,” Amelia adds, turning her head just enough for me to see the tiniest smirk at the corner of her mouth. “He doesn’t tolerate objectification.”
“He doesn’t tolerate air, light, or joy,” I mutter, glaring at Rex.
The little bastard blinks slowly, then settles back into Amelia’s arms.
“I swear to God, he saw into my soul,” I whisper.
“He didn’t like what he found.”
“Oh, shut up.”
She stands by the front door, still holding that naked gremlin, waiting for me to open it.
I walk past her, purposefully brushing up against her shoulder, and I don’t miss the way she sucks in her breath.
Clicking in the numbers to unlock the front door, I usher her in, my hand ghosting on the small of her back.
Tehe.
She walks into my house, scanning the vaulted ceilings, the matte black beams, and the wide-plank oak floors that extend seamlessly throughout the space.
Lemon and fresh linen permeate the air, a tell that I cleaned the house like a psychopath before her arrival.
Amelia doesn’t speak as she continues to scan the space with her arms still wrapped around her strange little cat, as if she’s judging everything and everyone in it, including me.
I set her bags down gently, not wanting to disturb the vibe.
Hissssssss.
Rex lifts his gremlin face again, and I swear to God he’s got actual beef with me.
“Okay,” I mutter. “We get it, man. You don’t like me.”
Amelia pets him, glaring at me.
“He senses… insecurity.”
“I am extremely secure, thank you very much.”
“Yeah o—”
She barely finishes her sentence when Cupcake comes barreling in, jumping all over her, trying to sniff Rex.
HISSSSSSS.
Rex loses it, jumping out of Amelia’s grip, scratching her as he runs like a bat out of hell through my house, being chased by Cupcake.
“Ow, you fuck!” Amelia whines.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I say, “I should’ve warned you that I had a puppy.”
“You think?”
“Here, let me see.”
She hesitates before reaching her hand out to me. Three angry, red lines trail down her fully black inked arm.
I gently rub the cut, and she winces at my touch, quickly pulling away.
“I’ll be fine, it’s not like he bit my arm off.”
I chuckle to myself.
She stares at me, rubbing her forearm. “Can I use your bathroom?”
“Yeah, down the hall, on the right.”
She nods, walking off down the hall, and I admire her figure again since her gremlin of a bodyguard is hiding somewhere.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, opening the group chat with my brothers, smiling like an idiot.
Maverick
Made it back to the house, thanks for the drinks, bro.
Reed
Np
Maverick
Can you not abbreviate pls
Maverick
And actually love me
Carter
Sorry, can’t talk. My wife’s mouth is currently occupied.
Maverick
Carter wtf
Reed
I sigh, tossing my phone onto the kitchen counter. My brothers are fucking idiots, especially Carter. After he got married, he became a big ball of mush for his precious wife, Catalina.
I’m not jealous in any way, shape, or form.
Yeah, okay, Maverick.
Amelia finally emerges from the bathroom, looking like an angel.
She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts.
It physically pains me to look at her.
I’m about to drink her in and engrain her perfect features into my brain when she shoots me a glare.
“Can you not stare at me, and show me around the house so I know where the fuck I’m staying.”
I dramatically scoff, nodding at her.
“Okay, dollface.”
She rolls her eyes, picking at her cuticles.
I gesture loosely toward the open space. “This is the living room,” I say, forcing my voice to stay casual. My hand skims the back of the couch as I move past it. “Big couch. Bigger TV.” I hook a thumb toward the hearth, a wry smile tugging at my mouth. “Fireplace’s real wood, I chop it myself.”
She glances over her shoulder, unimpressed. “To feel manly?”
I smirk, flexing my arms. “I’m a whole lot of man, baby.”
She purses her lips, trailing her eyes until they land on my football-shaped slippers. “Yeah, sureeee.”
“You’re just jealous because you don’t have a pair.”
Her mouth twitches, but she keeps moving past the massive sectional, the record player in the corner, and the stack of untouched books on the coffee table that I bought solely to look interesting.
I follow her, my slippers scuffing against the hardwood, watching the way she moves through my space like she already belongs here. Her fingertips graze the edge of the mantle, her gaze lingering on every detail I never thought twice about.
We head into the kitchen, and I try not to hover over her.
She runs a finger along the edge of the white quartz counters as if she’s checking for dust, then lifts it to inspect the tip with a faint smirk before brushing her hand casually against her jeans.
“This kitchen screams ‘I want a wife,’” she says flatly.
“I do,” I say with a shrug, leaning my hip against the counter. “One who can cook with me.” I flash her a crooked grin, lifting my brows.“I’ll also do the dishes and look hot.”
“You’ll do the dishes?” she repeats.
“Shirtless,” I add.
She rolls her eyes so hard I almost die on the spot.
“C’mon.” I nudge her toward the hallway. “Still more to see.”
We pass the guest bathroom, Irish spring scent drifting out as we walk by, and a coat closet with the faint creak of hinges when I brush against it.
I reach the wide set of barn doors and shove them open with unnecessary flair, the iron handles cool beneath my palms, and the wooden panels groan as they swing wide on their tracks.
“This is the gym,” I announce, unable to stop myself.
I sweep my hand toward the space, then rest it on the doorframe as she walks inside.
“Built-in mirror walls. Real weights.” I hook a thumb at the treadmill, my mouth curling into a dry half-smile.
“The treadmill’s mostly for trauma recovery and running from my feelings. ”
She walks in, eyes scanning the squat rack, the punching bag, and the row of resistance bands I don’t even know how to use.
“Jesus,” she mutters. “Overcompensating much?”
“I have a lot of issues.”
She scoffs, turning on her heel.
I follow her to the French doors, the soft click of her footsteps guiding me along, and curl my hand around the cool brass handle. When I push them open, the hinges sigh, and a rush of fresh air spills inside.
“This is the backyard.”
It’s exactly what I wanted it to be.
The yard stretches huge, framed by rolling hills and old trees whose branches sway lazily in the breeze, their leaves whispering overhead. A stone fire pit anchors the center, ringed with worn Adirondack chairs that still smell faintly of smoke from last weekend.
Above, string lights are draped from thick cedar beams, their bulbs catching the last glow of daylight, ready to spill a soft, golden haze once night falls. The air carries the clean bite of wood and earth, and beyond the fence, the crickets and cicadas keep time like background music.
There’s enough space here for anything; a rowdy team barbecue, a small wedding, and what I really dream of is a couple of wild kids, my kids, tearing across the grass with bare feet and sticky fingers.
She pauses at the threshold, gazing out at the open land without a word.
The sun’s setting, illuminating the edges of her black hair with a subtle red undertone.
The glow makes her appear untouchable, and I can’t look away.
Strands move in the breeze, catching fire in the fading rays, and I’m in fucking awe at how something as simple as her silhouette can take my breath away.
I swallow the lump in my throat and motion upstairs.
“One more stop.”
We climb the stairs in silence. I watch the swing of her hips and try not to think about her in my bed.
At the top of the hallway, I stop in front of the last door and push it open.
“This is it.”
The primary suite.
A massive king bed dominates the room, layered in linen bedding that’s rumpled just enough to look lived-in, the iron headboard casting faint shadows against the wall in the low firelight. The fireplace glows on the far side, flames flickering, their warmth seeping into the cool evening air.
French doors are open to a balcony, where a quiet night settles in— the rustling wind through the hills, the faint hum of cicadas, and the cooling scent of grass drifting up from below.
She steps inside, still quiet and unreadable.
I crane my neck to the right as I watch her find the bathroom, her hand passing over the smooth metal handle before she slides the door open. The gentle slide along the track reveals a space that glows beneath recessed lighting—marble tile, cool and shiny, reflecting the light like water.
A soaking tub sits in the corner, big enough for two. The faint scent of eucalyptus drifting out.
Amelia turns back around and stares at the king bed with a furrowed brow.
“Tell me you’re joking,” she says, voice flat. “There’s only one bed?”
I scratch the back of my neck, trying to look innocent, though the corner of my mouth betrays me with a crooked grin.
“Couch is downstairs,” I say, jerking my thumb vaguely over my shoulder, “but the bed’s big.
” I shift my weight against the doorframe, watching her with mock seriousness.
“You can sleep at the very edge and pretend I’m not devastatingly attractive. ”
“Why is there only one bedroom in this massive farmhouse?” she snaps, crossing her arms tight over her chest. Her hip juts to the side as she levels me with a glare, one brow arched.
I grin. “I didn’t think I’d need a guest room. Women don’t usually stay after they got what they wanted.”
“I’m not sleeping on a bed where you had sex with countless whores, and there’s no way in fuck I’m sleeping on the couch.”
“It’s actually memory foam.”
She levels me with a look. “Then you sleep on it.”
I blink. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
I gesture vaguely at myself. “Back problems, athletic strain. I’m delicate.”
“Delicate?” she repeats.
“Fine. Sensitive.”
She rolls her eyes. “So I’m the one who gets scoliosis while you’re up here starfishing on your rich-boy mattress?”
“I don’t starf—” I throw up my hands, then stop mid-motion, grimacing.
“Okay, I do starf—” My shoulders slump as I gesture helplessly at the bed, like it’s the evidence against me.
“Look, I’m a sprawler, alright? I’m six-eight, I need space.
” I stretch my arms wide as if to prove the point, nearly smacking the nightstand in the process.
I take a slow step forward until I’m standing just in front of her, close enough to smell her perfume, something dark and sweet that’s already settled into my sheets from the second she walked through the door.
Even face-to-face, she barely reaches my chest, so I dip my head low, bending until my mouth hovers by her ear.
The movement brings my shoulders forward, caging her in without even trying, and I can feel the top of her head brushing my jaw.
My breath fans hot against her skin, the scrape of my cheek grazing her temple as I murmur low enough for only her to hear.
“I won’t bite, dollface,” I whisper, “unless you ask nicely.”
She freezes.
I pull back just enough to catch her eyes, and it hits me all over again how fucking beautiful they are; green that shifts with the light, glowing like backlit emeralds, beneath those long, thick lashes that sweep across her cheeks every time she blinks.
She looks like something that shouldn’t be real, like I dreamed her up in quiet hours, and she just stepped out to taunt me.
Her skin’s pale and soft, kissed by a constellation of freckles that scatter across the bridge of her nose and down to her cheeks, faint enough that most people would miss them.
My gaze lowers, catching the curve of her mouth. The gloss on her lips smudged from her chewing them, leaving them pink and swollen.
She leans in just slightly, her chin tilting up in challenge, and jabs her finger against my chest. Her voice is a quiet blade when she hisses, “If you even graze me in your sleep, I’ll stab you with my claws.
” Her nail lingers against the fabric for a beat before she pulls back, eyes flashing like she dares me to test her.
I grin so wide it hurts. “Bet.”
She turns, stalking toward the bathroom.
“Dollfaceee,” I call after her.
She stops in her tracks, whipping around to face me, her green eyes blazing with heat.
“I’m going to stay with Carter and Catalina!”
I snicker to myself, walking toward her slowly. “Trust me, you don’t want that.”
She raises a brow, pouting. “And, why not?”
“If you want to catch them fucking on every surface, then, be my guest.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m serious,” I say, trying not to laugh in between words. “I stayed over one night, and I regret it with my whole being. No fucks were given on their end. Full volume, kitchen counter, the front porch, and I’m pretty sure in their lake.”
Amelia blinks at me, amused.
“The front porch so that everybody can see?”
“I think they are trying to repopulate this small town.” I say, “Don’t get in their way.”
She presses her fingers to her temple, rubbing at the skin there.
“All of you are so nasty.”
I laugh to myself, and without even realizing it, I find myself standing right in front of her again, with barely any space between us.
As I gaze down at her, I get lost in her beautiful green eyes, with flecks of honey when the light dances on her irises.
I force myself not to reach out and brush the strand of hair away from her face.
“You done?”
“Hmm?”
“You have a real staring problem, whatever, just don’t touch me when we sleep.”
If she only knew that I’ve been in love with her the moment she graced me with her presence two years ago.
She walks off into the bathroom, slamming the door shut without giving me a chance to respond.
Mav: 1
Amelia: 0