Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
“‘Don’t stop there. I suppose there are also, what, vampires and werewolves and zombies?’
‘Of course there are. Although you mostly find zombies farther south, where the voudun priests are.’
‘What about mummies? Do they only hang around Egypt?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. No one believes in mummies.’”
— CASSANDRA CLARE, CITY OF BONES
I was unprepared for alone time with my wolf.
To be fair, he seemed equally unprepared.
He’d pivoted toward me as the door closed behind Ranger, but now he seemed turned to stone. Of course, this was my usual reaction too when my mami tried to matchmake. Dios mío . I needed to kill Ranger.
This wasn’t working.
But it sort of was too. The delicious, pinesy warmth of Maverick filling up my trailer with his big body, his gentle smile, his thoughtful present of coffee, it’s as if it had done something to me. My lungs inflated. Oxygen was restored, along with hope.
“Pine terpenes,” I blurted out. “That’s the source of your delicious fresh pine scent.”
“You did such a great job last night,” he said at the same time.
We both startled, paused, made the obligatory oh-no-you-go-first gestures. We’d come to a verbal four-way stop sign and were now out-polite-ing each other. So of course, we did it again.
“I’m a man of simple molecules and no fancy flower,” he grinned.
“Have you been watching?” I asked.
And then naturally we both laughed. Well, I laughed. He smiled, a big, easy grin, his eyes trailing over me.
“I’m stealing that for my next script.” I set the basket of socks down, noticing with delight that there wasn’t one matching pair that I could see. I took the kraken cup from him, sliding my fingers over the spot where his had just been. Would it be weird to kiss the side? Huff it? “The random blurt-outs, the awkward staring, the talking over each other? It’s comedic gold. You’ll turn on your TV someday and DéJà VU.”
“I wasn’t random.” His lips quirked up. “That was all you.”
I made a face and took a sip of my delicious coffee. “It’s random to accuse me of being random.”
“But before that I had a plan. I was very organized.”
“Oh, sure.” I grinned at him with my eyes over the rim of my cup. “Such a great plan. Were you flying by the seat of your pants? Was this plan newly hatched? A chick fresh out of its shell?”
Now he did laugh. “I’m a baby chicken?”
We were teasing, bantering with that easy back-and-forth that we’d had the day we first met, so of course I ad-libbed. Rather than thinking the scene out, I just spoke from the heart. “Babies are amazing. I dreamed about our babies. Roly-poly, magical fur littles.”
This was what we, in the industry, called a record-scratch moment. The background music came to an abrupt halt.
Help.
I’d made things weird again. It had to be a world record in weird making. Less than thirty seconds! It was less playful and exponentially more awkward, likely because now we were both thinking about the bedroom activities baby making required.
I made a face, irritated. I needed a do-over, and I could see Maverick felt the same way.
“Maverick—” I started.
“I—” he ground out.
The door to my trailer flew open. Luke stuck his head in. The large blue plume on top of his head bobbed.
“Rimita! I need your help! Look at what they’ve put me in for today’s shot!”
The rest of Luke’s body inserted itself into my trailer. Maverick made a rough sound, his big body tensing. Oblivious, Luke twirled in a circle. I was sure Mabel had extensively researched his Civil War uniform, so it would be historically accurate.
It was, nevertheless, ridiculous.
He was ridiculous.
He wore a pair of shapeless, navy blue pants that looked like United States Post Service rejects, with a tight, lighter blue jacket that curtailed his movement and made him walk like he had a stick up you-know-where. The jacket had shiny bronze buttons; when Luke moved, they caught the light. He was a Civil War disco ball!
The moral of the story was: never, ever piss off the woman in charge of wardrobe. Mabel had had her revenge.
Sidenote side note: ask Mabel for an extra button.
“Wow,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. Mabel had single-handedly demoted him to comic side bit. It was awesome. “You look great, Luke?”
He hesitated, torn between preening and outrage over his costume.
Vanity won.
“I’ve lost twelve ounces! You need to use the app, Rimita! It’s made such a difference for me.”
Es la leche. Awesome. Can I please have my sexy moment back?
“Come out to dinner with me tonight. I’ll help you download it,” he continued.
“She can’t,” Maverick rumbled grumpily. “She’s having dinner at my house.”
Oh . “I am,” I agreed quickly. “So sorry, Luke. You’ll have to mansplain the app store to me some other time.”
Oblivious to the irony, Luke nodded and pranced away, probably to take selfies for his Instagram. Mabel was a genius.
A Grand Canyon–sized scowl painted Maverick’s face. He was unhappy and clearly frustrated. I started to say something, but he interrupted.
“I need to go,” he growled, tearing his eyes away. “I need to...I have things.”
Was that it? Was our “dinner” together just a social lie he’d told to rescue me? I wrapped a hand around his forearm, not sure what my next line should be. It would come to me. I’d make something up. I was pretty certain I was about to blurt out my grocery list. Random lines of poetry. Embarrass myself, in other words. Make him laugh.
I would survive.
Because I made people laugh all the time. It was literally my job, and I was amazing at it.
“Don’t go. Hold up a second. Espera un segundo. ” I tightened my grip on his arm to death grip level force, but he wasn’t trying to get away. He did, however, glare at my hand. Why, it might shrivel up and die from all that irritation. “I need to talk to you. I have some things I need to say.”
“Like what?” His eyes were amber, his voice rough. I didn’t recognize this big, irritated stranger standing in my trailer, and it had me feeling awkward and off-balance.
“I miss you,” I blurted out. This was awful. What was the advantage to honesty? I stared at his ear—he had a freckle there —and gave it my speech. “I like you. You’re a nice guy. You mean what you say and do what you mean. You’d be surprised at how many people just say stuff they have no intention of ever following up on. But I think I can count on you. And...” Going all in, I sucked in a breath and added in a rush, “And I know you said you just want to be friends and I value your friendship. But I’m lonely, but not when you’re here. With me. I want more of us, driving together in the mornings, and then back home at night, but whatever. I want to tell you secrets, like about how I’ve got magic, and sometimes it’s great and sometimes it’s a pain in the ass. I should have let you in on some stuff about the glamour. But I don’t know if you still want to know those things. Or any things. You can think of me as your friendly neighborhood relationship panhandler, standing by the freeway entrance with a sign that reads, Need help—spare change? Which means I’ll take whatever you can spare me.”
What I didn’t mention was that I’d never felt like this before. I didn’t beg people for more—or for anything, for that matter. Vulnerable was a terrible quality. Ten out of ten did not recommend. This was not a joke.
Maverick’s ear said nothing. To be fair, neither did the rest of Maverick. He was silent, clearly processing what I’d just dropped on him. To be fair, it was a lot. I was asking him to take a chance on a girl he’d only just met. A magical girl.
SUCK IT UP!!! Pull up your big girl britches, Sonnet!
But then he surprised me by stepping forward, closing the distance between us, and sliding one big hand into my hair. His other skimmed my cheek. His palms were warm, so warm, and I turned my face into them. I was cold, he was not, and so here we were.
“Sonnet.” He said my name, low and rough and so, so needy.
Maybe it was time to lose those big girl panties? Somehow, it felt okay to be less than perfect with this man. To be a little out of control.
Plus, if he kept looking at me that way, and speaking in that low, knee-trembling growl, my big girl panties would disintegrate, anyhow.
His hands tightened. Yes. Do it , I urged him. Kiss me, touch me. Love me back some. It’ll be enough. Probably.
Maybe.
Something shifted in his gaze. He didn’t rush, though, in-control predator that he was. He pulled me close, deliberate and slow, his gaze holding mine until he was so close that I couldn’t see anything, anyone, not anymore.
“Sonnet,” he whispered. “Will you?—”
I sure will. I held my breath. Whatever it is, yes.
Was he going to propose? Were we going to have sex up against the wall of my trailer? Which was the crazier of the two?
I’d take him however I could have him.
Maverick bent his head, brushing his lips over mine. My mouth chased his, the waves on his beach, straining up to reach him. One kiss, two, a third against the corner of my mouth. He made it so good. He was my reward for being vulnerable. When he kissed me again, we were too hungry for games. His mouth coaxed and promised, teased and devoured.
I clutched him through his flannel shirt, my fingers digging into his T-shirt, trying to get closer. The fierceness of his kiss surprised me, as did my panting response.
He turned us in a lazy, slow embrace and pressed me up against the wall. Yes! Fantasy level unlocked in the game of love! One strong, denim-covered thigh pressed between mine.
“I sure will,” I gasped into his mouth.
I slid my hands down, then back up again, getting my hands beneath his clothes, desperate for his warm, muscled back. He was so wonderful.
And then his delicious mouth lifted, his hands cupping my face, holding me still so he could look at me. There was no more awesome kidding.
“I missed you too,” he whispered roughly. “I did.”
His gravelly, rough voice stirred me up inside, sending shivery warmth dancing through my body. He looked like a wolf, sharp-eyed, fierce, predatory. And yet he was also all Maverick. My Maverick.
He missed me! He’s all mine! Happy dance! Happy, happy dance!
“I would love to pick you up in the mornings and take you to work.” His hands slid out of my hair. He stepped away. He put a mile between us. And then another.
I nodded dumbly. He’d kissed the words right out of me. Even so, I was beaming hopefully.
He nodded, saying, “We’ll be there on Monday.”
And then he turned on his booted foot and left.
I . . . He . . . What?
We’ll be there on Monday.
WE.
Who in the world was WE?