Page 22

“I just noticed your back pocket looked a little thin this afternoon.”

All right, fine. I was looking at his ass. It’s quite the firm masterpiece. Round and curved up into the perfect half-moon. Sue me. A girl can look.

He steps forward and sticks the card into my empty bowl of mac and cheese. I hope he made more .

Like he read my mind, his mouth quirks, and he nods to the stove. “I made extra.”

The extra IOU was worth it for another bowl.

I grin and playfully punch him in the arm, nodding to his beer. “I hope you don’t get dehydrated.”

“I hope you don’t get another IOU for getting on my nerves.”

His threat has no bite to it, and again, he knows these IOUs are just another maxed-out credit card in my wallet—a debt that will one day be paid, but not today.

I grin and toss the card he put in my bowl on the counter. “So, did you go to class today? I hear the professors don’t know what you look like. The guy in my Econ class said you were a redhead from Britain.” That comment earns me another eye roll.

“People are stupid. I go to class.”

Ehh. I’m going with a lie on that one. I never see Maverick around campus. Never. Had I seen him, I would have known who he was at Studs and Spuds.

“So, what did you do after class?”

Since I’m no longer blocking his path to freedom, he shakes his head and moves to the living room, plopping down on the couch.

Huh. That’s shocking. I felt sure he would go to his room and slam the door and not come out until I was sound asleep.

“What is this, an interrogation? Am I being accused of something, or did you try to burn another apartment down and need to know if I can be your alibi?”

I fake a laugh, doubling over but careful not to spill my cheesy goodness. “Funny. Maybe I just want to get to know you better.”

His scowl is back. “You’re better off in the dark.”

So that’s a little mafia-like. “Fine.” I move toward the sofa and sit on the coffee table—hopefully it’s good quality and doesn’t break beneath my weight. “I won’t ask about what you do every day, but you gotta do one thing for me.”

He laughs out loud, a deep rumbling sound that vibrates in his chest. “I do, do I? I thought I was already doing something for you. ”

I wave that away. “Me living here is a favor. This favor I want comes with a roommate discount.”

He leans back, a big grin on his face. “I’m listening.”

That’s progress, right? At least he didn’t laugh in my face and tell me no. Well, he did laugh in my face, but he didn’t—never mind. You know what I mean. He also didn’t squash the roommate discount proposal.

I set my bowl down on the table and ready myself for his reaction. Stay with me alcohol, I’m going to need it after this.

“I want to smell your breath.”

Give it a second. One, two—there it is—Maverick doubles over laughing, the beer in his hand spilling a little on my precious couch.

“How much wine did you drink?” He finally manages to get out between laughs.

Okay, so it came out a little weird, but I stand by my favor.

“You say I didn’t see you drink your beer since I was in the shower. Prove it to me. Let me smell your breath.”

Shh. I am a little tipsy, but still, I want to know. I need to know some of his truth.

“What are you doing, Ainsley?” His tone turns serious.

“I want to know if you’re lying.”

His eyes narrow and his jaw clenches, the prominent muscle in his cheek flexing, making his bone structure look even more chiseled—if that’s even possible.

“I didn’t realize I had to prove I drink my own beverages to guests in my house.”

I was prepared for him to get mean.

Still don’t care.

“You don’t,” I tell him, a light tone to my voice. “But I’d like to know that I can trust you.”

“You can’t trust me.”

His jaw is still tight, and he seems serious.

“I think I can.”

“I think you’re drunk. ”

And here we go again.

“I think you like people to believe you’re this big bad, beer-drinking, poker-playing god. But really, you’re just a water drinking nerd.”

His head rears back like I slapped him.

Maybe I went too far this time? I need to know, though. “Are you plastic like everyone else?”

Plastic. Imposter. Fake. It doesn’t matter what word I use. The question still means the same.

“I want to know the truth.”

It takes him a second, digesting my words, but then he relaxes and settles back into the couch, lifting one hip and fishing out those damn cards. Ugh. Have we not been over this? These don’t scare me anymore. I mean, they do, but they don’t. They are future Ainsley’s problem.

“Okay, Ainsley. I’ll play,” he says finally. “You want to see me drink this beer?”

I nod, ever so softly. “Yes.”

“You think I’m fake?” His voice has taken on a hard edge, and I’m not sure I want to keep playing this game. It’s taken a trip down the serious hill. But still, I’m a sucker for the truth.

“I do.”

“You think I’m not drinking the beers I keep buying at the store every week?”

He says it all sarcastically, like I should feel stupid for thinking such things. Trust me; I don’t. I feel pretty confident I’m right on this one.

“Again, I do.”

He smirks and settles back into the couch.

“All right. Let’s see how much it’s worth to you.” He flips the playing cards between his fingers, like a threat.

“I thought we were doing the roommate discount?”

I already know the answer to my question.

“You forget, I don’t do freebies. ”

I didn’t forget. I was just hoping I had grown on him a little, enough for him not to consider everything with me a deal.

Whatever. I didn’t grow boobs overnight. Maverick needs a little more time.

“How about we up the ante?” I offer like a complete fool. “Make it like a poker game? If I’m right, you have to take back one of my cards and owe me a favor. If I’m wrong, I’ll owe you two favors.”

“That’s not how this works.” That’s what his voice says, but his eyes say something else. At the mention of a bet, those midnight irises go hungry.

“Are you scared I might win?” I tease. “Come on, it’ll be like a twofer, right?”

He licks his lips.

Come on, take the bet.

“The big bad Maverick isn’t nervous, is he?”

He shakes his head after a moment of just staring at me as if this has been the most ridiculous afternoon he’s ever had. Which, I’ll admit, this probably ranks pretty high up there for me too.

“I mean, if you’re scared, then don’t worry about it.” I shrug. “I know I’m right anyway.”

That gets him. You never threaten a poker player with being scared. Maverick watches me intently for a few more seconds before saying, “Deal,” and leans back on the couch, allowing his knees to fall open.

“All right, Ainsley. Come smell my breath.”

He pats his leg with his free hand.

Shit. I really did not think this through. Too late now, though. I inch slowly, heart in my throat at what could possibly be severe indigestion, and swallow past the nerves.

“Closer.” He coaxes. “Can’t smell my breath from there.”

Ugh. “You can lean forward more,” I whine.

It’s not like he doesn’t look all sexy and snuggly, but I’m starting to have doubts now that he is allowing me to follow through with this crazy bet .

I inch in further with my hands braced along his muscular thighs, until we’re nose to nose, staring into each other’s eyes, a silent challenge hanging between us. I’m usually not that competitive of a person, but Maverick Lexington brings out the challenger in me.

“Breathe on me,” I tell him. We’re close enough that I don’t need to get any closer.

A smile forms on his face before it turns into something more sinister.

Ah hell. He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?

He opens his mouth and, with his free hand, grabs the back of my neck, holding me close. I’m tense, holding still and waiting on his breath to hit my nose, but instead, a cold liquid splashes my cheek, dripping down into my mouth as he takes a big drink between us.

“Hey!” I cry. “You cheated!” I try to pull away and wipe my face—what the fuck?

—but Maverick shoves me backward, my back hitting the table, and my legs pinned between his.

A crash sounds outside, and a quick look shows he tossed the bottle out on the patio.

The glass shatters, and there’s no time to scold him.

Before I know it, his face pushes against mine, his nose angled just so.

His chest his heaving, pounding against my own.

Stormy eyes, filled with fury lock onto mine before he presses his lips to mine, his hands spanning my jaw to the back of my head, tilting me back and opening my mouth.

Bitter and warm, the beer floods my mouth, and I have no other option but to swallow it.

It glides down my throat, lighting my body up with heat as Maverick replaces it with his tongue.

My hands are at his head, pushing? Pulling?

I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t tell if I’m so mad that I’m turned on or if his crazy speaks to my crazy, and I want to fuck him out of my system.

Is this what losing it feels like? My hands are in his hair, pulling and kneading, taking everything he won’t say as he licks and sucks my bottom lip, exploring my mouth as if he could do it all day without tiring.

And then it’s over, just like that. Maverick pulls away and licks the remaining beer off my cheek before swiping his tongue along his lips.

I don’t miss a beat.

“You still cheated.”

He leans back casually like we just didn’t devour each other’s faces.

“You didn’t say I couldn’t continue to drink my beer. You only asked to smell my breath.”

“Which you didn’t let me do,” I add.

He leans in and breathes on my face. “Happy?”

Have you freaking ever? This man.

“Now, if you’re done doing cavity searches, I’ll be in my room.”

He stands, righting me by the shoulders so I don’t topple over, and grabs the marker and a couple of cards. He does his thing with them and tosses them onto the sofa. “Nice playing with you, James. Next time, know your opponent better.”

Then he strides to his room and closes his door.

Are you freaking kidding me?

I want to yell that he still cheated, and this doesn’t count, and these cards are just wasted on me.

I do not plan on fulfilling these favors.

Let him do with me what he wishes. I sweep the cards off the couch and head to the kitchen for the broom.

Someone has to clean the glass up from the patio.

I rather enjoy sitting and watching the sun come up, and I prefer not to need stitches when I forget there’s glass on the floor.

Better to clean it up now since clearly Maverick’s ass isn’t going to.

Frustrated, I drag the broom over the chunks of glass and get as much up as I can. I reach for the bin Maverick keeps out here just for his empty beer bottles and stop.

“Are you fucking serious?” I say to no one.

A fire extinguisher awaits on the small table next to the chair Maverick usually sits on. He has some nerve. I pick it up and notice it’s full. The label lists that it’s a Class A extinguisher, which will smother fires containing cloth, wood, rubber, paper, and plastics .

Such a thoughtful smartass my roomie is.

I’m shaking my head, containing a stupid grin when a rolled piece of paper falls out of the handle.

Unrolling it, I read it aloud. “Some people are meant to burn, and others are meant to rise from their ashes.”

What? What does that mean?

I look at the table again and spot it.

There, lying face up in an ashtray is the picture of Tucker and me that Maverick caught me looking at when we were moving me out of my apartment. At the time, he smashed the frame and took the picture, stuffing it into his pocket. I hadn’t thought about it since.

But he did.

He held onto it until today.

I re-read the note and pick up the picture, a lighter hiding underneath.

Some people are meant to burn, and others are meant to rise from their ashes.

And then I set that bitch on fire.