♥ ♥ ♥

IT’S 10:02 P.M. when I step off the elevator, dressed top to bottom in exercise gear, the laces of my sneakers double knotted, and from the blazing lights in the hotel lobby, I walk out into the cool streets. I see his hooded figure, waiting against a wall at the start of the hotel driveway.

I start to walk over and then trot, and he quietly starts trotting next to me. Silently. I follow him toward the park.

Yellow lights dot the walkway, but the deeper we head in, the darker it is. I can smell freshly cut grass. And fresh air. And guy.

Guy who makes me happy inside. And tremble.

And ache.

And yearn.

“It looks different at night. Almost mystical,” I say when we’ve been running for fifteen minutes. The sound of our feet smoothly hitting the pavement eases up as he slows his pace, and I slow mine.

We end up stopping to look at each other.

Or rather, Maverick seemed to want to look at me.

I laugh. “I’m silly.”

But when he tips my face up to the moonlight, I don’t laugh.

It’s not silly.

This is serious.

Him. And me.

I gave him my V card.

And he’s the Avenger.

And I want him.

I don’t know if being brave is stopping now or going all the way. I only know what feels good right now. I edge into the shadows, backing away from him. Maverick follows me.

We silently drop down on the grass, on our backs, and we stare above.

“Makes me sad when I stare up at the sky and can’t see any stars. It’s like all the noise in the city and the lights keep you from seeing what’s right in front of you,” I admit.

He takes my hand. “I don’t want that to happen to us.”

I turn my head.

“All the noise,” he specifies, studying me. “Keep you from seeing me. And me from seeing you.”

We’re kissing.

Completely.

I tip my head upward, and he props himself up on one elbow and leans down, grabbing the back of my head to pull me up higher so his lips—his glorious lips—can settle on mine. Firmly, without hesitation, like his mouth was made for me and mine for him.

We pause for breath, and I find myself lifting his hand in mine and stroking my fingers across his knuckles.

“Did Tate know you were coming with me?” He runs the back of one finger down my face as he asks. The touch is achingly tender, very unlike the violent passionate need in his eyes.

“No, but I think they suspect.”

His eyebrows furrow thoughtfully, and a muscle starts to flex in the back of his jaw. “Tate won’t let you spend time with me?”

“I don’t know, Maverick, but they’re not judgmental. And Remy seems to like training with you.”

“We respect each other professionally,” he says.

Once again, I stare at the scars on his knuckles. I raise my brows. “And you don’t like him at all?”

“It’s not whether I like him or not. It’s that he’s standing in my way.”

He plops down to his back and uses his arm to pull me to his side, inhaling my hair for a long, delicious second while I also discreetly inhale the soap on his shirt. “Are you close? You and the Tates?” he asks me.

“We’ve grown very close these days.” I hesitate for a second. I want to ask him about his dad. I peer up at him: “You and your dad?”

Shadows cross his face. “Not yet.”

“And you and me? Are we close?”

He looks at me with frustration. “I keep thinking of how it was being inside you. I want you that close again. All the time. I get frustrated that we can’t spend time together out in the open.”

“Is that why you asked me out for a night run?”

“Would you say yes to one by day?” He looks at me, his face in shadows.

“No, but because Racer’s awake, not because I don’t want to be seen with you.”

“It raises questions. You’re with the Tates.”

“What happened between Remy and your father? Do you know?”

“They’ve been at odds for years. Supposedly my father did anything to stop Tate. He was obsessed with beating him.” He scrapes a hand down his face, his eyebrows low over his eyes. “I have to believe there’s more to him than what I’ve heard. I have to believe that. For me.”

I’m feeling so much for him, I can’t find words.

He eyes the sky, deep in thought. “He was in an accident recently. He was driving a stolen car. Went down a cliff . . .” He shakes his head against the ground, lips pursed as if he’s struggling to be at peace with it. “He was up to his eyeballs in drugs. Had nothing on him, no ID, nothing but a picture of Tate with a target mark on him.” He exhales roughly through his nostrils, and shifts onto his shoulder. Then he softens his expression. Softens his voice. “What about you, Reese? Tell me about yourself.”

“You heard my story.” I sit up and wrap my arms around my folded legs.

He sits up and wraps his arms around his, eyeing me. “Yeah, I heard.”

I rest my chin on my knee and look at him. “I wanted you to know.”

“I’m glad I know.”

“My V card,” I say, smiling wanly when I slide my eyes shyly away and then peer sideways at him. “It was all I had left that I didn’t give to the alcohol. It was something nobody could take from me unless I chose it.”

His jaw tightens visibly, his whole face tightens visibly. He holds my gaze as he reaches out and gently runs his knuckles down my cheek. “I wanted it to be me.”

Oh god. This guy.

This. Guy.

My soft voice returns. “I wanted it to be you too. You turn on all my lights, Maverick.”

His smile flashes and proceeds to do exactly that, warming me in every shadow of my heart and mind and body, in every cloud in my soul. How does he do that?

Even Racer adores “Mavewick!”

“Racer will get jealous I got to see you and he didn’t,” I blurt out happily.

He laughs. “That little guy? He gets the most time with you. I’m jealous of him every day.”

“Ahh! But he doesn’t get my kisses.”

My eyes widen when I realize what I said, but Maverick’s eyes start to smolder so bright that I don’t regret saying that one bit.