“I don’t know. I couldn’t let it go. I had you with me.” I see it in his palm and try to snatch it back up, and he squeezes his palm shut.

“Uh-uh.” He shakes his head. “Earn it.”

“Come on. Be gentlemanly.”

“Earn it.”

I laugh and playfully slap his shoulder, and his eyes dance; I can tell he loves my teasing slaps and that it doesn’t hurt him one bit.

He falls sober the next moment.

“Sorry about Racer. You love the little guy,” he says then, setting the penny aside.

“Very much. He was mad at me after a while and didn’t want to be with me. I felt like shit. So rejected.”

He kisses me. “You lose some, you win some.”

I grab his head and kiss him. “I need to go.”

He glances at the clock. “Yeah, I need to train.” He flops to his back and exhales happily.

I do the same. “People in love mimic each other, did you know? I read that somewhere. One grabs their hair and the other unconsciously does that.”

“When you grab your hair, makes me want to grab your hair too, not grab mine.”

I laugh and cuddle a little. “You’re funny.”

“No.” He sounds grumpy now.

“You have a sense of humor.”

“I’m just happy right now.”

“Really?” I ask, raising my brows.

He raises his pointedly. “Really.”

“See! You just lifted your brows like me.”

He groans and shakes his head. “Don’t even, Reese. I’m not a couple-y kind of guy. I don’t do costumes and I definitely don’t do matching costumes and I don’t do anything other people do.”

“That’s fine. Just do me.”

He smacks my butt as I get out of bed and squeezes it and pulls me down and kisses me. “You’re out of control, girl. Someone needs to keep an eye on you twenty-four/seven. I volunteer.”

I kiss him again, then I slap his chest playfully. “I’m going now,” I warn.

He sits up too and strokes my hair, then lowers me to his knee and looks down at my nipples and plays with them. “I’m going for a run with Tate today. I’m going to tell him about us. I want this out in the open.”

Butterflies wake up vigorously in my stomach. “Okay.”

He looks up at me meaningfully. “I want to take you to dinner tomorrow, after the semifinals.”

“Ummm.” Shit. I twist my mouth to the side as I think about how to phrase it. “Maverick, I wanted to talk to you about that. You see . . . tomorrow Miles is in town, and my other friends. I’m supposed to meet up with them once Brooke gets back from the fight.”

His eyebrows shoot up, then he narrows his eyes. “You want me to hang back while you go frolicking with Miles?”

I slap his thigh playfully. “Yes, because he’s just a friend. He’s always been just a friend. I thought . . .” I shake my head. “Maverick, I didn’t know the real thing.”

He narrows his eyes even more.

But, I admit, the possessive look I see there thrills me a little.

No, a lot.

Maverick not only looks possessive, but he sounds possessive too. “You’ll go out with them after the fight, but you won’t come to watch my fight? Reese?” he says, frowning and cupping my breast again, as if to remind me who makes me moan.

I drop on the bed, tug the sheet up, and playfully hide my breasts from him. “You said you didn’t want me there because I’d fuck with your head.”

He tugs the sheet back down to look at me, then he rubs my breast tips with the pads of his thumbs. “I said that before. Before I wanted you so badly on my side.”

My eyes close.

“What? No slap?” he teases.

I slap his shoulder, then set my hand there, possessively too. I squeeze his hard arm, with meaning, though it hardly budges at all.

“I’ll meet my friends tomorrow. And I’ll find a way to make it to the championship match. To see you.” I get up then and wait for his answer.

He nods at that, slowly, his gaze a little threatening. “Just remember.” He cups my butt as he stands and gently bites the top of my ear. “This ass is mine.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

SEMIFINALS

Maverick

I’m ready.

I’m tapping my foot restlessly on the concrete floor of the Boston warehouse. It’s the second night of semifinals in Boston. Tate fought yesterday and won. Still undefeated, still ranked at first. I’m currently third.

I’ve been training like a beast and eating like a caveman, and I feel primitive now. Ready to take my place in the Underground tonight.

Oz says the place is packed. He’s told me a dozen times that I need to take out every single fighter out there. Some bigger, some faster, all of them more experienced, but not a single fucking one of them is as determined as I.

Most of the fighters out there do it for the money. Yeah. Boatloads of green are fine, but green is the least of my driving forces.

I watch Oz finish strapping on my gloves and think of the run I had with Tate yesterday. We didn’t say a word for seven miles. The conversation with him began and ended when we finished and guzzled down our electrolyte drinks. The conversation went like this:

Me: Reese and I are dating. And it’s serious.

Tate: Good. I’m serious about what I said too.

Me: Good.

Tate: You love her?

Me: Adore her.

Tate: Then there’s nothing more to say except don’t cheat, don’t hurt her, and don’t make her regret choosing you.

And I won’t. I fucking won’t. Even if tonight, I’m simmering in frustration over the fact that my girl will be all around town with Miles.

I want her here. With me. Or anywhere safe. Anywhere but with Miles.

“That fucker won’t have a thing for you.”

“Hmm?”

“Toro,” Oz assures me.

I know I’m glaring, but I’m too mad to do anything else. “I thought you meant Miles.”

“Oh, dammit, Maverick, you think Miles holds a candle to you?” Oz scowls protectively. “Nobody does!”

“Oz.” I laugh at last, then run my hand through my hair. “Never felt this way before. You know? I don’t like not knowing what I’m up against. What he’s like. What she saw in him.”