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“Thanks, Gabe.”

“Won’t you say hello to me, Reesey?” Miles asks, waiting.

“Hi, Miles,” I say.

I used to leap at the opportunity to kiss his cheek, but it’s too clean-shaven and white, and I hesitate. I lean over and briefly brush my lips to his jaw.

Miles leans back with a frown. “You look different.” He eyes me.

“She looks radiant! You look so . . . fit!” Avery says, disgruntled.

“I can see that,” Miles says, studying me in appraisal.

I would’ve killed for this look before. But it’s such a lukewarm look after the smoldering ones I’ve gotten lately. I’m amazed how unaffected I am. I’m amazed by how much distance puts things in perspective.

The three of them look different to me.

Miles sits there, the computer wizard that he is. Preppy and confident and just a tad too smug.

Gabe is outspoken and chill, but half the things he says are bullshit.

And Avery . . .

I never really knew Avery. She’s always with Gabe and Gabe is always with Miles, and Miles, for some reason, liked to hover around me.

I wonder why I liked to hover around him too, and then wonder if maybe I’d truly felt so lonely, I’d rather have them than no one at all?

I’m not real with them, and I guess, neither are they with me.

I realize now that they always seem careful and distrustful around me. As if they believe I’m falling off the wagon any second now.

They order drinks. “She’ll have water.” Miles signals at me.

I smile. I used to be grateful that he looked out for me. Now I’m annoyed that he feels the need to make the decision for me, the request of water for me.

“I’ll have a sparkling water with lime,” I say. “Thanks.”

“Spill the beans, Reese. What does it feel like to travel the country and be part of all the excitement?” Avery asks.

“I spend more time with Racer than anyone else, and he’s very exciting. ER visits included.”

“Ohmigod, poor you. Why even work during the summer?” Avery asks, pulling Gabe’s arm tighter around her shoulders. “You should’ve come to the fight with us,” she says. “The eye candy was ridiculous!”

“Reese is immune to all that, she likes brains rather than brawn, right, Reese?” Miles says.

“I like both, actually,” I say.

Miles lifts his brows. And I lift mine back.

“Riptide is scrumptious. Avenger is absolutely wicked! He’s scary though,” Avery continues.

“Dude, I’d piss my pants faced with that,” Gabe says, laughing.

“Speaking of.” Miles stretches his arm out on the seat behind me. “So the one-on-one with Riptide? You think that’s possible?” he asks.

“It would be incredibly cool,” Gabe seconds.

I shift forward. Not liking Miles’s arm near me. It’s new for me, and it makes him shift a little closer.

Our drinks arrive, and I’m reaching for my sparkling water when the waiter sets a penny right on the corner of my napkin.

I blink and look at it, and my stomach starts whirling. I lift my head and anxiously scan the crowd. I don’t notice Miles, Avery, and Gabe are looking behind my shoulder, in shock. I don’t notice how my body is starting to crackle. I don’t notice how my heart is speeding. I don’t notice anything but the fact that I’m scanning the crowded club for a glimpse of dark hair, gorgeous metal eyes, and my rebel maverick.

And with the achingly delicious make-out song of “Madness” by Muse in the background, I start when I see a flash of dark hair in my peripherals.

Lips against my ear whispering, “Dance with me. . . . ”

He takes my hand without waiting for my reply, the hand clutching the penny. He takes it from my fingers and, when he wraps his arm around me, slips the penny into the little pocket at the hip of my dress.

We’re in the center of the dance floor.

We stand there, among the shimmering dresses, the bustling bodies, the noise. At the booth, my friends are gaping. Avery is doing Maverick with her eyes and I don’t want her to look at him. I don’t want anyone to look at him. He’s
mine.

He’s looking down at me, jaw clenched a little in frustration, eyes smoldering with desire.

I check him out in his worn jeans and the soft T-shirt he’s wearing. He looks freshly showered and shaven. There’s a light shade of purple, high on one cheekbone, and it only accentuates his hotness.

I can’t breathe or concentrate or think when Maverick slides his arm around my waist.

I feel drunk. I’m a puddle in his arms.

His lips curl a little when I can’t move, and he takes my wrists to wrap them around his neck. “You don’t dance, Reese?” he teases me huskily. “You put one hand here”—he settles it on the back of his neck—“the other one here”—he settles that one on the back of his neck too. “You let me pull you close.” He does. Until our bodies are flush and I can feel him and I’m alive. And he whispers in my ear, “And you move with me.”

His hands open on my hips and splay outward, to encompass my ass.

This ass is mine. . . .

I lift my head, and he looks wicked. Smiling wickedly. I’m drunk with the sight of him.

His gaze flicks to my mouth, and I can feel him kiss me.

I suddenly press a little closer, then he whispers in my ear, “That’s right, Reese,
dance with me
,” and he reaches up to slide his hands down my bare arms, over my shoulders, down my curves as we start dancing.

He just fought. He just got into the finals, and I know this because I was clinging to news from the team like a junkie. Testosterone pulses through Maverick’s body in the usual fighter’s high, and I grab his jaw and press my lips to his, then quickly embrace him and keep moving with him as I whisper, “You’re going to the finals.”

He whispers back to me through the music, “That’s right. And I want you there with me.”

We’re still moving, but he eases back to put a few inches between us and study my face. His face is raw. His eyes are hungry.

There’s something more than desire in his eyes. There’s something primal.

And I think Maverick wants me for Christmas.

And for Thanksgiving. And Easter.

And I think Maverick wants me right now.

On the dance floor.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, the square muscles that are straining his shirt. “Miles was my sponsor in AA,” I say, close to his ear so he can hear me through “Rollercoaster” by Bleachers. “AA prefers for heterosexual men and women not to sponsor each other, but I thought he genuinely wanted to help. He kept telling me that he saved me. And I thought I was in love with him because he gave me a chance to try to find myself. But a real man would’ve told me the truth. That I saved myself.”

“That just makes me want to pull out his testicles and feed them to the asshole.”

He pulls me a little closer, looking down at me in frustration, rawer and rawer as the music hums and beats around us. Bodies move, but the fire inside this building is alive as Maverick presses my body to his.

He lifts his head and scans the second-story balcony of the club, then stops dancing. Lacing my fingers in his, he leads me up the stairs and stalks purposely down the hall, peering into some curtained private rooms. He spots an open blue velvet curtain and he pulls it wider for me, tugging me inside, and I wait. Anticipation and nerves and need and love swirl around me as I stare at his back as he closes the velvet to the tiny private room with its cushioned bench a few feet away.

“Hey.” He comes over and takes one of my hips in his hand, pressing me back against the wall, eyes on my face. “I don’t like the way he looks at you. I don’t like him looking at you at all.”

“I hadn’t noticed he was looking at me, only sensed that
you
were close—”

He cuts me off, saying,
Not close enough.

Lips taking mine. Tongue flashing into my mouth, his hands gripping my ass, squeezing my ass, lifting me by the ass and pressing me to his erection. “He’s looking at you like you’re his. And you’re not. You’re
not
his, Reese.” He sucks my tongue, commanding and without restraint as his fingers fly down the front buttons of my demure black wavy-skirt club dress.

“Did you wear this for him?” He touches the skirt of my dress, lifting it a bit before dropping it.

“No, I wore it for me,” I lie. “Because it’s soft and comfortable and it didn’t take up too much space in my suitcase.”

He grits his teeth as if he wanted me to say I wore this dress for
him
—my rebel maverick—and I breathlessly admit, “I bought it today thinking of you.”

“Fuck, I wanted you to say that.” He sets his forehead on mine as he runs his hand up the side of my dress. “You’re right, it’s soft, but your skin is softer and I want to take it off.” He dips his head lower and bites the top edge of my bra. He pulls it down roughly with his teeth, exposing me. Then his mouth is at the peak, drawing it in. Sucking and suctioning, licking and tasting me.

I’m seeing stars.

I reach out to grip his shirt—touch him.

His body is humming from the fight, and he still wants to fight Miles and I know it. He’s gritting his teeth in frustration as he lifts me and all his muscles are around me. I gasp against his throat and drag my mouth over any part of him I can kiss, taste, bite. “Are you jealous?” I whisper.

He looks at me with a bleak frown. “Of course I’m jealous; you wanted a future with Miles.”

But now I want one with you,
I want to say.

Now I only want you.

I can’t talk, I’m so turned on. “Not”—I start to bite—“anymore,” I strain out. I hungrily bite his jaw, his chin. I can feel his breath, coming out fast with arousal. I bite his lip and he nips me back and suckles my lower lip, then he shoves his fingers into my panties. “Oh!” I say.

He uses his teeth and tongue to unhook the front of my bra. “It’s just me now, Reese.”

“Yes.”

Ohmyfuckinggod. His teeth. His fingers.

Pure heat blazes in his eyes. He’s gritting those teeth, feral as he looks at me. I snake my hands up to his shoulders, sinking in my nails. I claw them down his backside, then shove my hands into the back pockets of his jeans and sink my nails into his ass to pull him closer. He grinds himself to me, fingering me and pinning one of my arms to the wall and lacing his fingers through mine. He squeezes my hand and gives me a soul-crushing kiss that squeezes around my heart.

I wanted to see him fight. I wanted to be at his corner. I wanted to see him tonight and here he is. Not only letting me look at him in his most testosterone-filled moments after a fight, but having him see
me
. As he holds me here. Pinned. Helpless. A horny mess. In love. In want. Fingered and kissed and reckless and palpitating for my jealous Maverick.

I’m starting to shudder and bubble out incoherencies. He says, “Hold my neck and don’t let go of me.”

He takes out his finger, pulls my panties off, and when I grab his neck to frantically climb him, he quickly unzips and thrusts and takes me. We groan. His hands squeeze my flesh as he moves. Pounding into me. So
hard,
like he needs me to live. Catching my moans with his mouth. Squeezing my ass as he drives into me. It’s pure raw, pure need, him needing to be inside me and me needing him there. Here. Here. Frustrated. Desperate. Faster. Deeper. Our mouths fusing and moving and out of control until my body convulses, and he comes and holds me tighter to him.

“You’re spending the night with me.” He fastens my bra, then lifts his gaze. “All night?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I say flippantly.

He frowns, but his lips quirk as he grabs my hand and takes me out. I can’t breathe or concentrate or think when Maverick leads me back to the table.

A new song starts just as we sit down in the booth.

He sits beside me, and my friends all go mute as he stares at them. No, not them. He stares at Miles, singling him out immediately.

I struggle to find a way to introduce him. “Guys,” I say, and put my hand on his thigh as he stretches his arm behind me and curls his hand on the back of my neck. “Miles, Avery, Gabe, this is . . . Maverick.”

“I think I just shit my pants,” Gabe says.

Miles purses his lips in displeasure.

Avery is about to burst with excitement. “You . . . you two . . . know each other, Reese?” she declares, eyes wide.

Maverick waits for me to speak.

I don’t know how to explain him to them.

How to explain my avenger to anyone?

“Hey, Reese. Can I talk to you?”

Maverick is just staring at Miles. Especially after he said that.

His orgasm tamed him . . . somewhat. But he’s still putting out dangerous airs and watching Miles like he’s the next man to hit the canvas—and soon. “Is something wrong?” I ask Miles.

Miles looks tortured. “I wanted to talk to you . . . alone. About . . .” He looks at Maverick, then at me. “I’ve been thinking about you . . .” he begins.

“Hey, dude.” Maverick leans forward, his face as harsh and violent as I’ve ever seen it. “She’s with me.” He takes the back of my neck and pulls me back into his arm, keeping it around me and silently looking at Miles after that.

Miles scoffs. “A guy like you? For how long? Huh?”

Maverick cuts him a cocky smile. And he keeps it simple as always. “Forever.”

♥   ♥   ♥

WE’VE BEEN IN
the club for a half hour—Maverick and I stealing heated looks and touches of each other—when Maverick’s gaze trains on two guys coming in our direction. One looks Native American, beautiful and olive-skinned, with dreads tied into a ponytail that hangs down his back. The other has closely cropped hair and a big diamond earring and a thousand rings on his hands and bracelets on his arm. They’re both wearing T-shirts that read
we’re here for the fight.

“
Fuck
, man, the flight delays just pissed us off. Heard you took over,” the one with the jewelry says as Maverick stands to slap his back.

The one with the dreads leans over to pop an olive from Gabe’s drink into his mouth. “Hey, people, I’m starved,” he says, and then he straightens and looks at Maverick. “You fucking lethal cunt, you’re an asshole, you know that? You wiped it clean tonight and didn’t wait for us?”