Page 58 of Maverick

My grip tightens around my fork, and Jonas eyes me, a shit disturber look on his face. This motherfucker is having fun.

"Now I want pickles," Nick mutters, heading back to the kitchen and yanking open my fridge. "You have so much stuff in here!"

"In the door honey," Nan says, grinning widely, apparently unfazed by the chaos. That's a hard quality to find in, well, anyone. Teachers, girlfriends, co-workers, all of them have been annoyed by this shit. But none of the women at the table seem bothered. Cadence and Nan fit right into my family, and if that isn't fucking meant to be, I don't know what is.

"Aha!" Nick crows, holding the jar up. He flicks the lid off and goes to stick his finger in the jar. All four women clear their throats and stare at him. Grinning, he winks and grabs a fork from the drawer. Then holding the fork in his fist, stabs at the tops of the pickles, cheering for himself when he finally spears one. Jonas wanders a little closer, peering in the jar, then snatches the pickle off of Nick's fork and runs to the corner of the room, stuffing it in his mouth.

"Jonas you asshole. Get your own."

"This is my own," Jonas mumbles, mouth full.

Nan snickers and clears her throat, bringing us back to the matter at hand. "So, pickleball? Are you boys still interested?"

Nick and Jonas exchange a glance, then nod eagerly. "Hell yeah," Nick says. "I've always wanted to play Pickleball."

"You didn't even know what it was a few minutes ago," I point out. He shoots me the middle finger, and smiles at Nan.

"I do not want to stay home by myself," Jonas says, eyeballing the jar Nick has clutched to his chest. "I still do not understand what the game is, but I'll go with you."

"You'll have to sign a waiver," she tells them.

Seriously? What the fuck are we getting ourselves into?

19

CADENCE

Islide into the vinyl booth across from Janey and Bree, the worn cushion sighing beneath me. The familiar scent of grease and coffee wraps around us like a comforting hug. Thank god these girls aren't pretentious. I was worried I'd get dragged into some upscale place with all white walls and white tablecloths and I'd have to spend the whole meal picking dog hair off of the furniture. This old diner is more my style. The cracked booths, smell of old coffee and the line out the door tells me we're in for some good food.

I can’t even remember how many places like this I’ve worked in over the years. Good blue collar customers, big portions, and respectable tips. Everything a girl needs to support her dog rescue.

Thankfully, the women are as hungry as I am, so we decide quickly and rattle off our orders to the waitress, then settle back to chat.

"So," Janey leans forward, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, "spill. How's life at Casa de Maverick?"

I fiddle with the napkin dispenser, my reflection warped in the chrome. "It's... fine." I'm hopeful that they'll accept thatanswer and move on to other topics, but I'm out of luck. And honestly, I need to talk this shit out…I think.

Bree arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Fine? That's it?"

I sigh, the dam inside me cracking. "No, it's not just fine. It's hard, okay? He's hard in like…all the right places." The words tumble out, a confession I've been holding back. "I'm trying to stay out of Maverick's way, but it's like the universe is conspiring against me."

Janey and Bree exchange a look, a silent conversation passing between them. "What do you mean?" Janey prompts gently.

I rub my temples, getting all warm just thinking about it. "Just this morning, I was in the kitchen, minding my own business, when Maverick walked in wearing nothing but his underwear." The heat rises in my cheeks at the memory of his toned body, the way his muscles and warm skin felt bumping into me.

Bree's eyes widen, a grin spreading across her face. "Oh my god, seriously?"

I nod, my fingers twisting the napkin into a tight coil. "And it's not just that. It's like every time I turn around, he's there, half-dressed and looking like a goddamn snack." I groan, dropping my head into my hands. "It's torture, trying to keep my hands to myself."

Janey reaches across the table, her hand warm on my arm. "Oh, honey. I can't even imagine how tough that must be."

I peek out from between my fingers to glare at her, but her smile only gets bigger. She’s good at that, saying sympathetic things with a ‘watch me play my little tiny violin for you’ energy.

"It's not just the physical stuff, though. It's the way he is with Nan, how kind and patient he is. And the way he looks at me sometimes, like I'm the best thing he's ever seen, anddesperately wants a taste." I shake my head, an exhausted sigh crossing my lips. "I'm in trouble, guys. Like, huge."

Bree leans back, her arms crossed over her chest. "Sounds like you've got it bad, Cady. But what are you going to do about it?"

I shrug, the weight of uncertainty heavy on my shoulders. "I don't know. I can't risk losing this living situation, not when Nan is doing so well. But I also can't keep pretending like I don't have feelings for him."