Page 52 of Maverick

For some reason, her face goes slack, then fills with…panic? "Wait, you remember? I thought you said you don't remember things when you drink?"

"Did I? I told you that?" It's mostly true, but I feel like I would remember that conversation…unless of course we had it while I was drunk.

"Oh, no, not you. Someone at the club that night you climbed the pole. It's nothing. No big deal. Don't spend another second thinking about it," she stammers.

Not another second? Yeah, that's not going to happen. I'm going to be wracking my brain and searching my memories of that night to see if I can figure out why she looks so nervous.

I'm about to try and get some more information out of her, when my stomach betrays me. A loud, insistent growl that echoes in the quiet kitchen. Cadence bursts out laughing, her eyes dancing.

"Hungry?" she teases, pushing the plate with the other half of her sandwich towards me.

I shake my head, feeling a flush creep up my neck. "I can make my own."

I can, right? It can't be that hard. It's bread and cheese, and a hot pan. A kid could do it.

She shrugs, taking another bite. "Suit yourself."

I only need about twenty seconds of staring to figure out how to turn the burner on, then I rummage through the fridge, gathering the ingredients for a grilled cheese. Bread, butter, cheese. Simple enough. That's another perk of living with two women. There's actually food in the fridge. Not food - ingredients. To make shit with.

I slap the sandwich together and toss it in a pan on the stove. But in my sleep-deprived state, I make a rookie mistake. I stick my hand directly into the pan to check if it's hot.

Pain sears through my fingers, and I yelp, yanking my hand back. "Fuck!"

Cadence is by my side in an instant, her brows knitted with concern. "What happened?"

I hold up my hand, the pads of my fingers an angry red. "I, uh...checked if the pan was hot."

She stares at me for a beat, then shakes her head. "You...what? Why would you do that?"

I shrug, feeling like an idiot. "Seemed like a good idea at the time?"

She sighs, taking my hand in hers and pulling me towards the sink. "Lord, save me from handsome, helpless men."

The moment her skin touches mine, it's like a livewire straight to my heart. Every nerve ending in my body is suddenly awake, attuned to her presence. She turns on the cold water and guides my hand under the stream, her fingers gently cuppingmine. It's such a simple gesture, but it feels monumental. Intimate in a way that steals my breath.

She's close, so close that I can see the faint dusting of freckles across her nose and smell the vanilla of her shampoo. If I leaned in just a little, I could capture her lips with mine and finally taste the sweetness that's been haunting my dreams.

But just as I start to dip my head, she pulls back. An awkward laugh escapes her, and she drops my hand like it's burned her. "There, that should help."

I flex my fingers, already missing her touch. "Thanks."

She nods, taking a step back. And another. Putting distance between us. "Well, I should...I should get to bed. Early morning and all that."

"Right. Yeah. Of course." I babble, profound disappointment weighing me down.So fucking close.

She gives me a tight smile, then disappears down the hall. I stand there, staring after her, my heart hammering in my chest. God, I'm in trouble. So much trouble.

Because every day, every interaction, every stolen moment...it just makes me fall a little harder. Makes me want her a little more. And I don't know how much longer I'm supposed to pretend I don't.

Turning the heat off on the pan, I head to my room, my mind still reeling from the moment with Cadence in the kitchen. The space feels too small, too confining. I pace restlessly, my body thrumming with a nervous energy I can't shake.

On a whim, I strip off my work clothes and throw on some gym gear—a pair of black basketball shorts and a faded gray t-shirt that's seen better days. Maybe a workout will help clear my head.

I slip out of my room and make my way through the apartment, my footsteps muffled on the plush carpet. I pause, staring at Cadence's door. The urge to knock, to see her face onemore time before I go, is almost overwhelming. But I resist. Nan would hear me knocking, for sure. Plus I don't want to be that creepy guy.

With a sigh, I exit the apartment, making sure to close the door quietly behind me. I hit the door for the stairs, but my feet automatically take me up instead of down. I don't really need a workout. I need family.

When I reach Ransom's floor, I don't bother knocking. His door is never locked, a testament to the trust and openness that defines our family. I push it open gently, ready to turn around and leave if the place is dark and silent.

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