Page 105 of Reckless Hearts

I laugh, free and full, and Colt’s chest shakes beneath me.

Maverick just shakes his head, lips twitching, but there’s a softness in his eyes that’s impossible to miss.

We were kids then. We’re not now.

But somehow, lying here in the sun, it feels like we found our way back to something we thought we’d lost.

After a while, Maverick’s fingers find their way into the ends of my hair.

He twists a few strands together, the movements slow and sure, like he’s done it a hundred times before.

The tug is gentle, a comforting pull that has my eyes drifting shut without meaning to.

I can feel the occasional brush of his knuckles against the nape of my neck, cool and calloused, making my skin prickle in response.

He works quietly, threading my damp hair into a simple braid, and ties it off at the end with a blade of grass he plucks from the ground.

I smile into Colt’s shirt, feeling the faint rumble of his laughter beneath me, even if he doesn’t make a sound.

No one says a word about it.

We were always like this, touchy, tangled up.

Colt used to drape himself across the couch with his feet in my lap. Maverick would braid my hair just to have something to do with his hands.

It was never romantic.

It was just… us.

Now, it’s more.

Now, there’s a charge under the softness. A slow, simmering ache that tightens my chest and twists low in my belly.

But the bones of us. The heart of it. It’s still there.

Solid. Familiar. Home.

I shift slightly, leaning my shoulder into Maverick’s knee in silent thanks. His fingers linger in my hair a second longer before letting go.

The sun warms our skin. The river murmurs beside us.

And for one perfect moment, everything is exactly the way it should be.

On the way back, I lean my head against the window, and listening to the two of them, a feeling of rightness, contentment, and familiarity hums under my skin as they bicker back and forth.

“You drive like a pissed-off raccoon on meth,” Colt says.

“You drive like you’re ninety-five and blind.”

Later, we find a diner that serves greasy burgers and milkshakes so thick you can stand a spoon upright in them.

Colt demolishes his food like he hasn’t eaten in a week. Maverick methodically dismantles his burger like he’s studyingit for weaknesses. I steal their fries and pretend to be innocent when they glare at me.

The waitress calls me “sugar” and flirts shamelessly with Maverick, who blushes so hard I have to duck my head to hide my laugh.

Colt catches my eye across the table, his grin lazy and full of some secret only we know.

My heart squeezes so tight it’s almost painful.

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