Page 142 of Reckless Hearts

And for the first time in a long time, I’m not chasing the ride.

I’m chasing them.

Chapter 47

Callie

We’ve been backon the road for a few days, from one small town to another, but this morning moves slowly. Warm. The kind that stretches and yawns before it ever thinks about starting.

I wake up smushed between Colt and Maverick, one of Colt’s arms draped across my ribs like a seat belt while Maverick’s thigh lines my right side. The motel AC is doing its best impression of a dying animal, barely rattling out any cool air, so we’re all a little too warm. A little sticky. But I don’t mind. Not even close.

Colt groans into my hair like he’s in pain. “Coffee or death,” he mutters.

Behind me, Maverick chuckles low, amused, already awake. Probably been up since dawn, scrolling the news or checking ride stats. He shifts behind me and reaches one long arm over my shoulder, helping Colt, who won’t admit his shoulder is still sore, sit up. Maverick passes over a mug to the half-asleep Colt, who grunts his thanks.

They think they’re subtle, but come on, Maverick refilling Colt’s travel mug before the man even opens his eyes? That’s not friendship. That’s a damn love letter.

I wriggle free from under Colt’s weight and pad barefoot toward the counter, stretching out like a cat. Maverick’s already crouched by the motel’s sad little coffee station, brewing more of what Colt calls “real coffee” and what the rest of us call motor oil.

He glances up at me with a resigned expression. “He better appreciate this.”

I smile. “He won’t.”

He shrugs, like he expected as much, and goes back to stirring. There’s only enough drinkable coffee for one more cup. I really freaking want it, but I’m not so shameless to steal it from him.

Mav pours it into the mug, and I watch, trying not to sigh. Now I’ll have to wait until Colt drinks his sludge before I can make more.

“You’re pretty cute, you know that?” Maverick says in that easy, peaceful tone I’m still getting used to.

I look down at myself, wearing one of their shirts. My hair is what I’m sure is a rat’s nest of a bun, and I haven’t brushed my teeth yet. “I think we’re going to have to examine your definition of cute.”

He stirs the coffee, adding the perfect amount of creamer and sugar. “Well, the way you were pouting silently over this was definitely what I would consider cute.” Then he holds it out for me. “It’s already yours. I made sure there was enough left for you.”

Bubbles pop as they fill my chest. This new lightness is something I’ve been trying to get used to. This man’s love language is acts of service, and it’s freaking working.

I hum, taking a cautious sip of the hot liquid. “You’re pretty cute too.”

The pink flush across his cheeks just proves my point.

That low, constant current between us crackles to life.

Colt strides out of the bathroom, shirtless, leg brace in one hand, towel slung dangerously low on his hips, and reaches between us for his own mug. “You two look intense.”

He’s halfway done with his drink before I’ve had a chance to really start mine.

“You’re welcome,” Maverick mutters.

Colt grunts and takes a long sip, trying to look annoyed. He’s not. He’s smiling around the rim.

“Thanks.”

Maverick turns to me, hoodie in hand. “Cold this morning,” he murmurs, then pulls it gently over my head. It smells like him soap and cedar, and I melt a little on the spot. He presses a kiss to my temple without thinking.

My heart? Does that stupid flutter thing it’s been doing for weeks now.

Colt drops onto the corner of the bed and starts fumbling with his brace, trying to fasten it one-handed. Maverick doesn’t say anything, just crouches down and straps it into place, movements fast and familiar. Colt doesn’t move to stop him, having given up on this particular argument weeks ago.

It hits me in the quiet between their banter how much I love this. Not the chaos. Not the fame or the arenas. Just… this.

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