Page 144 of Reckless Hearts

The girl startles, blinking like I’ve caught her shoplifting. “Uh. Yeah.”

“You’re out of luck. He’s super taken.”

Maverick finally pulls back, breathing a little harder, and Colt—God bless him—is red from the neck up but still dazed enough that his lips part like he might go back in for another.

I stroll up and hand over the bag of snacks to Maverick, ignoring the girls who are now staring wide-eyed with mouths half-open. One of them is, unsurprisingly, filming this play out. They’d better saddle up because I’m about to give them an even bigger show.

I step in close and tug Colt down by the front of his shirt. His lips are still warm from Maverick’s, still parted like he’s caught between a breath and a laugh.

I kiss him slowly, like he’s mine to claim.

He exhales against my mouth, one hand finding my hip, holding me close.

Then I shift toward Maverick, slide a hand into his curls, and pull him in next. He doesn’t hesitate. He kisses me deep, with that kind of anchored certainty that still undoes me, even now. His thumb brushes my jaw like he’s grounding both of us.

When I pull back, they’re both looking at me like I hung the stars and handed them the moon.

A soda can clatters to the pavement. Someone gasps loudly enough to draw a few stares of their own.

“Oh my God. Are all three of them?”

“Did she just kiss both of them?”

“Wait. Are they, like… together?”

Maverick slings an arm around my shoulder, deadpan as ever. “Think we broke ’em.”

I sip my slushie. “Good.”

One girl blinks at me, stunned. “I mean, wow. Are you… like… is that a thing?”

“Apparently,” I say, breezing past her and back to the truck. “And it’s a damn good one.”

Colt exhales a laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “Y’all could’ve warned me.”

“You needed the reminder,” I say, popping a Twizzler into my mouth.

“I so did not need a reminder. Hell, I can promise you that I willneverneed a reminder.” He huffs, but he’s grinning now, wide and unrepentant, then winks. “But feel free to give me one anytime.”

Once the dust settles and the fans disperse, we climb back into the truck. We left Maverick’s at Colt’s parents’ house in favor of the fold-up center console making a bench seat that works perfectly for us.

I climb into the middle. Colt passes me my slushie without looking, Maverick slides the aux cord into my lap, and our hands find each other without even trying. It’s second nature now.

Colt’s thigh presses against mine, warm and steady, and none of us says anything for a while.

The engine hums low, gravel crunching beneath the tires as we pull back onto the road.

“We’re a little obvious, huh?” I say finally, glancing out the window at the open stretch ahead.

Colt chuckles, low and smug. “They’ll get used to it.”

Maverick smirks, rubbing a thumb across my knuckles. “Or they won’t. Doesn’t change a damn thing.”

The gas station fades in the rearview, slushies half-melted in the cup holders, Twizzlers passed back and forth between bites of protein bars and road trip silence.

Maverick’s hand is still in mine, Colt’s thigh pressed warm to my other side. The windows are down. The wind tangles my hair. We don’t say much.

But it’s not quiet.

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