Page 44 of Reckless Hearts

So tell me why I came to bed first, thinking I’d be passed out before him, only to end up faking sleep when he came in an hour later and then he just knocked out instantly?

It’s late, really late. After being flung off the back of a bull and slammed into the dirt, my body’s heavy with exhaustion, but my traitor of a brain is flying a mile a minute.

I’ve been lying here for four hours, each minute ticking away making me more stressed.

Eventually, I give up. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed one at a time, choking back a groan. Fire rips through my side. The bruising is worse than I thought.

I brace both hands on my knees, jaw clenched, trying not to make a sound.

The bed shifts behind me. I freeze.

A second later, I feel it. Maverick’s hand, warm and slow, sliding over my lower back. Just a touch. Just enough pressure to ground me.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

I should shrug him off. I should say I’m fine.

But I don’t.

I just nod once, still staring at the floor. His hand lingers for another beat, then slips away like it never happened.

And God help me, I miss the contact the second it’s gone.

My stomach knots, my chest too tight, my brain a mess of static. He’s already rolled back over, breathing deeply again like it meant nothing.

Maybe it didn’t.

Maybe it did.

I press the heels of my palms to my eyes and exhale, quiet and shaky.

Sleep’s not coming anytime soon.

I pull on a thin shirt. The shorts I wore to bed will have to be enough. I absolutely refused to sleep next to Maverick in nothing but my boxers.

Speaking of that asshole, I slip on his sandals because there’s no chance I’m bending down to put on boots and head outside.

Cool air lifts the hair on the back of my neck, chilling my sweat-damp skin. Maverick’s basically a furnace, heat wafting off him in waves.

Our air conditioner’s broken, which isn’t a surprise in this run-down motel, but it does have one thing going for it.

One thing that might help me survive the next few hours until the world wakes up and I’m trapped in Maverick’s truck for one of the world’s most awkward drives.

The glass door unlocks with a swipe of my key card, and I’m instantly hit with the pungent ammonia smell of chlorine.

It’s a million times more humid in here and feels like it’s coating my lungs with each inhale.

The sound of jets has my head snapping to the side. They’re on a timer, so the hot tub should be silent right now.

Two walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, and the soft moonlight illuminates the silhouette already lounging in the water.

My breath whooshes out as my head drops forward.

The odds of someone else being here are next to zero, but it perfectly fits with how my night’s going.

“You’re up late,” the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard calls out from the shadows.

I’d recognize Callie’s voice anywhere. It’s elongated with sleep, lazy vowels coming together to form the question.

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