Page 144 of Knotting the Cowboys

The thumb stills.

I watch a muscle in his jaw twitch, see the way his lips fight not to curve upward.

There's a glint in his green eyes when he glances down at me, playful and almost sheepish, so at odds with his usual intensity that my chest does something complicated.

"I'm gonna be the next champion, watch." He says it with such false seriousness that I can't help the laugh that bubbles up, surprising us both.

"Candy Crush," I repeat, because my brain still can't reconcile this image—Maverick Cross, all sharp edges and calculated moves, playing the most mundane mobile game in existence."You. Playing Candy Crush."

"It's strategic," he defends, but his ears are turning pink. "Requires planning, pattern recognition, resource management?—"

"It's matching candy." The giggle escapes before I can stop it, and then I'm truly laughing, the kind that makes my whole body shake. "Oh my god, you're actually trying to justify—Mavi, it's Candy Crush!"

"And I'm very good at it," he says with wounded dignity, but he's fighting a smile now too, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Level 847, I'll have you know."

"Eight hundred—" I have to press my face into his shoulder to muffle my laughter. "How long have you been playing?"

"A while." He's definitely blushing now, and it's possibly the most endearing thing I've ever seen. This man who probably knows a dozen ways to kill someone with a paperclip, reduced to embarrassment over a mobile game addiction.

My laughter finally subsides into occasional giggles, and I realize I'm still pressed against him, probably overstaying my welcome in his personal space. But when I start to shift away, his arm comes around my shoulders, holding me gently in place.

"How'd you sleep?" The question is soft, loaded with genuine concern. "You were out cold for almost three hours."

Three hours.

I've been using him as a pillow for three hours, and he just... let me. The thought creates warmth in my chest that has nothing to do with physical temperature.

"Best sleep I've had in ages," I admit, surprising myself with the honesty. "I usually can't—since the fire, I don't sleep well. Always waking up thinking I smell smoke, or that I'm trapped, or..." I trail off, not wanting to dump my trauma on him.

"Cole mentioned you've never nested." His tone is carefully neutral, but I can feel the tension in his shoulder where my head still rests. "That Iron Ridge never taught you about it."

The familiar shame creeps up my spine. Another basic Omega thing I'm supposed to know but don't. "I haven't, no. Guess I didn't realize it was a bad thing that would catch up to me." I try for casual, like this massive gap in my education doesn't bother me. "I'll look into it when we get back, see what I need and if it fits the budget?—"

"Whoa." He shifts to look at me properly, eyebrow arched in a way that makes my stomach flip. "When it comes to you, everything fits in the budget. In fact," his voice drops, goes serious in a way that brooks no argument, "there is no budget when it comes to you."

Heat floods my cheeks.

"Mavi, you can't just?—"

"I can and I will." His fingers find my hair again, gentle but possessive. "We take care of what's ours, Willa. That includesmaking sure you have everything you need to feel safe and actually rest."

Ours.

The word sits between us, heavy with implication. I should protest, should establish boundaries, should do something other than melt under his touch like chocolate in the sun. Instead, I duck my head, overwhelmed by the casual declaration of care.

"Are you hungry?" He changes the subject smoothly, probably sensing my emotional overload. "There's a place?—"

"I'm fine," I say quickly, not wanting to impose more than I already have. "We should probably just head back?—"

My stomach chooses that moment to release a growl so loud it echoes in the truck's cabin. We both freeze, staring at my midsection like it's personally betrayed me.Which, honestly, it has.

"That," Mavi says slowly, "did not sound fine."

I groan, covering my face with my hands.

"My body has no sense of timing or loyalty."

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm.

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