Page 1 of Let it Crackle
Chapter 1
Maya
Today is the kind of day that makes me think the universe is hell-bent on humbling me.
First, I spill hot coffee down the front of my blouse before even making it through the library doors. I can’t rush home and change, since I’m already late and it’s my turn to open the library, a task that takes about five times as long as I maneuver keys, crutches, and the remains of my coffee. Then I realize my backup flats are sitting miles away on my bedroom floor, which means I’m stuck hobbling around in my sister’s shoe, which is so tight that it hurts even more than my sprained ankle. The cherry on top? The barcode scanner cable at the front desk chose violence and decided to detach itself from the terminal like it’s trying to escape this day too.
So now here I am—on my knees, crouched under the front desk with one crutch thrown off to the side, dress bunched up awkwardly, and my butt in the air as I try to fish the stupid cable from behind the shelves.
“For fuck’s sake, where’s the damn—”
A throat clears behind me. I freeze. My ass is still in midair, facing this person. No. No, no, no.
Please let that be Marcie from reference services. Or Mrs. Gordon from the book club who always forgets where the restrooms are.
My hair is sticking to my face, my ankle is throbbing, and I already know—I justknow—this interaction is going to be awful. Like the rest of my day so far. I straighten slowly, wincing as I shove my skirt down and brush dust off my thighs. And the first thing I see?
Sneakers. Men’s sneakers. Large, worn, planted with confidence like he owns the floor.
And then—grey sweatpants.
Not just any sweatpants. The kind that hangjust right. Low on the hips, perfectly fitted, like they were designed to ruin a woman’s will to live. My gaze drags upward in horror and awe, and there it is—the tightest damn T-shirt I’ve ever seen on a human being. It’s not even a shirt anymore. It’s a second skin, stretched over a chest that looks carved from stone, arms that bulge with thick muscle and veins, and shoulders wide enough to block out the sun.
My eyes snag on the tattoos next. Bold black ink runs down both arms, snaking over biceps that flex with every small shift he makes. It’s a lot. It’stoo much. And yet my traitorous brain still thinks,Oh no. He’s hot. But why did he have to walk in the library when I look my worst.
And then I reach his face. Holy. Hell. His eyes meet mine, blue eyes that sends a shiver straight down my spine.
Not just any blue—striking. Intense. His gaze pins me like a butterfly, amused, curious, and something else I don’t want to name yet.
He’s tall and built. Towering over me a solid wall of muscle and heat. And staring right at me.
Every ounce of blood in my body rushes to my face as I realize I’m still gaping, probably looking like a deer in headlightsafter being caught crawling around on the floor like a complete disaster.
Then he smirks. And that’s when it clicks. The smirk. The jaw. The eyes. Oh no.
Maddox freaking Cole. Of course it’s him. Because the universe really does hate me.
“Maya? Maya Gibbons?” His voice is deep—richer than I remember—but still has that infuriating lilt, like everything that comes out of his mouth is dipped in sarcasm.
I freeze. My breath lodges somewhere in my throat. He still knows who I am.
“You’ve… changed.” His gaze rakes down me, not in a creepy way, but like he’s trying to match the version of me in his memory with the woman standing in front of him. “A lot.”
My face burns at the insult.
Back in high school, Maddox Cole made my life a nightmare. The golden boy, the star athlete, the walking smirk who called meDictionary Girland told everyone I alphabetized my underwear. He once left a fake love note on my locker and then laughed with his friends when I showed up blushing for a boy who didn’t exist. That humiliation still lives somewhere deep in my spine. I hated him with every fibre of my being.
And now? Now he’s standing in my library, looking like sin and summer heat, acting like we’re just old friends bumping into each other.
I straighten my shoulders, trying to shove down every emotion storming through me.
“Can I help you? Because surely you must be lost. This is the library. Gym’s a few blocks down,” I say voice clipped, jaw clenched so tight I’m surprised my molars don’t crack.
His lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. “I mean… unless you’ve suddenly got a thing for crawling around under desks, I thinkI’mthe one here to help you.” I blink. The audacity of this guy.
Ofcoursehe finds the most mortifying part of my day to comment on.
“You know what?” I snap. “You can help by turning around and walking straight back out the way you came.”
