Teasing: Chapter 3

I’d rather be one person’s shot of Tito’s than everyone’s cup of tea.

—Emmie’s Secret Thoughts

“Wanna catch lightning bugs, Emmie?” Rosie looks up at me with wide hopeful eyes from where she sits on the outdoor sofa. We roasted marshmallows around the firepit earlier, and this kid is still trying to get the sticky fluff from her fingers.

I always thought marshmallows were dairy, which I learned tonight is one of Rosie’s many allergies, but it turns out, marshmallows are on the okay list. No sooner did I start learning about this tiny tot’s special food needs than my mind went in a million directions, trying to come up with some kind of delicious dessert I could bring next time that would be safe for her to eat.

Not that there’s going to be a next time. But just in case.

Before I can answer her, Maverick shakes his head from his chair across from us. “It’s past your bedtime, piccola rosa.”

As if this broody baller needed to get any hotter, I’m pretty sure he just called her little rose in Italian. Am I allowed to hate someone and also wish they’d screw me senseless? Asking for a friend, of course.

“But Daddy . . .” this sweet little girl whines, punctuated by a wide-mouthed yawn, which doesn’t help her case one little bit.

“Kiss your uncles,” he tells her as he stands, waiting.

She spins on her knees to face me. “Good night, Emmie.”

“Good night, sweet girl.” Before I can process what’s happening, Rosie throws her arms around my shoulders and hugs me tightly, catching me completely off guard. I look to her father to gauge his reaction, but I can’t. His face is unreadable, with a clenched jaw and a tight line to his eyes. But he doesn’t look away. So I wrap my arms around her and close my eyes, almost scared to let myself hug this little girl.

When she pulls away, I quickly turn my head and wipe my eyes, not wanting them to see how much a simple hug affected me.

They wouldn’t understand.

How could they?

I’ve watched the easy way this family communicates . . . with words and sign and touch. I’ve learned that Maverick and Ryker are brothers, but Jamie and Maverick grew up like brothers. Their dads are best friends. I’ve listened to the way they talk to each other and about their other friends. They’re close. They’re family in all the ways that matter. In all the ways I’m missing. And they love Briar Rose.

I doubt they’ve ever gone months without being hugged.

And I hope to God Rosie never needs to know what that’s like.

I watch quietly as Maverick carries Rosie into the house, with her faithful sidekick, Butters, meandering behind them, and smother a quiet laugh. “That dog doesn’t leave her side, does she?”

I don’t think about it as the words fall from my lips and immediately feel bad. “Sorry, Ryker,” I say and sign.

“Don’t. I’m good,” he tells me and points to his ears. “I lost my hearing right before high school. But I’m lucky. It’s not completely gone, and the hearing aids help. But I also got really good at reading lips. The guys sign and speak because it is easier, but not everyone knows ASL, and that is okay.” He smiles a beautiful smile, and it’s funny to see the difference between him and Maverick.

“Are you sure you two are brothers?” I ask, and Jamie laughs while Ryker shrugs.

“He’s not a bad guy,” Ryker tells me without signing, and I relax some, grateful that I didn’t offend him. “He just does not trust easily. Give him time. Once you get to know him, he is a big softie.”

“Ha.” Jamie sits down next to me on the couch and throws his arm behind me, resting it on the back of the cushion like an eighth grader trying to get lucky at the movie theater. “Yeah. Soft like a grizzly bear.”

Ryker shrugs again.

“You sure you don’t want a drink, Em?” Jamie tugs a loose strand of my hair, and I shake my head. “Maybe next time.”

He winks, and I laugh. I can’t help it.

“Does that usually work for you?”

This time it’s Ryker who laughs as Jamie kicks his feet up on the table in front of us. “Not gonna lie. It usually does.”

“Well as long as we’re not lying . . .” I bite down on my lip and manage to hold back my silent laughter.

“Stop groping the neighbor, Murphy,” Maverick barks as he walks back through the door, and I jump. Like, actually jump from the deep boom of his voice.

“It’s fine. I should be going anyway.” I push up to my feet and tug at the skirt of my dress that’s gotten caught around my legs. “I had a really nice time tonight, guys. Thanks for dinner.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Maverick barks again, and I’m so shocked, I don’t even make a bad dog joke. Because seriously, this man barks orders.

Is he kidding?

I look between him and my house. “Thanks, but I think I’ll be okay.”

“I’m walking you home.”

That’s it.

No explanation.

No wiggle room.

Just the order.

Well, alrighty then.

“You know it’s about twenty-seven steps,” I tell him as I stand in front of him with my hands planted firmly on my hips and my head tilted back because the big grump is so darn tall.

“Did you count?” he asks, and Jamie laughs.

Does this guy ever get mad? I swear he’s laughed and joked all night. He might just be the most even-tempered, easygoing guy I’ve ever met. Basically, Maverick’s opposite.

“Just let him walk you home, or he is gonna be pissy all night,” Ryker warns me, and I take the bait he just dangled, whether he realizes it or not.

“I’m sorry. Is this him in a good mood?” I ask and run my teeth over my lower lip, imagining what a good mood looks like on Maverick Beneventi.

Oh yeah . . . that’s a pretty picture.

“Heh heh heh,” Ryker mocks his brother, and the look Maverick throws his way shuts him right down.

Big brothers suck.

“Whatever,” I murmur. “Okay, Cujo. Walk me home,” I give in, and this time Jamie and Ryker both snicker. “Good night, boys.”

“Night, Emmie,” they call back as Maverick slides his hand to the small of my back, and sweet baby Jesus. His giant palm takes up the entire span of my back and sears my skin right through my linen dress.

I take a step forward, hoping he’ll drop the contact, but he doesn’t.

We walk in silence for the minute it takes to cross our properties.

“Have you lived here long?” Maverick asks once we’re past the arborvitaes that separate the properties.

“My whole life,” I tell him and climb the steps to the front porch, not thinking he’ll follow me, but he does.

When I reach for my doorknob and turn, he crosses his thick arms, and I immediately miss the contact I try to convince myself I wasn’t enjoying. “You were really good with Rosie tonight.”

He might seem like Cujo most of the time, but when this beast of a man talks about his daughter, his whole body softens, even if he doesn’t realize it.

“I love kids, and she seems like a great one. If you decide to let her take ballet and need help getting her there, let me know,” I offer, and as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. He’s probably going to bite my head off.

“Annabelle’s been bugging me for a while to let her take dance classes,” he admits almost sheepishly.

“You know Annabelle?” The owner of Hart & Soul is one of the kindest, coolest women I’ve ever known. And I guess it would make sense that he’d know her. Her husband is the head coach of the Kings.

“Yeah. She’s my godmother. My parents and her and her husband are close. If you work for her, you must be good people.”

I stare into his navy-blue eyes, trying to figure out if he’s serious right now.

Who says that to someone?

“Umm . . . thanks, I think.” What the heck?

Maverick blows out a frustrated breath and runs his big tattooed hand through his dark hair. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Not sure there are too many ways to take that, buddy.” I turn my knob and open the front door, but Maverick grabs it before I can push it all the way open.

“Why wasn’t your door locked?” he growls.

Legit growls.

And why is that hot?

I side-eye the grumpy giant and realize if I spend much more time with him, I’m going to have to come up with more creative ways to call this guy a giant jerk at this rate.

“I was next door with three professional football players built like tanks and one cute attack dog all night. Why would I lock it?” It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone lecture me about locking a door.

“Butters is more likely to lick someone to death than she is to attack them.” He steps around me and walks right into my house, like he’s been invited in.

“Why sure, Maverick. Come right in. Make yourself at home,” I murmur, a little annoyed and a little uncomfortable having someone in my space.

“I’m making sure it’s safe,” he deadpans, and for a second I think he’s joking.

But this guy is serious.

I close the door behind me and flip the light switch as Maverick walks around the first floor like a TV cop, checking the rooms. “You okay if I check upstairs?”

“You’re kidding me, right? There’s no one here.” I walk over to the stairs and flip that light switch too. “If someone was upstairs, the lights would be on, or they’d have climbed out a window by now.”

His eyes grow ten sizes too big for his face. “What the fuck, woman?”

The low tenor of his voice is almost more disturbing than the growl.

He marches past me and up the stairs, and the look on his face is murderous—and hot. Seriously hot. What the heck is wrong with me?

I follow behind him and feel my cheeks flame when he walks into the hall bathroom, then turns around and immediately walks out with pink-tinged cheeks.

Oh my God. I handwash my bras and hang them from the shower curtain rod in that bathroom since no one uses it. There’s got to be four hanging in there right now.

Oops.

“You’re right. No one’s in here. But fuck. Lock your goddamned door, so I don’t have to tell my daughter you were murdered in your sleep because you let some fucking scumbag walk right in,” he might as well yell in my face.

My mouth opens on a gasp, and I shove at his solid chest. “Get. Out.”

I leave no room for argument, even if I don’t manage to move him at all.

“Emmie—” His voice doesn’t soften, but it does change.

“Nope. You can leave now. And in case you were wondering, you’re the only jerk who’s walked into my house uninvited. So thanks for that. Now, you can go.” My hands shake as I wrap them around myself.

I will not cry again today.

Not now and not in front of this man.

Maverick’s eyes darken, and his shoulders tighten. “I shouldn’t⁠—”

“You’re right. You shouldn’t. Now go.” I walk right past him into my bedroom and slam the door, then change my mind, turn back, and crack it open just to look at him again. “I’ll lock the door after you leave.”

This time when I slam it, the pictures on the wall shake.

I hear him shuffle closer to the door and close my eyes, hoping he doesn’t say something to make this worse. Thankfully, he doesn’t. He stands quietly on the other side for a few minutes before he finally leaves.

A few minutes after that, I lock the door.

Stupid jerk.