Teasing: Chapter 5

Women do not stalk.

We investigate with enthusiasm.

—Emmie’s Secret Thoughts

I pad outside as the sun goes down and drop my book and my blanket on the porch swing, so I can light the citronella candle on the corner table to keep all the bugs away. I love these late evening sunsets and hate knowing by this time next month, the sun will drop down beyond the edge of the creek nearly an hour earlier. Give me all the daylight full of life.

This, right now, is my favorite time of day. The world around me is quiet and sleepy. Slow moving. Everyone has scattered to their own homes and their own lives, and for some reason, the fact everyone has retreated inside makes me feel a little less alone. It doesn’t make sense, but some days I feel like nothing about my life makes sense.

It doesn’t hurt that the stormy sky tonight is beautiful shades of purples and pinks and oranges swirling together like a Monet. Abstract and stunning in its simplicity and intricacies as we catch a break in the rain that’s been hammering us on and off all day. The heavy, humid air clings to my skin, and the hum of the cicadas lulls me into a heavy-eyed calm as I get comfy and crack open my book. Time to get lost in the second book in the Kings Of Kroydon Hills series.

I remember finding these books when I was in high school and falling in love with them. Knowing the author grew up in the next town over made them even sweeter. I still prefer the books to the Netflix shows and do a reread of all four of them every summer.

My phone vibrates on the blanket next to me with a new message from Camden.

My heart feels fuller than it has in a while, even if I’m having a hard time believing Camden is actually coming home. We haven’t lived together in nearly a decade. So much has changed since then. And somehow, so much hasn’t.

A quiet noise catches my attention as I drop the phone back to the blanket and open my book.

Is that⁠—?

I sit up and look around but don’t see anything.

The noise happens again, and this time it sounds like a muffled cry.

I close my book and my eyes and try to focus on the sound in an attempt to figure out where it’s coming from. It doesn’t sound like a person . . . it sounds like something else. An animal, maybe.

It happens again, and my eyes widen with recognition.

A puppy. Oh no . . . Butters.

I jump up and hop down from the porch into the wet grass, trying to listen for Butters. “Where are you, buddy? Butters . . . ?” I call out, and the puppy whimpers again.

The sound is coming from the back of the yard, and the yips get louder the closer I get to the rose bushes blooming in front of the trees.

“Oh, cutie. What did you do?” I murmur when I find Butters caught under one of the bushes.

Carefully, I pull back a thorn-covered branch, grateful to find Butters in one little chubby piece. She has a long, red scratch on her front paw, but it’s not bleeding. It may have stung and scared her more than anything. Poor thing.

“Come here, Butters.” I pick the pudgy puppy up and tuck her damp little tan paws against me. “Let’s get you home.”

The sky opens back up again as I dart through the yard to the guys’ back door and laugh. Only I could get caught in the rain twice in one day.

“You look like a drowned rat,” Maverick tells me as he looks up from the phone in his hand and pulls his AirPods out of his ears. He’s lounging on a chair under his covered porch with a pensive look on his face.

“Don’t you just say the sweetest things.” I shift Butters in my arms and plop him down next to Maverick on the teak and cream sofa. “The puppy was caught under one of my rose bushes. I think she’s okay.” I turn to walk back to the house as a crack of lightning lights up the sky and stops me in my tracks. Yup . . . that’s about right for the way my day has gone.

“Emmie . . . wait,” Maverick calls out, but I don’t turn around. Not yet. I stare out over the creek and watch the fat raindrops hit the surface instead, unwilling to watch the big oaf stick his foot further in his mouth. “I’m sorry.”

Wow.

Okay . . . With my attention grabbed, I turn around because I’m honestly astonished. I wasn’t sure he had that in him.

“Shit.” He stands up with a look of horror on his face and tosses his phone on the table in front of him. “Let me get you a dry shirt.” Before I know it, he rushes into the house and back out, then shoves a navy-blue Kroydon University hoodie in my face. “Here. Put this on.”

I back away from the sweatshirt like it personally offended me, which isn’t that far off. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

“Emmie . . .” Maverick stares at my chest for a beat too long, and I finally look down, then quickly snatch the sweatshirt from him and throw it on. I hadn’t realized how wet my white t-shirt had gotten or the way my boobs now covered in muddy puppy footprints make me look like a weird piece of sex art that somehow went really wrong.

Or really right.

The hoodie smells clean and masculine, like the grass after a warm summer rain. It’s intoxicating. “Thanks,” I murmur as I slip it on.

“Thanks for rescuing Butters. I didn’t even realize she got out. She’s usually sleeping with Rosie by now.” Maverick looks past me to the rain that’s coming down pretty hard now. “Might as well wait it out for a few minutes. It hasn’t rained too long for any stretch today.”

He motions toward the sofa, and I stare at his open hand.

Do I want to sit down on this man’s sofa?

Strangely, I do.

I shouldn’t. He’s grumpy as can be, bordering on downright rude.

Who am I kidding? He is rude. There’s no bordering about it.

But yet . . . there’s something else there.

Something I see in myself and recognize in him, even if I don’t want to.

I sit down and tuck my feet up on the sofa under my body and look around. “Where are the guys?”

“Ryker’s out. He should be back soon, and Jamie’s at West End with some of our friends. Two of them just got back from their honeymoon, so a bunch of the guys met them there.”

A crooked smile falls in place on his handsome face, and my gosh, it transforms this man in a way I didn’t think was possible. That smile should be criminal.

“How come you aren’t with them?”

His smile falls, replaced by frustration pulling tight at his eyes. “I’ve got Rosie.”

“I thought you have help with her . . .” Ryker told me just last week that their cousin was helping with Rosie. “Aurora . . . right?”

Maverick tilts his head, and I can already tell he thinks I’m fishing for information.

“My God, it’s got to be exhausting,” I tell him as I try to force myself to relax in hopes that his body will mimic mine subconsciously.

It doesn’t work.

Though it was worth a try.

“What?” he asks, clearly growing suspicious. Any openness we had a moment ago is slipping through my fingers, and I’m not sure why, but that bothers me.

“Being so guarded.” I watch the way his eyes flash, and wow, I want to know his story—because I can already tell someone hurt this man on a scary level.

But who . . . ? Why? How?

“Listen . . . you grow up in the family I did, and suspicion is a trait that keeps you and the people you love safe. I’ve met more people in my life who I shouldn’t trust than people I should.”

“I guess that makes sense. But I wasn’t digging for information. Ryker told me about your cousin watching Rosie for the summer because your nanny bailed. I guess I thought that would mean you’d be able to go out with friends. You smiled when you mentioned them. Sounded like you wished you’d been able to go. That’s all . . .” Oh-kay, verbal vomit. Time to shut up, Emmie.

“Sounds like my brother has a big mouth.” He blows out a breath, and my eyes get stuck on the way his chest expands under his soft-looking tee. Oh my . . . This man wears a shirt like it was made to fit his body. Models should be jealous. Heck, they probably are.

“We were talking the other morning after yoga,” I try to defend Ryker, not having meant to throw him inadvertently under the bus.

“Yoga? Ryker doesn’t do yoga,” he grumbles, and I quietly laugh.

“He’s been doing sunrise yoga with me a few days a week. He said it’s good for his flexibility.” I don’t tell him how much I’ve enjoyed having someone to do that with, or how much I’ve liked our chats over coffee afterward. “I’m surprised you haven’t noticed. We do it in my backyard by the creek in the mornings.”

Maverick grumbles something I don’t quite make out over the staccato beat of the rain on the copper roof above us. “Anyway, if you ever need a night out and your cousin can’t help, I could watch Rosie for you.”

“Why?” he asks sharply. “What would you get out of watching my daughter so I could go out?”

“My goodness, Cujo.” I lean up on my knees, giving me a better line of sight to his untrusting eyes. “Haven’t you ever had someone do something for you just to be nice?”

“No,” he answers quickly, while every muscle in his body tightens. “They’ve always wanted something.”

“Well, I don’t want anything. Rosie seems like a sweetheart, and I’m typically home anyway. I wouldn’t mind helping.” I lean back into the corner of the couch and kick my legs out along the length of the cushion, not missing the way Maverick’s eyes catch on my bare skin.

Hopefully, he doesn’t notice the goosebumps his gaze gives me.

“You want to help? I need someone to find me a nanny. My cousin was supposed to be working for me for the summer, or at least until the agency was able to find me a permanent replacement. She just bailed, and training camp starts next week. I’m fucking screwed . . .” he trails off and runs a rough hand through his hair. “I haven’t found anyone good enough yet.”

He cracks his neck and leans his head back against the pillow, exasperation pouring off him in thick, heavy waves.

“I could do it,” I offer before I think the offer through.

Maverick’s head swivels slowly.

He obviously wasn’t expecting that answer.

Me either, Cujo.

Maybe I could do this for him, and as a bonus, I could show him not everyone has an ulterior motive. Even though I guess, technically, that would be mine.

“Why . . .” When I open my mouth to answer his question with the same answer I gave him earlier, he holds his hand up in front of me. “Don’t you have a job?”

“Yes. I have a job. I already told you I teach for Hart & Soul.”

“And . . .” he pushes almost aggressively, and my back goes up.

“And . . . what?” I ask defensively.

“Come on. You expect me to believe you live in that big house, alone, and you’re doing it on a part-time dance teacher’s salary?” Can glares be sexy? Because the way this man glares is so sexy, which is unfortunate, considering he’s a jerk.

“No. The house was my father’s. I don’t pay rent. And I also teach a few art classes in town, and take a few classes online, but I do that when I can’t sleep.” Maverick tilts his head like he’ll be able to see a lie, and if it wasn’t raining so hard that I can barely see ten feet in front of me, I’d consider leaving.

“What classes?” he questions pointedly, like he doesn’t believe me.

“I’m working on my master’s in psychology,” I sigh as I hold back on mentioning I could do a whole case study on him. “Life is short, and I want to enjoy it. I do what makes me happy. I also don’t lie. So if you don’t believe me, that’s a you problem. Not a me problem.”

“My schedule is going to suck.” His words leave no room for doubt. He’s trying to scare me off. Poor, silly man. I don’t scare that easily. “Early mornings. Late nights. If you’re still doing this during the actual season, there’s games where I’ll be gone overnight. We’d need to figure that out.”

“Sounds like fun,” I tell him, and it may sound a little too cheery, but it does sound like fun to me.

“You’re insane. Has anyone ever told you that before?” he grumbles, and I can’t decide if he’s serious or not.

“My sister,” I whisper, and he nods like he’s not surprised.

Vivi loves to tell me I’m insane. That seeing the best in people and situations is just setting myself up for heartache, but I refuse to live my life that jaded.

Maverick glances down at the baby monitor on the table and shakes his head. “Briar Rose likes you, so that’s a plus already. And you know ASL. You’d be surprised how hard it is to find a nanny who knows how to sign.”

He’s talking to himself, even if it sounds like he’s talking to me, so I don’t bother to answer. Instead, I let Maverick work it out. “You’d have to sign a contract and an ironclad NDA. We can discuss salary⁠—”

I stop him before he goes any further, and my stomach drops. “I’m sure the salary will be more than fair, and I’ll sign whatever you want, but I’ve got a few nonnegotiables.”

“You’ve been thinking about this?” There’s no missing the accusation that’s back in his tone, and it should probably piss me off, but really, it makes me sad for him.

“No. I haven’t been thinking about this. Believe it or not, I haven’t really been thinking about you. Shocking, right?” I cock my head to the side and smile sweetly. “I teach art at the assisted living facility in Sweet Water a few days a week.” I lick my lips as I breathe in deeply to calm my rapidly increasing heart rate. “My father lives there. The classes are typically less than an hour, but if I have Rosie during those days, I’d like to bring her with me. She can help me teach the class. I’ll set her up with her own station next to mine. I think she could have fun doing it.”

He stares at me silently for one beat, then two, before he nods. “You can’t let her eat anything while she’s there. And no one can touch her. Her peanut allergy is severe, and we don’t take chances. I’ll go over all of it if you decide you really want to do this.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.” Funny that this is the first time I’m actually getting annoyed. “Life if too short to fake it, Maverick. If I say it, I mean it.”

His lips tip up on one side, and if I thought his earlier smile was sexy, it doesn’t hold a candle to this one. This giant tank of a man is dangerous in all sorts of ways, and none of them are because of his lack of trust.

“Too short to fake it . . . I like that.” He holds out his hand for me to shake, and I slide my palm against his and have to hold back the crazy tremor that desperately wants to work its way through my body. One moment of skin on skin . . . Rough, calloused skin against my soft, smooth palm, and a fire that’s been dormant for a long time flickers to life.

Oh . . . this is going to be a problem.

“Camp starts Monday morning,” he tells me.

Yeah . . . I know.

“Guess I’ll see you Monday then, boss.”

No way Vivi will ever believe this . . .