Legend (Real, #6)(45)

Until Maverick stops before me.

Tall, that chest broad and big and begging me to get close to it if only to borrow its strength.

I inhale, and force my eyes upward.

Something happens when our eyes meet. The air shifts and whirls between us. Everything falls away until it’s just me, raw and bare and naked and without any real secrets left, and him.

I don’t expect what he does next. He wraps his arms around me and gives me this huge hug, pressing me to him until we’re like one big entwined tree, the kind of hug my father or mother would give me when I was “brave,” and when he kisses my forehead with such passion I feel his hot, wet mouth on my skin, I want to kiss him so bad I ache inside. “You’re incredible,” he whispers in my ear.

Oh god.

For some reason, I want to know why I hadn’t told him. Why I don’t ever tell anyone. Even the Tates only know because my mother wanted to be sure I made at least one AA meeting per city, and I resented that they had to know. If only because I didn’t want to look weak in the eyes of people who are strong and nearly perfect to me.

But they didn’t judge. They didn’t look at me with pity. They welcomed me into their team, their home, their lives, and let me get close to the most precious thing they have: Racer.

“I didn’t want . . . to be someone who was recovering to you. I wanted to be me. The new-and-improved me that I’m working on.”

“You are you,” he says fiercely.

The way he says this pushes an emotional button, and I swallow. “I wanted to be special on my own, without a bottle or a story about me, just me. This trip . . . was about that for me.”

Until it became all about you.

“I was sixteen. When I started, and then I . . . stopped completely at nineteen. I’m not even at a legal drinking age and I’ve already vowed not to do it again,” I say, smiling wanly into his face. “I’m not even tempted. I want what it gives me, maybe, to feel free and . . . But I don’t want it.”

I glance at the door where Oz left. “He didn’t want to talk?”

“Not yet.”

“Does he need a sponsor?”

“Maybe.”

“If he takes those twelve steps, they’ll be the first steps to a new him.”

Maverick won’t take his eyes off me. His arm is possessive around my waist. And then, Maverick slips his hand under my hair, his eyes dark and quietly loving. “I’m on fire when I look at you,” he says, his voice reverent and his gaze electric on me. “You decimated me just now.”

I exhale and blink back the emotion in my eyes. Not everybody sees this, when they see someone recovering. They see someone who could fall again. Who could be weak again. Who already fell. They don’t see the strength it took to overcome it and push through, sometimes they don’t see the humanity, and sometimes they don’t know that to someone who’s recovering it’s hard to stay in a world and a reality where the reflections of themselves they see mirrored in others’ eyes are so lacking.

“Do you need to get back?”

I nod, regretfully. “I said I’d just come to the meeting.”

“I’ll take you.”

I smile, and duck my head. “I’m glad you brought Oz.” And I add, “I’m glad you know.”

There is something about telling someone a secret that binds and locks you together. And there is something about somebody knowing everything about you that makes you aware of how much work you still have to become a better you.

? ? ?

WE RIDE IN the back of the cab in this order: me, Maverick, Oz.

I’m feeling raw.

Too attracted to him.

More than ever.

Maverick sits beside me. Quiet. And I sit here. Quiet too. He watches me in the darkness and when our eyes meet, he smiles.

He reaches out and takes my hand.

His hand is rough and warm, dry, and my hand fits just right in his.

My mind and my heart and my soul seem to flutter.

I wonder what it would be like to spend all night with him, not just an hour, nothing between us. Set my lips on every inch of his skin. Rest my head on his chest. And just be there, talking. Or silent. Or kissing.

I set my head on his shoulder.

He inhales slowly.

I need to be closer, I can’t control this. It’s like a need to breathe, an impulse toward him, the body reacting strongly to what it needs to survive.

We can’t get our hands off each other. I pry my hand free to touch his thigh, and he sets his hand on my thigh, rubbing slowly up and down. There are other people here. So really, our hands probably need to stay where they are. There’s the cabdriver, and Oz. But I am only aware of ONE. One Maverick riding beside me. His shoulder hard against mine. His legs skewed open so one touches against mine.

I press closer and turn my head just as he seizes my chin, ducks, and our lips meet. His tongue, wet, slips inside my mouth. Impulsively, I slip my hand under his T-shirt. Just because I need to feel his skin. He’s hot as a furnace, his skin smooth under my fingers. I push my hand higher, to catch his heartbeat in my palm. I rub a little as he sucks hungrily on my tongue, shifting his shoulders as if to cover me.

I open my mouth wider and let his tongue lead mine.

Oz clears his throat.

Maverick tears his lips free. He glances in his direction and groans in exasperation. “Come on, Oz, you were young once.”