Lost Rider(19)

I bend and twist, trying to work out the kinks. I reach behind my head, gathering my thick blond locks together as I grab a hair tie off my dresser. I open my top drawer and reach for the bright red lace bra, covering my naked chest before slipping out of my thong and pulling the matching lace boy shorts over my hips. Just because I choose to dress for comfort doesn’t mean I don’t love looking and feeling all woman with my lingerie. Even if I have to go to extraordinary lengths—and costs—to have sexy lingerie in my generous cup size.

Checking the clock hanging next to the door, I curse myself for getting so lost in my own head. As it is, I’m going to be rushing to get everything warmed up in time.

I wriggle into the first pair of shorts I can find, not even paying attention and I step into them and button them up.

I pull my red PieHole T-shirt off the hanger and yank it over my head, cursing my haste when my ponytail loosens, allowing my thick hair to escape in places.

“Lord have mercy!” I shout when I almost pull my ear off trying to rush yet another ponytail. I feel like the underside of a turnip green with the way my nerves are bubbling over.

And I know exactly what—or, should I say, who—is the cause.

Earl eyes me when I step out of the closet and exhale in a huff of frustration. “What? Quick lookin’ at me like I’m lower than a snake’s belly in a mud rut, Earl! It’s been a long day; I’m allowed to be a little frazzled.”

He just stares a beat before lifting his leg and licking himself.

Grabbing my red cowboy boots off the floor, I sit on the bench at the end of my bed and pull on some socks before pushing my foot inside the worn leather. A vision of sixteen-year-old me, nervously pulling at the knot in my flannel shirt, flashes in my head when I catch my reflection in the mirror in the corner of my room and I quickly beat it back. I’ve had enough of tripping down memory lane and I refuse to give Maverick any more power.

“Love you, baby boy,” I call to Earl and rush through my door, snatching my purse off one of the island chairs in the kitchen.

I start digging inside of my bag while stomping through the kitchen and living room, looking down as I pull the front door open, and cursing the fact that my Jeep keys always seem to go missing inside my purse’s depths.

“Damn it all to hell!” I shout when I collide headfirst into a hard chest the second my boots hit the threshold, knocking me back until my ass painfully hits the floor. “Son of a bitch,” I breathe as a sharp pain shoots up my back from where my tailbone painfully smacked against the unforgiving hardwood just inside my door.

I look up and gasp when I see the reason for my tumble before quickly getting my face under control to something resembling calm and collected, despite the scene I’ve just created, and raising a brow in question. He doesn’t speak, but takes a step closer and bends slightly to offer me his hand.

“You should learn to look before opening your door,” Maverick says in a voice that’s deep and rusty, making me fight off a shiver of arousal.

“If that’s an apology, you really need to work on your execution.”

His mouth turns up on one side, his full lips mockingly saying without words that an apology was not his intention.

Agh, that good-for-nothing, arrogant, stubborn asshole.

“You know, while you’re at it, you should add workin’ on your manners too. You really seem to be lackin’ in that area,” I retort sarcastically, ignoring his proffered hand and climbing to my feet, rubbing the sore spot on my ass.

“Guess I’ll add that to the list of other shit my mama never taught me,” he drawls.

I bend over and grab my purse before standing straight, squaring my shoulders and meeting his eyes. His expression doesn’t change as he brings up one tan hand to tip his hat back slightly, allowing me a better view of those bright green eyes the Davis kids are known for.

“What are you doing here, Maverick?” I ask on a sigh. “I’m runnin’ late and need to get out of here.”

“Figured I needed to stop by,” he says in way of an answer.

That’s all? What in the hell does that mean?

“Then I would reckon we aren’t on the same page, because I’m not sure I would agree with you there.”

“You gonna let me in or what?”

I let out a humorless laugh. “Or what.” Pulling my purse over my shoulder, I reach out and press both palms against his stomach and give him a shove backward, mentally screaming at myself not to enjoy the way his rock-hard abs feel against my hands. Nope, not going to enjoy that one bit.

Christ, he feels like hot stone under my skin.

Focus, Leighton!