“It’s not a joke!” I snap, immediately wincing at how loud it came out. I look at the door, waiting several beats in case Maverick comes busting through it. “I mean. It started as one. Kind of. A sexy, tequila-fueled, moonlit oopsie. But now ...”
My best friend waits me out.
“It’s not.”
“His name is Maverick.” She snorts.
“It’s not. His name is Callum,” I say quietly. “And he’s Scottish.”
I can practically hear Lucy leaning into the phone. “What’s this now? You know how I feel about accents.”
“Yes,” I groan. “You once told a British guy in town for a regatta that you were ovulating because he asked if you were ‘bloody hot in that jumper.’”
“Iwasbloody hot in that sweater. It was seventy degrees, and he was sexy!”
“Well, Callum says things likelassandreckonandyer bonnie mouth is gonna get you in trouble.”
Lucy goes completely silent.
“Hello?”
“Sorry, I blacked out for a second. I think I need a cold shower.”
“Tell me about it,” I say, flopping face down on my bed.
“Well, it’s settled then. You have my approval.”
Chapter 20
Maverick
A knock at her door startles me.
Don’t know why—it’s not like I’ve never heard a knock on a door before. But something about the way it cuts through her hushed voice in the bedroom—as I do my best to eavesdrop while she hurriedly explains about whatever the hell this situation is—puts me on edge.
I glance at the door, then back down at the half-zipped suitcase on her couch. Her place is small. Tiny, even. One of those shoebox apartments with more knickknacks than space.
I open the door.
And come face-to-face with the human embodiment of your stereotypical dork; someone who looks as if he ought to be on the East Coast strutting around a dock in his boat shoes, sweater vest, and falling grin.
And two takeaway cups of coffee.
He blinks up at me like I’ve answered the door tohishouse, little prick.
“Uh,” he says. “Is Annabelle here?”
I narrow my eyes. “Who’s asking?”
“Tim.” He straightens like that’s supposed to mean something. “Her boyfriend.”
Ahh, Tim. The ex she dumped before her staycation—and clearly one of those dudes who cannot take a fucking hint when a woman dumps him.
I stare at him.
He stares at me.
I lean against the doorframe. “Who are you again?”
