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About five minutes into my wait, I was whistling my way through “The Itsy-Bitsy Spider” when a lifted, big-ass four-wheel-drive truck pulled into the driveway of Hot Constance’s house.
Pausing before the rain could wipe the spider out, I frowned and leaned forward to peer out the front windshield.
“Well, who do we have here?” I murmured to myself.
The dude who climbed from the truck sported a gray T-shirt, black jeans, black leather jacket, and tan construction worker boots. I nodded because, oh yeah, he looked like he could be a construction worker. Big rough frame, not shaved but not yet beard status either, dark hair that spiked out, and a don’t-fuck-with-me look about him.
Mmm. Yes. There was just something utterly delicious about construction workers. They were so physical. So raw. So male.
A full-body shiver seized me as I appreciated the view.
Then he did the unthinkable. He reached up to scratch the back of his neck, flashing me with just enough raised hem to show off the silver grommets that went all the way around his black belt. They detracted from his construction worker look to give him more of a bad boy, metrosexual vibe. Which, for me, was even sexier.
A sound of need whimpered its way from the back of my throat. But if this was Maverick, I wanted one.
Wait.
Maverick?
Oh, shit. I was supposed to be on the lookout for Maverick, wasn’t I? I mean, Trick hadn’t said those exact words, but if he was inside Maverick’s house, currently giving notes to the girl living with Maverick, then I had a feeling he didn’t want to get caught with all his pages exposed.
“Damn, damn, damn,” I muttered, fumbling with the door latch to push my way out of Trick’s ancient car.
Stupid old cars. The door latch always caught in this death trap. Why did Trick have to inherit his love for classic cars from his dad, of all things?
He would’ve been much better off receiving Uncle Pick’s wisdom and ability to dispense good advice.
I mean, damn.
“I’m coming, buddy,” I growled, shoving my shoulder as hard as I could against the door as I cranked the handle, just about dislocating the joint in the process, and tumbling out of the car to spill onto the curb in an ungraceful heap. “Cress to the rescue.”
I wasn’t going to let this metrosexual construction worker piece of art hurt my favorite non-cousin. No, sir.
“Hey, uh, Maverick!” I called, picking myself off the ground and brushing away stray grass and rubble that were sticking to me.
But I needn’t have shouted at all. I’d already gotten the hunk’s attention.
He’d paused the moment I’d exploded from the car like a jack-in-the box, and now he was tilting his head and blinking at me as if he was trying to figure out what I even was.
When our gazes met, my breath caught in my chest. But wow, he really was gorgeous.
Not that I could focus on that at the moment. Trick needed me.
I flashed Maverick my brightest, most charming smile.
I mean, maybe I could practice on a little of the this-is-the-real-Cress flirting while I distracted him from going inside—if he wasn’t a homophobe and tried to kick my ass for it, that was.
“It’s Maverick, right?” I asked, hitching up my chin in greeting as I approached.
He didn’t smile back. If anything, he frowned harder.
Though honestly, I’d never seen a frown look so sexy before. I mean, wowza. I wanted to trace each magical grooved indention of ire on his face with my fingertips.
But still...
Flirting seemed to be a definite no here. Check.
I cleared my throat, dropping the smile.
