“I’ll pick you up eight.”
God, he was sure of himself.
“I’ll text you the address,” Davis interjected.
Hello. She was standing right there.
“Good,” Rick said, pulling his hat down and hunching his shoulders as he prepared to step back out into the cold. His eyes nailed Charlie’s and damn, there went her pulse again. “I’ll see you Saturday night and we’ll continue our conversation.”
He disappeared and Charlie stood there for a good long while, staring at the empty space where he’d been. What the hell had just happened?
“I can’t go,” she whispered.
“I’ve got Connor,” Davis said carefully, wiping his hands on a dirty rag and reaching back under the hood. “And you know that he’s good with me. It will do him good to have someone other than you for company for a change.” A pause. “No offense.”
“None taken,” she replied dryly.
“Good. It’s settled.”
“But—“
“And dammit Charlie, make sure you go out and buy something new to wear. You sure as hell can’t go to this dance wearing jeans and flannel. We might be small town New England, but we do have standards. At least for Valentine’s Day.”
“But—“
“No buts. Ava will help you get it sorted out. I know for a fact she’s going to the party.”
“But Ava…” Charlie winced. She loved her girlfriend to the moon and back, but the girl didn’t own a dress past mid thigh and she sure as hell had no flannel in her closet.
“Shit,” she muttered to herself.
Davis laughed. “Indeed.”
Chapter Five
Maverick settled into a routine. Get up. Work out. Eat. Work out. Pace the floor. Try to write some music. Work out some more. Thank God for Netflix or he would have gone crazy, though watching several seasons of Sons of Anarchy didn’t do much for his mental state.
He couldn’t focus and by Friday his mood was black. Was he ever going to be able to write again? Crumpling up the sheet of lyrics near his keyboard, he tossed them into the garbage where they joined all the others and settled back in his chair. Hands behind his head, he swore and leaned back.
Outside the wind moaned and darkness was setting in. They’d had a good amount of snowfall all week and he’d briefly considered taking the sled out for a spin, but had never gotten past considering. He was restless and feeling uneasy in his skin.
He was used to spending days and weeks on his own. It’s when he usually did his best work. Hell, he liked his own company. So what was wrong with him?
He groaned and slammed his eyes shut.
Damn. Wrong thing to do.
A vision of dark red hair, creamy skin and mesmerizing eyes flashed in front of him. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. Great. All he had to do was conjure a mental image of Charlie and his dick sprang to life, aching with a need that he was going to have to take care of himself. What the hell? He barely knew the woman.
He shifted again and swore, eyes wide open as he glared into the darkness outside. How long had it been since he’d had sex? A few months by his calculation, which wasn’t that unusual for a guy who was alone—at least a guy who was way past sleeping with a woman just for sex. But when was the last time he’d had great, invigorating, fulfilling sex? That was the real question.
The last few times he’d been with Elle he’d only gone through the motions. Sure he’d had a physical release but the emotional connection was long go
ne. And Maverick was getting too old to be satisfied with just a sexual release.
He wanted more.
Startled, he sat up in his chair and rolled his hands over the mess of hair on top of his head. Already, the unruly waves were falling over his ears and he shoved a hunk of it off his forehead, staring at his guitar intently.