Never Say Never - Bijou Hunter Page 0,38
to dance for you?”
Maverick has never told me no. At least, I refuse to remember any time when he’s denied me. He really is a sweet boy.
Taking a break from my search for the Shasta Slasher, I dance around the partially remodeled basement. I didn’t dare change the creepy wall maze area down here. The ghosts wouldn’t approve. Dead people just aren’t flexible beings.
My absolute favorite thing about Maverick—other than his inability to tell me no—is his power to never move to music. Nicki Minaj’s “Starships” plays loudly, and I bounce around like a drunk stripper. Through it all, he doesn’t even tap his tiniest of toes. The man is a rock against the world’s desire for him to dance.
“Shelby, are you wearing pants?” Ramona calls from upstairs.
Turning down the music, I shout, “No! Why?”
“You have a visitor,” she says, and then Iggy yells something because he enjoys copying his mommy.
I frown at Maverick because the only people who visit me know that sometimes I can’t deal with pants.
“Can’t you wear shorts?” Shane asked many years ago.
“I can do whatever I want, baby bruv,” was my gentle version of “no fucking way.”
Now I look down at my bare legs and wonder if I should cover up. “I didn’t bring anything to wear,” I tell Maverick.
“Your shirt is long enough, and you’re wearing underwear. Who gives a shit?”
“I’m a private person,” I say, and he smirks at my bullshit.
“Goliath is coming down,” Ramona calls down as my final warning to cover up.
“Am I going to die?” I ask Maverick in a panic as I look around for pants.
“Everyone dies, Shelby. If today is your time, why worry about your bare legs?”
Grinning, I shrug. “You’re so wise, Mav.”
Goliath’s huge build maneuvers the narrow stairwell, down to where I stand in my oversized “Fright Night” T-shirt. His gaze falls on me, warming at the sight of my bare legs. Or maybe he likes me now. Or maybe he’s stoned. As if I can read him at all.
Then he notices Maverick. Goliath nods at the other man. Maverick gives him a head gesture back. With them gushing over each other, I feel a little jealous. Where’s my curt head nod?
“Are you busy?” Goliath asks.
“I was working,” I say, catching the smallest smirk from Maverick, “but I can take a break.”
“Did you want to put on...?” he asks and gestures to my bare legs.
“I’m bloated.”
Goliath nods as if he gets it, but he’s doing that male stance that guys get when other alphas are in the mix. Sometimes, back in Ellsberg, I’d end up in a room with a bunch of the older Reapers. Guys like my dad, Vaughn Majors, Cooper Johansson, Judd O’Keefe, my uncle Jace Todds, and Tucker Johansson. They’d be fine, relaxed, normal until a new male entered their territory. Then they’d all get that puffed up, arrogant, almost hostile vibe. Much like Goliath gets while giving Maverick the side-eye.
“Should I leave?” the blond enforcer asks me.
“Only if you feel emotionally satisfied with our time together.”
Maverick smirks, stands in a smooth motion, and slides past Goliath like a ghost. I wait until he leaves. Then I force myself to look at Goliath, who is most definitely now only focused on me.
“What’s up?” I ask, going for casual and sounding constipated instead.
“I wasn’t gonna punch you that day.”
“I know,” I lie, thinking back to his huge fist pointed at my precious face.
“No, you didn’t.”
“I didn’t then, but I figured it out later.”
Goliath’s expression remains frozen, revealing no particular emotion. “I wasn’t gonna make you suck me off either.”
“I know.”
“Now, but not then?”
“Sure.”
“You and me,” he says, gesturing between us, “gotta figure out things, you know? I’m trying to be a part of this club, and you’re like management or whatever. And we’re having a kid, I guess.”
“You guess? Which part don’t you believe? That I’m pregnant or that it’s yours?”
“I don’t know. Doesn’t seem real.”
“Then why did you get so pissed that day?”
“I don’t like women fucking with me.”
“But men can fuck with you fine, huh?” I say, sitting down and crossing my legs without thinking. I’m not trying to be sexy. I mean, if I was, then I would have tugged my hair loose from its bun and shook it free. I’m very appealing when my hair hangs around my shoulders. Yeah, that’d sex this meeting right up, but I can’t do it now. It’d be too obvious, and I’m trying to act casual.
Goliath, though, admires my bare legs as if he’s