My eyes dart around the office, desperate to find a spot I can hide, but I can’t find anywhere close enough for me to make it in less than three seconds, which is about all the time I have before Maverick notices me.
“Holy fucking shit!”
Make thatlessthan three seconds.
He yanks two AirPods from his ears, then looks down, realizes he’s buck naked, releases them, and cups his junk. And believe me, from the brief and slightly hazy glimpse I was able to catch, that is very much a two-handed job.
“What are you doing in my office?”
“Bringing you your morning coffee,” I say meekly, pointing at his desk.
A baffled look crosses his face before he lowers his chin and releases a deep breath. I guess if he thought his morning couldn’t get any worse, welcome to this.
I try not to take advantage of the situation and stare too much. But there’s no harm in a casual once-over. His tan skin glistens, still wet from the shower. His biceps bulge as he shields himself, his forearms drawn in a protective barrier over the plane of his washboard abs.
And the sculpted lines of his handsome face? Not pissed, but not pleased either. Something along the lines of exasperated, maybe?
“I should probably, uh…” I point at the door. He musters a forced smile and gives a curt nod. “Sorry again about everything,” I say, making a beeline for the door. “You know, throwing horse shit at you and seeing you naked.” He expels a frustrated growl, which does not shoot straight to my dick. “On the plus side, your coffee should still be warm. Oh, and there’s a note.”
Sorry about the shitshow. Your day can only improve from here!
Hm. That didn’t age so well.
“Great. Thanks,” I hear him say behind me.
I slam the door behind me and race down the stairs.
Ever since I got my latest diagnosis, I’ve been running a mental inventory of all the things I desperately want to remember when I lose my sight completely. I’m not sure how all that works, how long visual memories last once vision goes, but I’m determined to sear certain people and things into my subconscious so I can hold on to them for as long as possible.
Family and friends are at the top of that list, obviously. The way Clancy looks at me with nothing but love in his eyes. Verity’s beautiful face and the way the skin around her eyes crinkles when she laughs extra hard. The look Sibella gets when she’s giving me shit. Pip’s cheeky smile.
Then there are all the horses at the sanctuary. Never again being able to share a soft, trusting gaze, watching a mane ripple in the wind, witnessing the joy of a foal prancing playfully.
Stars in the night sky.
The way early sunlight catches on the dewy grass in the mornings at the sanctuary.
The pretty buildings on Main Street in all their different colors.
Silverstone in the fall.
The giant valley oak tree.
Stained glass windows.
Gooey chocolate oozing out of brownies.
Fireworks.
Maverick.
I hate that he’s made it onto the list, but he has. And that was before I saw him in all his naked glory yesterday. The details may have been a bit blurry, but it hasn’t stopped my imagination from working overtime to fill in the missing pieces.
I hate to admit it, but he is incredibly attractive. Yes, his body is sculpted to perfection, and he’s got a chiseled, classically handsome face. But it’s not just that. Being attractive goes beyond mere physical traits.
It’s other things. Smaller things.
The way his face lights up whenever he sees Sammy.
