Too many seconds pa.s.s without my answer, and he nods, taking my silence as my decline. "Maybe another night."

"Yeah, maybe."

He leans in and kisses my cheek. As he crosses the street, he turns, flas.h.i.+ng me a smirk. I wave before entering my hotel, my mind already replaying the evening.

Back in my room, I dig through my suitcase. The onyx velvet box I packed is tucked away inside layers of folded clothes. Finley would be p.i.s.sed if she knew I still had it. She'd turn into Wolverine Finley if she knew I had it here.

I slip it out of the pocket of my sweatpants and stare at it. The contents of this box represents so much-innocence, heartbreak, the loss of color. How can I both love and hate something at the same time?

Slowly, I open the lid. The gold glistens in the moonlight reflecting off of it, but the small solitaire diamond doesn't. Its sparkle dimmed a long time ago.

Chris said he saved for a year for this ring. He gave it to me the day we graduated from high school. The memory is foggy even now, because the haze existed then too. But I remember his words when he slid the band onto my finger.

"Don't lose it. I'm not buying you another one."

I press the pad of my finger onto the diamond. It barely leaves an indentation in my skin. This is as far as I've ever gotten to taking it out of the box since I put it in there. Usually I only look at it when something good happens, because good things aren't supposed to happen for me. The ring knocks me back down to where I belong. It's a reminder that Chris is right: happiness isn't for the worthless.

I lift my eyes to see my reflection in the television. The dark screen blocks all color, but there aren't any hues to reflect anyway. I smile, hoping to catch a glimpse of the innocent girl I once knew, the one whose smile was bright and genuine.

Then I think about Maverick's smile. His is so effortless. How does his whole face light up with such a simple muscle movement? I wonder what he sees in me.

I'm stupid for doing what I'm about to do. It's senseless and ridiculous and I'll probably loathe the outcome. But a tiny spark that I can't ignore has gone off in my chest.

So I pull out my sketch pad and colors, and easily bring to memory the way Maverick looked at me. Then I begin to draw.

Chapter 11.

Present Day 3:17 a.m.

A nurse brings me a cup of coffee. I recognize her from earlier, the one peering at me from behind the computer. She tells me Maverick is still in surgery, and unfortunately there's no update yet.

"Thank you," I say, accepting the cup.

"We should know something soon."

Once she's gone, I take a sip, hoping it'll warm my bones. She didn't add cream or sugar or Coffee-Mate. That's the way I like it, with Coffee-Mate. Hazelnut, usually. Unless it's Christmas.

Maverick hates hazelnut Coffee-Mate. Says it tastes like watered-down caramel, and who in their right mind would water down caramel? So for fun once, I went to the store and bought the caramel flavor for him to sample.

He took a sip and spit it out in the sink. "That s.h.i.+t is not caramel. It's s.h.i.+t."

"Are you an expert on s.h.i.+t?" I asked, laughing.

"I'm a lawyer. s.h.i.+t is the reason I have a job."

Maverick takes his coffee black.

There's creamer and sugar at the coffee station in the corner. I could add what I want, but holding the black coffee between my palms makes me feel a little closer to him.

The clock on the wall tells me I've been at the hospital for an hour, which means Maverick has been here for over two.

Finley was in a car accident once. She rolled her convertible while messing with the radio. The car flipped end-over-end and then horizontally into a field. As a precaution, the ambulance took her to the hospital, but she was fine. Three st.i.tches above her eyebrow was all that was required.

Her accident was nothing like this. I didn't even get her texts until the next morning.

I hold the cup until the coffee gets cold. Still, I don't throw it away.

The same nurse approaches me again after what seems like hours. When I glance at the clock, only thirty minutes have pa.s.sed.

"They're finis.h.i.+ng up now," she says. "The surgeon should be out to speak with you soon."

My heart sinks and leaps at the same time. Answers.

"Is he okay?" I ask, unsure of my voice.

"He's stable for now."

I don't know what that means. Do they not expect him to stay stable?

I can't get more words out, so I nod and hold the coffee tighter. The Styrofoam pushes inward and I soften my grip to avoid crus.h.i.+ng it.

A woman in seafoam scrubs walks toward the waiting room, her eyes finding mine. Her expression gives nothing away, and my insides drop.

"Mrs. Tavare?"

I stand up, smoothing my sweating palms on my pants. "Yes."

"I'm Doctor Felicia Santos, your husband's surgeon. Your husband is stable," she repeats what the nurse had told me. "We did a CT scan, x-rays, and routine trauma scans when they brought him in. He sustained multiple injuries in the accident, the worst being a dissected aorta. We're concerned about his spleen and possible internal bleeding, so we're closely monitoring his heart rate and blood pressure."

She continues to list off injuries-severe concussion, broken ribs, and diaphragm rupture. Vitals and blood draws would be taken hourly.

"We're doing all we can," the surgeon finishes.

I force myself to focus on her. "Will he be okay?"

She looks at me. "The first twenty-four hours are critical."

Chapter 12.

Cancun, Mexico 27 Months Ago On our third day in Cancun, Maverick and I spend the whole day on the beach. We avoid talking about our pasts, avoid anything too heavy. Instead, he teaches me to body surf, and I learn that I suck at it. But watching Maverick laugh at my foibles makes the experience worth every mistake.

He's taken advantage of opportunities to touch me. He offered to rub sunscreen on my back, my shoulders, my face. I returned the favor, fighting myself the entire time for enjoying the feel of his skin under my fingertips. This man is intoxicating, and I'm breathing in the fumes as if I've never tasted desire before.

Because I haven't. Not like this.

In the afternoon, Finley and Jake join us for parasailing. Finley's all grins and giggles, her excitement aimed at me and the fact that Maverick's palm is pressed against my lower back. She whispers something to Jake, but her attention stays on me. He nods, agreeing with whatever she's telling him.

The boat slows to a stop, and our guide asks who's first. Finley jumps to her feet. "We are!"

She pinches my a.s.s as she slides past me, clicking her tongue and winking.

Extra alone-time, she mouths.

Geez. It's not like I'll be s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g him on a boat with her and Jake fifty feet above me. Not to mention the guide isn't bailing s.h.i.+p any time soon.

"If I fall, I'm going to get eaten by a shark," I say, eyeing the crystal clear water after Finley skips past.

Maverick hooks me around the waist, his mouth coming in against my ear. "I don't think it's sharks you need to worry about, Jellysnack. You're marked for those translucent f.u.c.kers."

I groan. "Is that nickname going to stick?"

"Already has."

He presses a small kiss to my neck before pulling back to root for Jake, who's buckling into the tandem harness beside Finley. He leaves a hand against me, his thumb doing lazy circles across the small of my back. I wonder if he knows what he's doing to me.

He flashes me a crooked grin, and I realize he definitely knows. This is his A game, his push to the finish line after my presumptive decline of his invitation last night. He's making it impossible for the same outcome to occur tonight.

And it's working. Oh, it's working so well.

My skin p.r.i.c.kles at the added warmth of his palm on me. Finley winks at me again, then whoops, pumping her arms in the air. I shoot her a thumbs-up. Surely that has to be the right response. Now Maverick's fingers are caressing just above the elastic of my swim bottoms, and I suck in air at the sensation.

Finley reaches to Jake for a kiss, and the boat lurches forward. They yell out their excitement as their feet lift off the platform.

I sit down beside Maverick and tilt my phone up toward the sky. I snap some awesome shots, including one of Finley with her tongue out and flipping me off. Maverick doesn't stop the trail of caresses on my thigh. This man is dooming me to his bed.

I've only been with one man, but he never ignited the fire that's burning in my stomach now. The higher and hotter the flames, the faster my resolve dissipates. Maverick will get what he's after, and that'll be it. Just like Finn's hook-ups.

It's inevitable, I know. At the most, this fling will be over in three more days, when he flies back to Illinois and law school. Finn and I leave the following morning. Getting attached to this man would be incredibly, incredibly stupid. A guaranteed heartbreak, and I'm still piecing myself back together from the first one.

"Hey, Jellysnack," Maverick murmurs, sweeping windblown hair from my face. "Are you ready to fly?"

I look up at Finley and Jake. They're making their descent, my best friend cheering and pointing at me. I point back before I turn to Maverick again.

"I'm ready if you are."

Maverick leans in and brushes the tip of his nose over my cheek. "I'm more than ready," he says, and the deep husk of his voice dives into my core. I don't think we're talking about parasailing anymore.

"Good," I whisper, because that's all the volume I can get out.

He smiles, and I have to swing my attention to my bestie to keep the heat from flus.h.i.+ng my face. It's probably a useless move, because my entire body is flushed.

Finley and Jake land on the platform, hollering and whooping and breaking the heat between Maverick and me. I'm grateful. Another minute and I'd probably be yanking Maverick's T-s.h.i.+rt off of him.

"Holy Caribbean s.h.i.+t," Finley squeals, leaping to me. "G.o.d, Ali. That. Was. Epic."

"Don't vomit from up there, Tavare." Jake slugs Maverick's arm.

"Won't be a problem, Rochester."

Maverick and I step onto the platform and back up into the tandem harnesses. Our guide adjusts the straps to make sure we're both secure. The expression on Maverick's face makes me laugh. His eyes are alight like a child with a new puppy, and he's done this a handful of times before today. Finley and I are the parasailing virgins on this trip.

His excitement fuels my own. Adrenaline pumps through my veins. A year ago, I never would have done something like this. Chris wouldn't have allowed it, even if I'd wanted to. So this, right now, feels kind of like a "f.u.c.k you, Chris" moment.

The boat speeds up. My feet slowly leave the platform. A s.h.i.+ver races up my spine, and I glance at Maverick. He's looking at me too, a mixture of happiness and amus.e.m.e.nt on his face.

"Scream loud, Ali!" Finley yells, her hands cupped around her mouth.

I take a deep breath, and up, up we go. My heart races, exhilaration filling me to mile-high level. Below, Finley and Jake are waving, but I hardly notice them. No, all I see is brilliant, Caribbean blue for miles.

I don't want to blink for fear of missing something. I'm smiling so big I think a bug flew into my mouth. But I don't care. Up here, I'm a bird, free like the heaven around me.

"Jellysnack," Maverick calls loud from beside me. He points down at the water on his side. "Look there."

A large shadow the shape of a torpedo is under the surface. I squint. Wait, is it moving? "Is that a shark?"

Maverick gives a one-shouldered shrug, then laughs at my expression.

"Relax," he says, tipping his head skyward and letting go of the straps. He reaches his arms wide. "You only live once, baby. Enjoy it."

I keep a hold of the reins, but otherwise I mimic Maverick's position. I even allow my eyelids to fall as I breathe in the sweet air. I'm flying in paradise. What more could I want?

Finally, I open my eyes to Maverick's grin.

He slips my hand into his, gaze holding my stare, and together we fall.

The four of us spend the day doing touristy things. We pet manatees, eat tacos, and take pictures at the photo booth on the beach. Maverick is by my side the whole time, touching me with little caresses to keep me aware of his presence. As if I could forget.

By evening, we end up at an outdoor club. The music is loud and rhythmic, and even though most of the people here are spring-breakers from the States, the salsa flavor of Latino artists has everyone's hips swinging.

Jake and Finley beat Maverick and me to the dance floor, showing off their own version of dirty dancing. I laugh at their attempt at a lift. So not graceful. In fact, the people next to them have to jump out of the way of Finn's flailing arms.

Maverick nods to the other side of the room. "Might be safer over there."

Our friends are in their own world and don't notice us walk off. Behind us, couples shuffle their feet. The men spin the ladies samba-style. Maverick watches them, then he turns to me and twirls me once into his hold.