Maverick spots me over the hood, frozen mid-swipe, his eyebrows hitting his hairline. He tilts his head like, You seeing this shit? I lift a single brow. Handle it. Oh, he does. He drops the squeegee with a clunk, walks straight across the lot like he owns the pavement, and before I can even breathe, he’s got a hand curled around Colt’s neck, pulling him in. The kiss is… emphatic. Slow. Territorial in a way that’s not even a tiny bit subtle. Colt’s eyes go wide for half a second, and then his whole body sinks into it, hands fisting in Maverick’s shirt like instinct. Like home.
