Malia
The house was quiet when we came back from the concert that it felt like a trap. My mum was already in her room with her friend, and the air smelled faintly of wine and perfume. I headed straight for the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
I let the water run and leaned against the sink, staring at my reflection. My cheeks were still flushed from earlier, the music had dulled in my bones, but what I really couldn’t shake was Maverick’s text. That filthy string of words that had made me clench my thighs in the middle of a damn orchestra.
My phone sat heavy in my pocket, but I didn’t dare look at it again. I touched my lips instead, like I could erase the way they’d parted when I read his message.
A knock came soft, deliberate. My stomach flipped.
Before I could even answer, th
