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Slip Landing

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“Let’s stop in here,” Ice had said, and Maverick had gone along with it. Even though he had been hoping for something a little more intimate—hell, maybe even a little classier. Even though there was a huge sign broadcasting college trivia night, and he was a little too old to be hanging around with enthusiastic coeds. The problem was, Ice had said it with that grin of his, the one like a wolf baring its teeth that just reminded Maverick of the other things that mouth could do, and Maverick was helpless to resist.

“This is not what I had in mind,” Maverick said, dragging gloomily on his beer.

Ice ran his fingers along the rim of his glass. “In mind for what?”

Maverick glared. He was not going to say “date;” there was no way.

Behind them, the MC posed the next trivia question: “In aeronautics, a slip landing is used when?”

“When the pilot is coming in too hot, because he is a hard on and too damn important to land properly,” Ice said.

Maverick glared, which only made Ice’s grin bigger.

“During a crosswind,” he said. Behind them, the question went unanswered, and the bell sounded.

“During a crosswind,” the MC announced, and Maverick raised his eyebrows.

Ice chuckled into the mouth of his drink. “You know one thing, I’m supposed to be impressed?”

Maverick leaned forward over the table, met Ice’s eyes.

“Oh,” he purred, “I know a lot of things.”

Maverick rested his hand on Ice’s knee, slipped his hand up Ice’s thigh. The color drained from Ice’s face and he went very still. Slowly, he set his vodka neat on the table; without looking up from Maverick’s eyes, he signaled for their waitress.

“We’ll take the check, please.”

Maverick grinned. “Yeah, we will.”