“What’s that?” I asked, already bored. Curious, but bored.
“I’m hosting the Annual Women’s Golf Fundraiser Luncheon at our house and I’m desperate. I need you to decorate.”
She spoke as if this were a job I should be delighted to have.
“When is it?”
“Thursday. Can you be there about nine?”
I rolled my eyes. Here was the thing with my mom. If she would acknowledge my interests and lifestyle once, just once, I would be thrilled. But she doesn’t. She thinks the world revolves around her. All the time, drunk or sober.
“Mom, I’m working. I can’t.”
“Can’t you call in, Grace? I really need you here.”
“No, I can’t call in. It’s the last week of school.”
“Exactly. The last week. You don’t even teach the last week of school,” she said as if she knew. I thought of my kiddo’s little store they just got done with and my temper at my mother increased. Why did I even let myself become affected by her? I knew how selfish she was.
“I can’t. Sorry. You’ll have to find someone else or do it yourself.”
I covered the mouthpiece as she let out a horrific gasp. Ha! I smiled. As if the mere mention of her having to decorate was too much she might pass out from holding her breath.
“Think about it, Grace. I’ll talk to you soon.”
I shook my head. She didn’t get it. She never got it. Think about it? What part of no didn’t she comprehend? I shoved her out of my brain and stuck my phone into my book bag, refusing to let her rile me up.
Almost to Maverick’s, I reiterated that it would be his place and then home. Maybe I would see him and maybe I wouldn’t. It didn’t matter if I saw him or not. It wasn’t like I needed to or should be keeping tabs on him. Aside from thinking I had perfect breasts, and the fact that there was clearly an attraction between us, he wanted nothing to do with me. At least he wanted me to believe that. Who was I kidding? We were so different from one another this tiny attraction between us was a newness that had yet to wear off. Human nature – a chemical reaction due to the newness of being in one another’s company for an extended period of time.
That was all it was.
Those tumbles in my tummy that felt like I was free falling from a carnival ride weren’t something I’d felt with anyone before. As much as I’d like to chalk it up to a new human chemistry, my subconscious told me it was something more.
The weather was beautiful now. Humid but not unbearable and the cloudless sky and bright sunshine washed away the remainder of my work day as I walked at a leisurely pace to Maverick’s house. A perfect day to bake some white chocolate macadamia nut cookies.
I unlocked Maverick’s front door, ignored the fact that I was let-down because he wasn’t home and was happily greeted by Echo. “Why hello there girly. Oh, yeah, yeah. Mama loves you too. Do you have to go potty? Come on, baby, let’s go outside.”
Amidst her jumping on my legs as I attempted to dodge her, I let her out the back door and followed behind her, scooting over the same metal chair I’d sat in Friday night when I listened to Maverick having sex. How often did he have sex? Was it always with Tiffany? Did they have an unspoken agreement to just have sex whenever the need suited them?
It was totally unfair that I couldn’t force myself to do something like that.
How did people go about finding someone to have sex with, let alone making sure you got an orgasm out of the deal? Surely it wasn’t through those dating sites where you could download the app to your phone. I giggled at the idea of Maverick searching through the dating classifieds. No, I didn’t envision him on his phone doing that. Like he needed to anyway. There were probably tons of women waiting for Tiffany to be kicked to the curb.
Myself included.
The unmistakable thunder of Maverick’s motorcycle echoed around me. My heart leapt in my chest and I jumped out of my chair. Finally. With my hand on the sliding door, I stopped short of running into the house. What was I thinking? I had to be cool about this. What if he was in a mood? What if he was with Tiffany and I bounded in there like a fawn following her mama? I would look foolish.
I retreated from the door and busied myself by walking around the yard playing with Echo. I was starting to figure out that she loved to play tag. I was always it and I had to pretend I was going to get her and she would run around his yard at full speed only to stop in front of me – far enough away I couldn’t grab her – then she’d start the game all over again.
With the sudden loss of sound, I pictured him getting off his motorcycle. Long, muscular legs as they stood from the bike and how that do-rag of his fit so neatly over his head, coupled with the five o’clock shadow above his lip and around his chin as his mouth twitched into an almost grin, sent my pulse into launch mode. Would there be a time where I could forget the effects he had on me? After that quick kiss he planted on me, it wasn’t likely. Where had that come from? It had been an amazing kiss and neither of us had brought it up again.
Go inside. Keep it casual and say hello. What is the worst that could happen? Tiffany being with him, them laughing and flirting would be the worst thing. His grumpy attitude I could handle. Mostly anything I could handle, but if I had to sit through that show, I’d have to excuse myself quickly.
I wanted to see him bad enough. “Come on, Echo. Let’s go inside.”
I slid the door open and the man I’d thought about non-stop since Friday night stood just inside his front door undressing himself. His shirt was thrown into a ball on the floor near his discarded black leather boots. His stomach was flat and defined muscles highlighted his chest. His grease-stained jeans were already unbuttoned hanging loosely from his hips, exposing the gray waistband of his black boxer-briefs. His dirty hands were still holding open the button fly…well, I did just catch him in the act of undressing.
I couldn’t see his eyes well enough to guess what he was thinking because I was on the other side of the room. Echo sniffed around him and his boots and my heart was officially in lust at the sight of him. Why did he have to look so perfect? His cocky attitude filled the room – his smug, almost playful grin and the way he stood there in a wide legged stance as he watched me—as if he was well-aware of how gorgeous he was. His skin, the perfectly placed chest hair, his nipples. Even the way his working hands gripped the denim of his jeans as if any second he was going to fling them off, was sexy. Maybe he would.
And I was going to watch.
“I know you like to listen. You like to watch, too?”
Had I just said that out-loud? My chest warmed at the spread of tingles making their way over my breasts to my nipples like an electrical current. Somehow my legs had carried me toward him. A few feet away, I could see the blaze in his eyes and how well-defined his muscles were.
“I…Echo needed to be let out. Do you always shed your clothes right at the front door?”
“Always. I’m always too dirty, Princess. Bout time you learn that.”
“I’m learning.
“Too dirty for a princess such as yourself.”
“Are you trying to convince me of that or yourself?” The corner of his mouth lifted into that famous almost-grin and elation stole through my system. Had I almost made him laugh?
“You. I already know I’m not good enough for you.”
I laughed at his joke. He growled.
“Oh, you’re serious?”
“Give me a break, Grace. Are you serious right now? Do you have any idea where I come from? Let’s forget about you being Thatcher’s sister for five minutes. I’m a loner. I have commitment issues. My mom’s a drug addict. Was. Is. I don’t even know. I haven’t spoken to her in years. My dad’s in prison. You know why people go to prison, don’t you, Grace? Cause they’re bad. They hurt people and do bad shit. Commit crimes. I come from a messed-up family and some of that has been imprinted on my life.”
It felt like he slapped me in the face. The joy at wanting to see him dissipate
d into the air, just popped like a bubble, and my stomach felt as if someone sucked all my insides out. Had he really thought that little of me? That I judged him every chance I got? I wasn’t even sure what to say. How to respond to the fact that he clearly believed I would judge him…did judge him.
My throat hurt near my collar bone and I could feel tears pricking at my eyes. “Come on, Echo.” I called to her. I couldn’t look at him. I was too hurt. I was afraid I’d cry. “Let’s go. We’re clearly not wanted here.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to. It’s evident in how little you think of me. That I would judge you based on your parents and your upbringing. I’m sorry you had to go through what you did with your parents but it shouldn’t define who you are now.” I scooped the puppy up and realized I’d have to touch his half-naked form to get through the doorway. “Excuse me. Please move.” I stepped close to him. Too close. So close that I caught a whiff of him. Sweat. Grease. A hint of soap or deodorant, something fresh that mixed with the working man of him.
“No.”
“I want to go.”
“I don’t think little of you,” he whispered like it almost hurt him to say it. I glanced at him then, into his eyes where all that brown pooled and swirled around tiny shards of gold. I felt like we had a connection – both hurt by our parents and the haunted look in his eyes told me he still carried it around. Just like me.
“That’s not what you just implied.”
“Remember, I told you that you deserve those boys from the country club that play golf and bocce ball or whatever. Tennis and shit like that.”
Forget about Thatcher for five minutes – his words from moments ago. That was what I was going to do. Okay, five minutes. “Don’t tell me what is good for me. Stop trying to guess what I want – or think you know. You don’t know the kind of guys I’ve dated. The men I’ve fucked. You don’t get to tell me what is and isn’t good for me. And you sure as hell don’t get to throw judgement on me. Like I judge you? You think I walk around here, coming in and out of your home just thinking how much better I am than you? Give me a fucking break. That’s shallow, even for you.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant.”
“I’m an adult, Maverick! I get to choose the men I think are worthy of me. I don’t even know what this is,” I waved a hand between us. I set the puppy back down because my nerves were shot. I was angry now. More than I was hurt a few moments ago. What the hell was this? “What’s going on between us? One minute you’re watching me and looking at me like you’d like nothing better than to be that guy for me. Openly admiring my body. Kissing me. Then the next second you’re judging me! This is your fault. I think you’re…”
“You think I’m what? Say it. An asshole? Bastard? I’ve been called a lot worse.”
“No. None of those things. I think you’re afraid of me. It’s you who’s holding judgement on yourself. And maybe you’re right. If you don’t think you’re good enough for me, why should I?”
That time I touched him – mistake on my part because his muscles were solid and I swear he emitted electricity that zapped me all the way to my toes– as I walked passed him. I picked Echo up from her resting place on the floor and she and I walked out.
I walked home in a blur. Angry and hurt. Over something that I wasn’t even entirely sure was something. I was relieved not to have run into Linda. I couldn’t deal with her right now and there was no way I was going to take Echo back to Maverick’s like she politely suggested before.
Once inside I decided the best thing I could do was make a list. If I made a list of Maverick and all my feelings, maybe I could figure out what was happening with me. I was attracted to him. Tremendously. I could admit that. There was nothing wrong with that. He was a male, a real male – dirty and grimy, he worked hard, was focused and smart – he was all those things I’d never paid attention to in a man. Least not to much of an extent. Not when I was so busy with college and teaching.
And in what little ways I was getting to know him, he was different. He wasn’t into brand name clothes, or who did what on a Friday night. He wasn’t spending countless hours scrolling through his phone. He used his hands to build that bike – a real motorcycle that he was going to ride someday. I loved how different he was. To me he was just Maverick. He did his own thing. I liked that about him. He didn’t care what everyone else was doing and he sure didn’t care what people thought about his motorcycle and dirty black boots and his vest that had naughty patches all over it. Like who wore something that said: Heads or Tails. Heads, you give me some tail. Tails, you give me some head, in public?
All these new things I was slowly learning about him were working me sideways. Maybe if I could figure out Maverick, I could figure out why he was so adamant about keeping his distance from me. He didn’t think he was good enough for me. That I needed someone who was rich? Or clean? What? Then there was Thatcher. I don’t know if or how Maverick could ever get over that.
Screw the list. I took out my cute containers of flour and sugar. Got out my mixing bowl and began making my white chocolate macadamia nut cookies. Not knowing what he wanted from me, it was difficult for me to assess the situation. Should I go and gather the puppy’s belongings and not go back? I would have to get rid of Echo if I did that. Which I didn’t want to do. Should I confront him and demand he explain to me what the deal was? Did I think Maverick would do that even if I tried and not give me his standard grunt?
My phone pinged with an incoming text and I ignored it. It was one of three people: my mom, dad or Thatcher. I didn’t feel the need to have a conversation with any of them. Maverick had me in an awkward mood. Part of me wanted to plead with him to open up to me. What guilt was he harboring? The other part of me didn’t want to go back over there ever again and simply forget he even existed.
Once I’d pulled the tab off the can of the macadamia nuts, I chopped them up into smaller pieces and mixed them into the batter and divvied out the dough onto the cookie sheet. After I placed them into the oven, I went into my room and undressed. All the while thinking of Maverick and how he’d looked so wonderful standing there undressing. Long before he opened his big fat mouth. There was nothing worse than a great looking guy who sounded like a jack ass. Then he would say something complementary toward me and I would second guess my feelings about him all over again.
As if he knew what I wanted, I scoffed. I didn’t know what I wanted in the terms Maverick used. Country club boys that played croquet or whatever he said. But I knew I was crazy attracted to Maverick and even if he didn’t like it, he was attracted to me, too. My brother was a large problem in this.
I happily took off my bra and threw it on my bed, rubbing my shoulders where the straps always dug in. Perfect my ass. They were too big for my frame. How many times had I considered breast-reduction surgery? How many times had I looked it up on the internet to see what the procedure entailed? How much it would cost and whether it would be the best decision. Yet how many times had I gotten nervous about it?
The truth was I was scared to do it. It wasn’t because I loved the way I looked, it was because I would have to do it alone. Thatcher would go with me if I asked, but come on, who asked their older brother to go with them into their breast reduction appointment? My parents were completely iffy. My mom would go, but sober? That would be the question. And sometimes her being sober was just as bad as her being drunk. I simply wanted moral support, that’s all. She wasn’t great moral support. Neither were the few women I worked with. I shied away from confiding in any of those women. And somehow my mom would find a way to make my issues all about her and not in the way of a parent regretting what they did to raise such a child but in the way of how she couldn’t fathom how her life was being affected so negatively because of my choices.
So, I kept my mouth shut and dealt with the back pain, the second-glances from men and women, even one time someone had the nerve to ask me where I got ‘those’ because my m
om wasn’t large chested like me—as if I just went and ordered some off the internet. I hated the extra attention they caused. I knew I got the sidelong glances from people, I wasn’t an idiot. I hated how the four men I’d been with hadn’t known quite what to say about them – as if they should be a topic of conversation yet they were the elephant in the room. So much so, that they’d avoided them completely. Except for Owen, whom I hated to even reflect on my relationship with.
I threw a t-shirt back on and startled at the knock on my door. Crap was it Linda? Did she see me come in with Echo? Echo’s little ears perked up and I put my finger to my mouth. “Shh.”
Barefooted, I inched down the hall from my room and into the foyer. If I could just sneak a look through the peephole, maybe I could hide Echo in the bathroom if it was Linda. As I leaned over to the door to peek, another loud knock scared the crap out me. I let out a yelp and then Maverick’s voice, “Open the door Gracie, I know you’re in there.”
“Shit. What does he want?” I asked Echo.
She wagged her tail back and forth excitedly because she didn’t know Maverick didn’t like her. Poor thing.
“Open the door and I’ll tell you. I sent you a message.” Shit.
The oven timer dinged notifying me that my cookies were ready. Crap. I needed a bra and I couldn’t risk the cookies staying in the oven a moment longer. It would turn them from soft and chewy to hard in an instant. And I had the matter of the sexy biker wanting to come into my apartment. What the hell was he doing here?
I acquiesced. I unlocked the door and flung it open, “Here, come in. I have to take my cookies out. They’ll burn.” I skipped the few steps to my kitchen and used my oven mitt to remove the cookies and turn the oven off.
“Are you always baking?”
“I enjoy it. Allows me to think.” I scooped the cookies off the sheet, satisfied with the way they turned out. Not too hard, not too soft. Perfect.
Wicked: A Small Town Romance (Love in Lone Star Book 3) Page 8
