by C. M. Owens
Maverick doesn’t answer the rhetorical question, his face back in my hair as a waitress drops off a fresh drink for him and Rye, and also leaves a bottle of water on the table that I quickly grab. It’s like they don’t have to order anything. Mind-reading waitresses are totally awesome.
Then I remember Dane owns this place, and his wife is sitting at the table with us. I suppose they take a minute to pay extra attention to this table.
I glance at the bar in search of Ember—the bartender who tried to warn me away from Maverick. But she must not be on duty tonight, since I don’t see her.
As Base and the band step off stage for a break, regular music starts playing. Maverick toys with some of my hair, using the hand that’s not wrapped around me. It’s an intimate gesture, but I don’t point that out.
A song starts playing, and Maverick’s grin grows as Corbin darts a glare in his direction.
“You fucking asshole,” Corbin says over the music, while everyone else bursts out laughing.
Well, everyone but me, since I don’t know what’s so funny about Shake that Ass playing.
Maverick just grins like the cat who ate the canary, as Corbin slides out of the booth and moves to the edge of the platform we’re on. Weirdly, he tosses his shirt off before he squats, puts his hands on his thighs and—
“Is he really twerking?” I ask, confused.
The table loses it twice as hard, but I’m so lost. Weirdly, he’s damn good at twerking. He must do this a lot.
“Triple dare,” Ruby says, grinning over at me. “He has to do this every time that song is played, as long as I’m nearby.”
Sure. Makes perfect sense.
I really don’t understand, but I still find his twerking fascinating.
Once the song ends and Corbin’s twerking is applauded, he returns to the booth—shirt back on—and they all continue to talk, occasionally ribbing someone good-naturedly. I’ve never witnessed so many people who just fit like family. I already envied Rye and Brin with the relationship they have. Now I envy them more for the friends they’re surrounded with.
By the way, Rye totally still has sparkly hair, though it’s not as dramatic as it was when it was fresh.
Apparently glitter really is a bitch to get gone. I still have it in my hair too, and I barely got any on me.
This makes me miss my other two brothers. They’re my best friends, and we have that easy friendship that they all do. We just don’t get to see each other as much.
Maverick drinks, cracking jokes and taking his own jabs at people. I listen to them, sort of taking it all in, feeling possibly a little too comfy among them while pressed against his side.
“No, that was Billy. I’ve never heard anyone scream over a beetle like that,” Rye is saying, talking about some story from the past.
“Probably had something to do with the fact his balls didn’t drop until he was halfway to college,” Maverick quickly inserts, causing the others to break out into hysterics again.
His arm is still around me, easily resting there like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His thumb is tracing lazy circles on my arm near my elbow, an absent gesture he doesn’t even realize he’s doing.
Cozy, we are. Too damn cozy.
This is starting to feel like a date. Especially since I haven’t seen a single tab for my drinks yet.
“So how old did you say you were?” Rain asks me, drawing me out of my thoughts.
“Twenty-five.”
“And how old is your son?” Kode asks me seriously.
Maverick sputters his drink, coughing. How much did he actually tell them? And why isn’t he correcting the misinformation?
“Totally forgot to tell you, since you were pointless in helping me, but she’s sort of not the kid’s mother. She’s his sister,” Maverick tells them.
“But he asked you to be his daddy?” Kode asks, genuinely confused.
“The kid is diabolical,” Maverick announces, which of course, sets the table into a fit of laughter again. Even I laugh a little.
Sean’s mischievous personality is one of my favorite things about him.
Even if he is a little too much at times.
The worst of his smartassery comes as a defensive mechanism. Truth is, he’s just a normal kid who doesn’t get the chance to make too many friends. He’s also small for his age, which of course paints him a target to bullies.
His quick tongue and evil genius mind keep him from being someone’s doormat.
Finally, Maverick leans back over to me, his lips brushing my ear and sending a shiver up my spine. “You ready to get out of here? We can go to my place and watch a movie or something.”
“Netflix and chill?” I ask, rolling my eyes, ignoring that grin he wears so well.
“Friends Netflix and chill too,” he argues, still grinning.
“Yeah, but friends didn’t already fuck on your bed. I think I should probably just go home for tonight. But thanks for inviting me out.”
I don’t want to be just another one of his conquests anymore. See? I knew it was a bad idea to be his friend. He’s hard not to like.
He studies me for a moment. “What’re you doing tomorrow?”
Sounds like another date he’s offering…
“Tomorrow I’ll be helping Sean study for his first day of school in your old house, while my mother continues to keep your father in her thrall.”
He really doesn’t seem concerned with my mother and his father at all. As though he’s not getting involved or something.
“I need your number. Or I can just keep showing up at the house if you prefer,” he finally tells me.
Definitely feels like a date when I take his phone to program my number into it.
“If you get free time tomorrow, call me, and I’ll give you the tour of Sterling Shore. After all, I’m the one who christened your arrival. Only fair I show you the town,” he goes on, that cocky grin back in place.
Ignoring the heat in my cheeks, I stand when he lets me, knowing plenty of cabs will be waiting outside.
“Later, alligator,” I tell him, causing him to smile as I start walking away, leaving him behind without an answer.
“After while, crocodile,” I hear him say from behind me, the weight of his gaze on my back.
Then I also hear him catching hell for saying it, which has me grinning as I head toward the door.
Chapter 14
MAVERICK
I’m almost home Monday around noon when my phone rings. Not knowing the number, I answer warily.
“Hello?”
“I apologize if this isn’t a real contact number for Sean Young, but we can’t reach the other two numbers we have, and he said this was his sister’s boyfriend’s phone, Mr. Sterling.”
The fuck?
Whose boyfriend?
“Sean Young?” I ask, confused. Then it dawns on me that he wouldn’t have Salem’s last name. She’ll kill him for calling me her boyfriend. “I mean, yeah. Who is calling about Sean?”
“This is Misty, from the school, and um…we have a situation. Sean is being sent home early for disciplinary action. You’re listed on his emergency relatives’ page for school, and you’re the only one we can reach.”
Salem’s phone is no doubt hard to hear if she’s at work, and there’s no telling where my father and Kelly are or what they’re doing. Dad is flighty normally. I can only imagine what he’s doing with a newlywed mentality and a gold digger who likes to shop.
“I’m on my way, but how much trouble could he be in? It’s his first day.”
She clears her throat. “The principal will fill you in when you get here, Mr. Sterling.”
With that, she hangs up, and I roll my eyes. That kid really is a little monster. He couldn’t even make it through a whole day of school.
***
Sean looks bored and annoyed as I wait for the principal to explain why he’s being sent home for two days, when he’s barely been at school for half a day.
/> “He told one of the teachers that tuna sub spelled backwards was what he’d like to do to her face, Mr. Sterling.” The principal’s face turns red like he’s a little embarrassed to even have to repeat that. “I’m afraid the lewd behavior is harassing in nature, and we simply don’t tolerate it.”
Tuna sub spelled backwards? B-U-S-A… Ahhhh. I choke back a laugh, and Sean’s lips twitch when he sees me struggling.
“He’s eleven. He doesn’t even know what it means. He’s likely just repeating something he saw on a meme somewhere,” I state dismissively.
Principal Walker looks like he hates me already. Not the same principal I had when I went here, so he has no reason to hate me.
“It simply can’t be tolerated. He’s fortunate we’re not expelling him for—”
“For making a joke?” I interrupt. “Two days is too much. He’ll go home the rest of the day, get a lecture on what he can and can’t say in the new school, and come back tomorrow with a different approach to how he handles situations,” I state all adult as fuck.
What can I say? When my game is on, it’s on.
“Not happening,” the principal says around a huff of condescending laughter.
But I know how this school really works. So does he.
“Sterling alumni contribute a lot to this school. There’s a library or two with our name on it. Hence the reason the kid got in on short notice, despite the several-year waiting list others are still on. He’ll be back in tomorrow, because, as you’ve already read in his file, his mother recently married my father. And Ian is the largest contributor to the school.”
He hates me worse now. Shit happens.
His jaw ticking, because it really isn’t fair, and he turns to face Sean. “If another incident like this occurs, I will be calling in your mother and stepfather for a little chat. A certain level of decorum is expected of anyone attending our school, Sterling or not.” His eyes slide to me. “Understood?”
Sean nods, acting like he doesn’t give a shit, but I can see there’s actually a little worry creasing his features, though he’d never admit it.
He grabs his backpack, standing, and I walk him out.
“You told a teacher you wanted to bus’ a nut on her face?” I ask dryly as we walk out.
“She asked what I wanted to do with my life, made me stand up in front of the entire class. Seemed like a funny answer at the time. Didn’t realize people around here were so sensitive.”
Trying to keep my adult in place, I refrain from laughing. I’d have loved to have seen her face.
“Bet she doesn’t call me out like that and make me look like an idiot again, though,” he mutters under his breath.
Feisty kid.
Defensive kid.
“Truth,” I decide to say instead of pretending like I have any right at all to chastise him. “I’ll swing by Dad’s and see if anyone is at home and just not answering—”
“I intentionally wrote down Mom’s number wrong. The number they were calling is mine, not hers. I can’t go home. If Mom finds out I got in trouble, she’ll ground me from Salem’s house for two weeks at least. That’s the reason I got your number out of Salem’s phone yesterday and wrote it down on the emergency numbers. You don’t work. Salem does. And I know your secret.”
This kid…
“First of all, I do work, thank you very much. Secondly, blackmail? I would have kept the secret without you tossing my secret in my face. Don’t threaten me again with it, because that secret also hurts your sister.” He slinks down in his seat.
“Probably only hurts her,” he grumbles.
I roll my eyes.
“The point is, it’s not a big deal, so long as you tell Salem what you did.”
He darts a gaze at me.
“I mean what you did at school, because she’s not going to be mad at me over your secrets. Not the blackmail threatening part.”
He just looks away.
“Feel free to thank me any time now,” I point out.
He snorts.
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re an unappreciative little ass?”
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re too old to still look like such a douche?” he fires back.
“Seriously? Douche?” I ask on a long exhale.
“You seriously going to pretend that’s something you haven’t heard before?”
I hate this kid. I really hate him.
We roll up at my house, since I know Salem is working and he can’t go home.
“Who are you texting?” the nosy, paranoid little asshole asks.
“Dad. I’m telling him I’m picking you up from your first day, making sure they know you’re affiliated with the Sterlings and blah blah blah.”
“You play off your name a lot, don’t you?”
“You can still thank me for that. It’d be hard to explain a two day suspension if you can’t even go home today,” I quickly remind him, which shuts him up.
Asshole still doesn’t thank me as he gets out of the car.
“Pie moment,” he says, confusing the hell out of me.
“What?” I ask.
I lead the way in, stopping to unlock the door, and then disarm the security system once we’re inside. Devil Spawn walks on in, dropping his backpack to my floor like it’s too much hassle to place it somewhere neatly.
“Pie moment. It’s something Salem and I say, since she won’t let me cuss. When someone is getting on my nerves, and I can’t cuss, it’s a pie moment. She says it when she’s ready to throttle someone.”
“What does that even mean?” I ask the future poster child for anger management issues.
“It means, you picture shoving a pie in their face, and it makes you feel better. Right now, I see your face in pie. Pie moment.”
“Whatever, weirdo,” I say under my breath.
I start to offer him a drink, since we’re right at the kitchen, when a damn rebel, feline battle cry sounds out, and I duck, narrowly missing the flying pussy that zooms by my face when Bananas leaps out of my cabinets.
I swear her mission in life is to cause me cardiac arrest.
“I hate that fucking cat!” I snap, watching as the cat hisses at me before turning and walking out of the room, leaving behind her stench.
And what’s the stench? That pussy farts more than any pussy ever.
“You totally squealed like a girl just now,” Sean tells me, smirking even as he waves the putrid aroma away from his face.
“Lie.”
He grins as he watches Bananas dart back into the kitchen, and I might squeal. That cat is pure evil.
I don’t relax until she runs out again, doing her usual crackhead routine of trying to tear my house apart.
“Why do you have a cat you hate?”
“Long story short, I bought it as a long-running joke for one of my friends, left it to tear her house to pieces, and she got pregnant shortly after, so she dropped it back off with me. Now I can’t get anyone to take her.”
Another feline cry coming from the back makes me worry what she’s up to. Hopefully she’s just hiding whatever body she forgot to dispose of.
“Care if I borrow your phone to find mine? I think it fell out of my bag in your car, but I didn’t see it when I got out,” the kid says.
After unlocking it, I hand it over, absently picking up the paper that my housekeeper must have left behind for me. Devil Spawn walks out to go to my car as I read over the business section.
When he finally returns, he mumbles a reluctant thanks, and I smirk as I pocket my phone.
“Got anything to drink?” he asks me.
I gesture to the fridge, silently telling him to help himself, caught up in an article, when I hear the phone start dinging in my pocket.
The fridge opens and shuts as I ignore my phone, trying to finish skimming the article about Sterling Shore expanding. Lots of opportunities to buy up some land surrounding the city if they’re about to expand.
“Got any rules?” th
e kid asks.
“Don’t pet the cat. She’ll claw you to pieces. And don’t go in my room. My bed is sacred.”
He snorts and walks away, and I try to finish the reading, even though my phone is starting to get annoying. When the dinging persists, I finally check the damn thing, wondering why so many people I haven’t talked to in ages are suddenly texting me en masse.
The cloud is only good for saving contacts you forgot you even had.
Confused, I pull up my messages that are going haywire, and immediately curse when I drop my phone like it’s on fire.
Hairy fucking balls!
Why the actual fuck is there a dick pic being sent to me by a guy who used to mow my grass?
My phone keeps dinging, and warily I pick it up, closing out of that message box. I end up dropping my phone to the counter again when I realize the guy who painted my house has also sent me a dick pic.
For fuck’s sake, is it National Dick Pic Awareness Day and no one bothered to mention it before now? Is that a real thing?
By the fifth random—and utterly traumatizing—dick pic, and thirty new unread messages, I push my phone away, glaring at it as it continues to light up, possibly giving my inbox a few STDs along the way.
When it lights up with an incoming call, I almost don’t answer, but decide to anyway, since it’s Corbin. Maybe he’s getting blasted with dick pics too. Sounds like one of those flash mob things.
He’s laughing when I answer. Like full-on belly laughing.
“Are you getting a shit-ton of dick pics? Because if so, I’d like to know why you’re finding it so humorous.”
His laughter doubles, and he struggles to speak. I can’t understand a damn word he’s trying to piece together.
Finally, he gets his shit together enough to say, “I think you’ve been hacked.”
My eyebrows knit together.
“I haven’t been hacked. I’m just getting a lot of nasty fucking dicks sent to my phone.”
“Twitter. Go read your last tweet,” the prick says through his guffaws.
Pulling my phone back, I quickly go through the motions of pulling up my app, and I get a little nauseated when I read it.
@MavSterling: I want 2 start a collection of dic pics so hit me with your best shot if you got my digits. #dicpiclover4life
