The Consequence of Loving Me
Aftershock Series: Vol. I
Kat Singleton
Contents
1. Veronica
2. Veronica
3. Maverick
4. Veronica
5. Veronica
6. Maverick
7. Veronica
8. Veronica
9. Veronica
10. Veronica
11. Veronica
12. Maverick
13. Veronica
14. Veronica
15. Maverick
16. Veronica
17. Maverick
18. Veronica
19. Veronica
20. Maverick
21. Veronica
22. Veronica
23. Veronica
24. Maverick
25. Veronica
26. Maverick
27. Veronica
28. Veronica
29. Maverick
30. Maverick
31. Veronica
32. Maverick
33. Veronica
34. Veronica
35. Maverick
36. Veronica
37. Maverick
38. Veronica
39. Veronica
40. Veronica
41. Veronica
42. Maverick
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
REVIEW
Extras
The Consequence of Loving Me
Aftershock Series: Vol. I
Copyright © 2020 by Kat Singleton
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
ISBN: 9798618655835
Cover Design by Pink Ink Designs
Edited by Christina Hart of Savage Hart Book Services
Proofread by Amanda Cuff
Formatted by J.R. Rogue
This book is for every single person who cheered me on while writing this book.
I appreciate it more than I’ll ever be able to put into words.
This debut is for you.
1
Veronica
You don’t drown by falling in the water; you drown by staying there.
– Edwin Louis Cole
Unless you actually drown.
The college campus bustles around me as I stare at the quote in front of me. I have no idea who this Edwin guys is, but I decide in this moment that I hate him. He probably has no true experience with drowning. And using it as some sort of inspirational metaphor, when it actually takes lives, is just shitty.
No one willingly drowns. They aren’t like, “Hey, I fell in this water. I think I’ll just stay a moment.” No. They get lost in the vicious movement. They get pulled under, sucked in, until they see nothing else—ever again.
I continue to glare at the sorry mistake of a self-help poster that’s stapled smack dab in the middle of the bulletin board. My eyes narrow on it one last time before I notice someone standing next to me.
“You’re looking at that bulletin board like it just told you Zac Efron is gay,” he says.
I slowly pull my gaze from the offensive quote and instead focus it on the guy behind the voice. First, I glimpse at his shoes—a pair of white Adidas. One point for him; every other male on the campus wears boat shoes that their stay-at-home mother probably bought them last time she came to visit. I continue my trek up his body. Black joggers. White T-shirt. Chambray shirt casually strung over his shoulders, slightly wrinkled.
Finally, I make it to his face. He stares back at me, a lazy grin pulling at the corners of his mouth—a taunt.
He raises his eyebrows, nodding toward the paper. “It must say he’s gay. Oh god, let me see.” He steps closer to the board, consequently stepping closer to me, and reads the words in front of us.
I accuse him with my eyes as his sweep over the poster, patiently waiting for him to become uncomfortable, but it doesn’t seem to faze him. “Every ex-Disney star or current Marvel heart-throb could come out as gay and I still wouldn’t care. Hollywood is overrated.”
He smiles as his hand runs over his mouth. “Said no girl ever.”
My lips part in frustration. “Says this girl now,” I counter.
He takes a small step out of my space. A disruption catches his attention across the quad, causing his gaze to flick in that direction for a small moment before he looks back at me. “So, since we came to the conclusion it actually wasn’t because Zac Efron came out as gay, what did that poster ever do to you?”
Then, he reaches up and plucks the paper from the board. A small ripping sound mixes with the noise of a college campus at three p.m. on a Wednesday.
He reads the quote out loud, his thick eyebrows bunching together. “What’s wrong with it? Cheesy, maybe, but inspiring.”
I roll my eyes, letting out a sigh that’s half-growl. “It’s beyond cheesy. He’s using something tragic like drowning to motivate college students. I don’t know why he thought anyone would eat that shit up.” The strap of my oversized purse starts to slide off my shoulder, so I shift my weight and pull it back into place.
He laughs, managing to annoy me more than he already has. “You are on a campus filled with a bunch of sappy young adults. Everyone eats this shit up. Everyone but you, apparently.” He neatly folds the piece of paper and tucks it into the back pocket of his joggers.
I glare at him before I turn back to the board, my lips pursing as I think about my plan of action. Finally, I swing my bag to the front of me and begin to rifle through it. My purse bumps against his arm, but to my dismay, he doesn’t move. I finally find what I need—a flyer of my own, and the stapler I brought. I use my one hand to hold the flyer up while my other staples it to the board.
Part of me was hoping Efron boy would have left me alone by now, but instead he uses this moment to step behind me and peer over my shoulder. My body tenses with his nearness.
“Looking for apartment or house available for rent. Not opposed to roommates. Call the number below if interested. Serious inquiries only. Veronica,” he observes, his breath hitting my neck as he reads my words aloud.
He lingers on the last part—my name—dragging it out.
The heel of my combat boot makes a scratching noise against the floor as I hastily move back from the board and admire my handiwork. When I look down, I notice the paint splatters on my sleeve. If I cared what he thought of me, I’d be embarrassed.
He reaches in front of me and I watch in horror as he plucks the flyer from the board I just stapled it to. My mouth drops. “What the hell? I need that on there.”
The guy chuckles, as he holds the flyer in his other hand. “Chill, Veronica,” he says, dragging my name out again—and I hate it. “I’m just taking this off before a bunch of weirdos call you offering to be a bedmate, not a roommate.”
I stifle the urge to hit him. There’s just something about his smugness that infuriates me. And I consider if kicking his ass would be worth getting kicked out of school.
“Plus,” he adds, “my roommates and I are looking for a new addition. It’s your lucky day, Veronica! You can move in with us.” His infuriatingly crysta
l blue eyes gaze at something behind my head before they once again focus on me.
“How do I know you aren’t the weirdo trying to make me a bedmate and not a roommate?” I ask him. Disgust is clear in my tone and I don’t try to hide it. My phone vibrates in the back pocket of my jeans, but instead of pulling it out to check it, I keep my stare aimed on him.
His eyes roam from the top of my head, down to my shoes, and back up again, unabashedly inspecting me. “Trust me, I don’t want you in my bed. I do, however, want someone to help us cover the rent. Our last roommate fell in love with her professor and left without telling any of us.”
To buy myself some time, I look around the quad, taking in the scene around me as I try to figure out the most polite way to tell him to fuck off. A tiny blonde cheerleader is thrown into the air by a man who looks like The Incredible Hulk from the corner of my eye. After watching her land safely in his hands, my eyes come back to the guy standing in front of me.
We both stare at each other, getting jostled by people passing by, until he moves. His fingers curl around my bicep. I have no choice but to move with him as he pulls me into the mass of people walking through our college quad.
His voice is way too close to my ear as he instructs, “Follow me. I need a coffee. But I want to figure out when you can move in.”
“I never said I was interested in moving in with you.” I yank my arm out of his grasp at the same time I plant my heels into the old concrete. People bump into me from all directions, but I stand my ground.
He turns around, raising his dark eyebrows at me. I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. His shoulders rise and fall in a sigh as he also stops in the middle of the traveling bodies around us. We continue to stare at each other, and it’s evident to me he has an iron will that rivals my own.
It’s impressive, but not impressive enough to get me to move in with a complete stranger—an intolerable one at that.
I’m the first to break the silence. “I’m not following you. I don’t even know your name. Plus, all you’ve managed to do in the few minutes I’ve known you is annoy me. We aren’t off to the best start here.” I scowl at another person who bumps into me while they rush down the sidewalk.
The stranger laughs at my reaction. It aggravates me. I let out a sigh and turn around, walking back to the campus board. I try to think if I have anything in my bag that I can use to replace the flyer this guy decided to rip down. Just as I round one of the corners, I bump into a firm chest.
“Veronica?” a familiar voice says.
I look up to see the guy I hooked up with last weekend.
I think his name is Chad?
I can’t remember, but I do remember that Texas accent that drawls out of his mouth. If the accent alone didn’t speak of his hometown, the cowboy hat that sits on top of his head would give him away.
“Oh, hi,” I respond, looking over my shoulder to find demanding roommate guy standing directly behind me.
Why won’t he just take a hint already?
“I tried texting you a few times since we saw each other last,” maybe-Chad says.
Or is it Brad?
It doesn’t matter. I just really need to focus on not rolling my eyes.
Don’t guys know it isn’t cute when they’re clingy?
And now, there are two clingers surrounding me—one I don’t even know!
“Yeah, I got them,” I answer Chad-or-Brad, lazily twirling a piece of my long blonde hair around my finger.
His eyes widen a bit. He obviously isn’t used to being ignored.
Luckily, his phone rings from inside his jeans pocket. He gives me one last inquisitive look before pulling his phone out of his pocket, then shakes his head and walks away.
I look back to clinger number two to find that taunt of a smirk still on his face.
“That happen a lot?” he asks, with humor in his voice.
I shrug. It does, but I’m not one to tell that to a stranger.
He holds out his hand while I stare at it questioningly.
His long, tan fingers wiggle in waiting. “My name is Maverick, by the way.”
“Maverick,” I repeat, not moving.
He takes a deep breath. “This is where you shake my hand and not make it weird.”
For some odd reason—maybe manners, or the fact that he looks so desperate—I decide to take his hand. His large hand engulfs mine in a firm handshake, and I want to snatch mine back.
Instead, Maverick takes his back and proceeds to run it through the length of his dark brown hair. The items in his backpack move around as he shifts his weight. “So, back to our earlier conversation. Based on the awkward run-in you just had with our star pitcher Chad, and judging from almost every male’s eyes in this quad, I see you are used to guys wanting to be your bedmate, but believe me when I say, I’m not one of them.”
I finally roll my eyes, unable to hold it back any longer.
When I don’t say anything, he adds, “Look, you seem cool—”
“You don’t know me,” I snap. At the same time, I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket.
He’s still annoying me, so I pull my phone out of my pocket to see who keeps calling me. My mother’s name pops up on the touch screen. I swipe to ignore the call and toss my phone into my oversized bag.
He sighs as his fingers nervously tap against his thigh. The look on his face when his eyes rest back on me looks like he’s the annoyed one now. “Look, I’m not going to battle a stranger to move in with us. We need a roommate to help take over rent, that’s all. You’re looking for a place. So, it seemed like a good fit. If you want to say no, that’s fine. Or you can think on it. Maybe I’ll see you around if you change your mind. In the meantime, I really need a coffee.”
He begins to walk away, and just before he’s engulfed into the crowd, I remind myself I desperately need a place to live, and then I yell his name.
He turns around, obviously waiting for me to make the next move.
“Oh hell,” I mumble under my breath, just before I make my way to him. I wait to speak until I’m standing right in front of him. My head has to tilt up in order to look him directly in the eyes. “You have the time it takes me to drink one coffee to convince me that toying with the idea of moving in with you isn’t a complete waste of my time.”
His face is puzzled, like he isn’t sure if I’m messing with him or not. A few beats go by where he doesn’t say anything, but finally he gives one curt nod and politely says, “Follow me, Veronica.”
This time, I don’t have the same urge to strangle him when he says my name.
2
Veronica
“So, tell me about yourself, Veronica.” Maverick rests his strong chin in the palm of his hand while his elbows rest on the old hardwood table.
I try not to roll my eyes again when he bats his long, dark eyelashes at me. He’s obviously mocking this whole get to know each other situation. And it’s even more frustrating that he’s undeniably attractive and seems like he knows it.
I take a long pull of my iced coffee, letting the bitter caffeine hit my bloodstream before dealing with him. “I’d rather not,” I respond, the straw of my cup resting against my bottom lip as I look at him.
If my answer takes him by surprise, he doesn’t show it. He looks around the small campus coffee shop. I analyze him as his eyes track around the busy building. I have been to The Roast at many hours of the day, and no matter if it’s midnight or five in the morning, the place is always decently busy. It makes sense since it’s the only non-chain coffee place within walking distance from campus.
Maverick’s eyes narrow as he watches a guy put his arms around two girls. They giggle while the guy whispers something in both of their ears. Maverick is too busy staring down the guy trying to get laid to notice me. I fake a cough to bring his attention back to me.
His ocean-blue eyes land on me then, reminding me how much I hate the water. In fact, I loathe it. And I find it hard to look at him
for that alone.
His narrow lips pucker together to blow on the coffee cup sitting in front of him. “I was waiting for you to tell me about yourself.” His one eyebrow raises at me as he takes a sip.
Hating small talk, I sigh.
Does he need to know about the silver spoon I grew up with, permanently attached to my mouth? Or that I barely talk to my parents at this point? He definitely doesn’t need to know that I can’t even stand to look at myself in the mirror. Or that I push people away and pretend I don’t care when I really do. Yeah, I’m not one for talking about myself.
I act like I’m thinking long and hard about my answer. Then, I make sure to look him in the eyes—the eyes that remind me of other things I don’t want to talk about. My body shifts closer to the table, like I’m about to tell him a huge secret. My gaze quickly flicks to the womanizer across the coffee shop—who is now talking to two new girls—before it rests back on Maverick. I take the most dramatic deep breath and say, “My name is Veronica. And I need a place to live.”
He laughs, but it isn’t one of those laughs people let out because they feel uncomfortable or because they want to fill a silence. No—this laugh seems genuine. His skin wrinkles at the sides of his eyes as he smiles. The smile shows off perfectly straight teeth that no doubt cost his parents thousands of dollars.
The Consequence of Loving Me: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Aftershock Series Book 1) Page 1
