With so many things looming in the air, and so many unspoken words, I look at Maverick one last time before I get back up and return to my spot next to Tristan.
“Everything okay?” Tristan whispers next to me, his eyes on Maverick.
I look at Tristan, giving him a nod and what I hope is a convincing smile. Because inside, I’m losing my shit. Part of me wants to jump Maverick’s bones, have sex with him until he no longer takes up space in my mind. The other part of me wants to run for the hills because I don’t want to put him in the same position as Connor.
Aspen finally takes a spot in the circle after kissing the girl he’d been talking to on the cheek. He places an empty bottle of vodka in the middle of us all. “Tristan, you go first since it’s your birthday.”
My eyes dart to the man next to me. I didn’t know it was his birthday, even after talking to him most of the night.
He looks at me, winking. “Maybe it’ll land on you.” Then, he reaches for the bottle and gives it a good twirl.
Thank god, it doesn’t land on me.
It lands on a red head—a few spots down from Lily—who squeals before eagerly popping her lips together in anticipation. Tristan crawls over to her, planting a kiss against her lips.
I can tell the red head is disappointed when he pulls away a few seconds later. He returns to his spot beside me and the game continues on. Luckily, it’s not my turn, as it was decided that the rule of the game would be that the person the bottle landed on would spin next.
As the game plays on, I sneak glances in Maverick’s direction. I’m still not over the news he shared with me. It’s hard to process. I thought he and Selma had such a solid relationship.
I need to know who ended it.
Why it ended.
I need to know every fucking detail.
I’m staring at the spinning bottle when I realize there’s a chance that bottle might land on Maverick. The person sitting next to him kisses somebody just a few spots down from them, which only reinforces the possibility and I don’t know how I feel about it.
I’m too busy focusing on the pit in my stomach to look back at Maverick. I’m embarrassed by my reaction to the idea of him possibly kissing another girl. I can’t look at him. I can’t risk him looking in my eyes and knowing what’s going on in my head.
If anyone can read me like an open book, it’s Maverick. So, I don’t give him the chance to. My eyes are trained on Lily as she leans forward to spin the bottle. Her fingers are just starting to spread around the base when Aspen jumps up from his spot in the circle.
“Hey, Lily, can I talk to you for a second?” he asks.
Lily’s eyebrows raise, clearly as shocked by Aspen’s interruption as I am. She looks down at the bottle and then back up at Aspen a few times. Finally, she nods her head in confusion, taking her hand off the bottle.
Aspen’s shoulders drop in relief.
He’s got it bad.
The two of them look at each other oddly as they go start a conversation at the base of the stairs. Everyone in the circle talks amongst themselves for a few minutes before the guy sitting next to Lily’s empty spot starts the game back up.
I want to get up and hide in my room, but I also feel this strange need to make Maverick jealous, which is comical because I don’t even know if it’s possible. I don’t know if watching my lips press against another man’s would give him the same unease that I felt just imagining his against someone else’s.
Just as the person next to me goes to spin the bottle, Lily and Aspen both join the circle again. Lily is trying to mouth something to me from across the circle, but apparently, I suck at reading lips.
Whatever their conversation was about, Aspen doesn’t seem happy with it. Because when I look at him, there’s tension in his shoulders. He stares at his hands, his thumbs circling around each other in his lap.
Tristan puts his warm hand on my leg, making me jump. “Whoa, sorry. Just wanted to see if you were okay,” he says.
I look at him for a brief moment, nodding my head. I don’t retreat to my room.
“Maverick, why don’t you go?” a blonde suggests from across the circle.
I don’t miss the flirtation tone her voice takes on. I feel the need to cross the fucking circle and throttle her. It’s not even his turn. The rules were clearly stated and it’s not his turn.
No fucking thanks.
Next joke, please.
I’m an internal fucking mess when Maverick gets to his knees.
Why in the hell is he getting on his knees?
Is he listening to her?
Is he going to kiss her?
His long tan arm—the one I’ve caught myself staring at in class because of the interesting way his muscles move as he writes—reaches into the center of the circle and gives the bottle a spin. My gaze is locked on that fucking thing, even as it whirls around and around.
It seems like it spins for an eternity.
I cannot believe I’m hoping it lands on me—the only outcome that might calm the rage in me right now.
If it lands on the cute blonde with the awful and obvious suggestion, I will lose my shit in front of all these strangers.
It spins and spins and spins.
My eyes glance up from the bottle to find Maverick staring directly at me.
The look on his face I can easily read.
It looks like want, like need—and it’s aimed right at me.
A gasp next to me causes me to look back down at the bottle; it’s that same moment I notice he’s abruptly stopped it with his hand.
Time goes by agonizingly slowly as he turns the bottle until it points to me.
My throat starts to close up as I look over at Maverick, his gaze still trained on me.
It seems that in this exact moment, every single person around us has decided it would be a perfect time to shut the fuck up. Which sucks, because right now, the silence is deafening. And I’m not ready for what could happen next.
“To hell with this game,” he states. “I only want to kiss one person here.”
Shut the motherfucking front door.
I can’t look away from him. A certain intensity—or is it intent?—is all over his face.
“Veronica, it’s you,” he says, looking at me.
My heart plummets.
It’s resting at my freaking feet with the sudden turn of events.
Fucking Maverick.
He just had to go and draw a very clear line in the sand.
Just when I’m about to make some kind of excuse to get my ass out of this situation, I look up to find him inches away from me. Emotion shows in the crease of his brow, in his unwavering gaze, in the way his lips are slightly parted.
I can’t kiss him.
His lips can’t touch mine. I’m too afraid of what my broken heart will feel afterward.
But I’m not quick enough.
Before I know it, Maverick’s fingers are wrapped around my chin. They are strong against my skin as he slowly tilts my head up.
He keeps gently pulling until I’m looking at him, his face only an inch away from mine.
I go to sit back on my heels, my knees pressing into the hard basement floor. His body travels with me, though, and now he’s leaning over me, blocking everyone else out from the party.
We stare at each other.
His pointer finger rests right against the pulse in my neck—the racing pulse that’s currently giving away all my secrets.
I’m staring at the scar on his lips when his mouth begins to move.
“I don’t think I can come back from this, Veronica,” he tells me.
“Then don’t do it,” I warn, trying like hell to avoid this chain reaction that will only end in despair.
“I don’t think I can do that either,” he murmurs, his voice breaking at the end.
He pulls my lips against his so fast I don’t even have time to process it.
It’s terrifying.
It’s magnetic.
Maverick doesn’t waste a second, his tongue skirting against my bottom lip. His other hand finds the other side of my face at the same time I open my mouth to him. His hands are clammy against the side of my face, the warmth sending shivers down my body.
Our tongues move against each other so achingly slowly. I feel it everywhere in my body.
Maverick kisses me and it feels like a poem—short, sweet, and with rhythm.
Every inch of my body tingles from the way his lips move against mine.
But most of all, I feel it in my heart.
“Veronica,” he whispers against my lips, both of us lost to the people surrounding us.
The way he says my name, it breaks me out of our moment.
Because Maverick says my name like he needs me.
I can’t be needed. Not ever again.
I place my hand on his chest, feeling his racing heart beneath his shirt. Our foreheads press against each other in a painstakingly long moment before I do what I have to do. I look him in the eye, focusing for a short moment on his swollen lips.
“I can’t do this.” I pull his hands from the sides of my face, the warmth from them lingering long after I lock myself in my room.
It’s been hours, and I can still hear voices outside my door. I hear them because I can’t sleep.
I can’t sleep because I can’t forget the way Maverick’s lips against mine opened something within me.
My heavily guarded heart has been spilling out, spilling out onto a canvas.
A canvas no one will ever see, but a canvas of our lips pressed together—water colors exploding all around it.
26
Maverick
It’s been days since I’ve seen Veronica. Ever since our kiss, she’s been completely ignoring me. I’ve gone down to the basement several times to try to speak with her, but my knocks have been ignored.
She’s not hiding the fact that she’s in her room, making it obvious that it’s me she’s ignoring.
I shouldn’t have kissed her during that game; I knew it would start us down a path we couldn’t go back from. But there was nothing that could have stopped me from finally tasting her lips for the first time once I had the opportunity. I’d been thinking about her lips longer than I care to admit, and once they were in front of me, I had to take what I wanted.
The kiss; it was excruciating.
Because I knew as soon as her lips met mine that I would want to taste them forever.
And she’s made it very clear she has no intentions to keep anything forever.
At this point, I would settle for her just to look at me. To talk to me. To do anything with me, even if it doesn’t involve our lips meeting.
I miss her snarky comments.
I miss her pink boots.
I miss the way her eyes narrow as she’s thinking something through.
I just miss her.
I might be approaching borderline stalker status because I sit on the stairs in the basement, waiting her out while all these thoughts run through my head.
I planned on giving her space, on giving her whatever she needed to process the kiss between the two of us. But a man can only be so patient before he needs to take matters into his own hands.
Hence, me waiting on the stairs like a damn stalker. Because eventually she has to come out of her room.
Right?
Plus, is it truly stalking if it’s waiting for someone in your own house?
I like to believe that it isn’t.
I find myself aimlessly scrolling through my Instagram feed, something I never check, when Veronica’s door finally opens.
She’s mid-step out of her room when she looks up and notices me. Her whole body stops. Neither one of us says anything. I slide my phone back into my pocket and stand up.
I make sure to do it slowly, because the look on her face reminds me of a scared animal. I’m afraid that if I move too fast, she’ll run.
Once I’m standing, I take a deep breath. “Hi.”
“Why are you down here?” Veronica props an elbow against the doorframe, crossing her arms over the pink dress she’s wearing.
“Waiting for you,” I reply, wanting to take a step closer to her just before I decide against it.
“Waiting for me,” she repeats.
I dry my palms on the front of my pants, rubbing them over my thighs. Her eyes follow my movements. “Yes, I want to take you somewhere.” I scratch at my head, suddenly anxious.
“You want to take me somewhere?”
“I want to take you somewhere.” My foot takes the smallest step toward her. We’re still separated by a large section of the basement, but it’s still progress considering she hasn’t run away yet.
“I can’t, Maverick.” The toe of her boot scrapes at the worn carpet below it. She stares at it for a few moments before she looks at me, a determined look on her face.
I start with, “Look, about the other night…”
I want to tell her it was perfect, that I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.
I want to confess to her every thought that has come to my mind since I first met her, but I’m not ready for her to shoot me down. I need to take this slow, because at this point, I’ll take her in any way I can have her—even if it’s in small and fractured increments.
“I don’t want to talk about the other night. It was a mistake,” she says.
Damn.
Well, that felt like a punch to the gut. A blow I wasn’t expecting.
It didn’t hurt my ego, though; it hurt my heart.
But I’ve been reminding myself that I’ve always known of her aversion to relationships. The entire time I’ve known her. It’s my fault for expecting anything more from her.
So, I won’t.
I won’t hope for anything more.
I’ll take what she will give me and I will fucking feast on it.
And right now, I’m hoping she’ll just humor me.
“Then let’s not talk about it,” I say.
I can tell my words shock her by the way she purses her lips. The tiniest line forms on her forehead as she thinks my answer through.
Veronica timidly takes a few steps into the basement living area. A few steps closer to me. “You promise we won’t talk about it?” She keeps walking until the toes of her boots are only a few inches away from my sneakers.
I can feel my heart start to race inside my chest. I try not to look too deeply into the fact that Selma never made my heart race like this. But I can’t get my hopes up here. Veronica has made it clear where she stands. I have to respect that, even if she’s making me feel things I haven’t felt before.
“I promise,” I respond, reaching my arm between us and holding out a pinky.
She stares at it for a moment. A long moment where I stand in front of her, my pinky outstretched, both of us staring at it between our bodies.
Veronica lifts her hand, gently wrapping her pinky around mine. Just as soon as she does it, she goes to remove it before I stop her.
“Wait, you have to bite it,” I remind her.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Her head tilts up, curiosity on her face.
Our pinkies are still wound around the other’s.
“You have to bite your thumb to make it legit. Watch.” I bend down, opening my mouth and biting softly down on my thumb. I look at her, waiting for her to do the same.
“I think you’re making this up,” Veronica says before using her free hand to hold her hair against her shoulder.
She stretches up on her toes and wraps that soft mouth around her thumb. I stare at the way her red lipstick leaves lip prints in a ring around the tip of her finger.
Both our hands fall to our sides as we end the promise.
“No, ask Lily. She and I took the thumb bite promise very seriously,” I insist.
Veronica shakes her head at me, tucking a strand of hair behin
d her ear. “Where do you want to take me?”
The question comes from her, and it takes me a little off guard. I wasn’t expecting her to agree so easily.
“It’s a surprise,” I tell her.
“I don’t do surprises.”
“Well, the only thing I pinky promised not to discuss was how the way you kissed me has me all kinds of fucked up. I promised not to talk about how I’m unsure whether you paint or kiss better.”
“Maverick!” she shrieks, slapping me right on the bicep.
“What? We aren’t talking about it.” I smirk at her, dramatically rubbing the spot she just hit.
Veronica narrows her eyes at me before walking past me and climbing the steps. “You’re exhausting,” she says at the same time she pushes the door open at the top of the stairs.
I race up after her, stepping out into the hallway and then following her into the kitchen.
I keep a careful gaze on her as she rifles around in the refrigerator, clearly looking for something.
“Oh my god, I might kill him,” she mutters, half her body inside the refrigerator.
“Aspen?” I ask, propping my elbows up against the counter next to the fridge.
“I was looking forward to eating that protein bar and it’s gone.” She slams the door shut, letting out a large sigh with the motion.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll get food on our way.”
“Are you going to tell me where we’ll be on our way to?”
“Nope,” I say, standing up from the counter to my full height.
We’re standing close to each other, closer than I anticipated. I’m caught in the moment, staring at the indention above her top lip. When I look up from her lips, I find her eyes on me—watching intently. I can hear her soft intake of breath. My ears don’t miss how she exhales it slowly.
My hand reaches out on its own accord. I don’t know where I want to touch first, my eyes taking in all of my options. I reach a finger out and trace over her shoulder blade, deftly moving her hair so it falls down her back. I slowly trace the slope of her shoulder blade then dip down. The skin of her collarbone is warm underneath my fingertip as I commit the hollow above her collarbone to muscle memory.
The Consequence of Loving Me: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Aftershock Series Book 1) Page 14
