7. Mckenna
SEVEN
MCKENNA
I’m dead on my feet when I enter the brownstone the following morning. It’s just after 4 AM. I need to throw myself in the shower, scrub off the scent of grease, and catch an hour or two of sleep. Then, I plan to drink my body weight in coffee.
My shoes drag on the floor as I shuffle forward. I’m still bundled in my coat, the hood pulled up. Exhaustion clings to my bones and I debate skipping the shower and falling into bed with my coat on.
But that would clearly be unacceptable.
I drop my purse on the kitchen island.
“Where the fuck have you been all night?”
I gasp and spin around, my hand clutching my heart, when I see Mav standing in the doorframe. He looks sexy in a rumpled, just woke-up way.
He also looks pissed. His jawline is hard enough to cut glass, and his eyes are narrowed into slits. Sleep hugs the lines of his face, but the intensity of his gaze is powerful. All-consuming.
My heart rate jumps, and a thrill runs down my spine. I shake my head at my strange reaction. I must be more tired than I thought. I must be hallucinating.
I close my eyes. I don’t have the energy for this.
Instead, I focus on tugging down the zipper of my coat. I manage to shrug out of it and leave it on a barstool.
“Where you been, Mckenna?” he asks again, stepping into the kitchen. His voice is dark and rumbly, sending a shiver over my skin.
Recalling all his wild, loud, annoying sex with a revolving door of gorgeous women, my momentary attraction withers. I spit back, “None of your fucking business.”
He rears back in surprise. “Are you still drunk?”
I laugh. Is he kidding me?
I glance down at the plain black T-shirt and black jeans I’m wearing. Where the heck would I go and get drunk, dressed like this?
I rake my hands through my hair, feeling the minuscule amount of my conserved energy leave my body.
“Are you sick?” he presses, his tone gentler.
I glare at him. I know I look awful, but I’m not ill. Still, I bet Mav would look sexy even on his deathbed.
Shaking my head, I move to push past him. He grips my arm and pulls me to a stop. The heat of his palm sears through me, rooting me to the moment.
“Where were you?” he growls.
“Does it matter, Mav?” I toss back, biting my bottom lip. Deep down, I know Mav doesn’t give a shit about me. So, what’s with the misplaced concern?
His eyes flare with an emotion I can’t read; honestly, I’m too tired to try. Ripping my arm from his grip, I pass him, climb the stairs, and throw myself in the shower.
I wash my hair and rinse off quickly. Wrapping myself in a large bath towel, I pass out in my bed.
Sleep comes quickly, and when my alarm rings, I nearly cry.
This kicks off the cycle Mav and I find ourselves in for the next few weeks. I spend my days on campus, trying to keep up with my classes and stay on top of my assignments. My nights include taking orders, refilling ketchup bottles, and brewing coffee.
I am a shitty server, and it takes me a long time to find my stride. Lia is a hell of a lot more patient than I thought she’d be. Even though she’s tough on me, she’s fair. As the long nights drag on, we settle into an understanding that alleviates the pressure I feel when I’m on the clock.
When I arrive home early, I catch a pissed-off Mav or avoid him altogether.
When I get home late, I sigh with relief that he’s sleeping, and I can slip into my bedroom without his judgy eyes and endless questions.
Who’re you seeing?
This guy have a name?
If he’s such a fucking catch, why the hell do you look so miserable?
Mckenna, how are you getting home?
Are you on drugs?
I don’t answer his questions since it’s none of his damn business. But also, I’m embarrassed by my circumstances. I know there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Serving is honest work.
But the fact that I would have to divulge my financial situation, my parents’ ugly divorce, and the fact that they rarely think of me—in fact, Dad cancelled our dinner plans when Jeannie came down with a nasty head cold—is a hit my pride can’t handle.
Instead, I say nothing. I go about my day. I throw myself into my schoolwork. I try to keep my head above water.
After three weeks, I have enough money in my checking account to breathe a little easier. And then, the sweetest relief comes.
Lia messages me. We got a new guy. You’re early mornings instead of late nights.
When I read the message, my eyes fill with tears. It feels like a win, and triumph fills my veins.
“I did it,” I mutter to myself. Closing my eyes, I let out a slow exhale. I fucking did it.
I collapse in my bed, ready to get my first solid night of sleep in nearly a month.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Mav’s headboard hits the wall.
My tears of relief quickly morph into anger. Making a fist, I hammer back on the wall.
The tempo of his thrusts increases, and I swear loudly.
No way in hell is Maverick stealing my much-deserved sleep.
Popping in my AirPods, I crank up the volume on my Calm app and sink into slumber.
“You lost weight,” Mav comments the following morning.
Because I slept ten hours, I don’t even care that he’s implying I had weight to lose. Not taking the bait, I make myself an espresso.
Mav watches me quietly. “Mckenna.” His voice comes out as a half whisper.
I look up.
“Are you—” He sighs and grips the back of his neck. His blue eyes flash, intent on my face. “Is everything okay?”
Shit. “Fine,” I clip out.
“I’m serious.” He glares at me, his eyes working slowly over my features as though he’ll discover a hidden clue in the bags beneath my eyes or the pillow crease along my cheek.
I close my eyes as I take a sip of my espresso. The rich roast settles me, and the heat brushes over my chin. I inhale and hold it. So damn good. “So am I.” I meet his gaze, keeping my expression neutral.
Please let him buy the bullshit I’m selling.
He stands. Takes a step toward me. Pauses and sighs again. “Look, I know you don’t like me, but if you are in trouble?—”
“I’m not,” I cut him off before he can offer help. I straighten, my spine snapping into place. I lift my chin along with my eyebrows, daring him to challenge me.
I need to shut down his line of questioning before he tries to fix my problems. Fix me. I fucking hate being a charity case. It’s bad enough that I’m living in a brownstone in Boston scot-free.
“Fine,” Mav snaps, the muscle in his jaw ticking. Still, his eyes don’t leave mine.
My skin heats under his gaze, and I feel my cheeks bloom with color. What the hell is going on? Since when does Mav care one way or another if I’m in trouble? I shift uncomfortably and down my espresso. I need to get out of here. Go for a run or head to the library or?—
My phone buzzes.
Lia: Want to pick up a shift today?
I grin. This. Work. It keeps my hands busy, and my mind occupied. Plus, my bank account can use the extra padding.
Me: Sure.
Lia: It’s the dinner rush. Good tips and you’re off the clock by 8.
Me: Sounds perfect.
I pocket my phone.
Mav watches me closely, his mouth twisted. His hands are clenched into fists, and a silent fury radiates from his muscular frame.
I heave out a sigh. “I’m going to campus.”
“Are you coming home tonight?”
I shrug.
“It was your stupid rule,” he accuses.
I tilt my head. “I’ll be home later.”
“Whatever,” he mumbles, annoyed. “You do you, Mckenna.”
“I am,” I toss back, my voice hard.
The last thing I need is to confide in Mav when he’s playing nice. Whatever this is won’t last. If I willingly give him information now, he’ll use it against me later. I’ve seen this scenario play out countless times between my parents. No way in hell am I going to offer up my personal life to a man who plays hot and cold.
“Fuck.” He bangs his closed fist down on the top of the kitchen island. “Christ, but you’re stubborn.”
I snort.
“Just tell me, are you in trouble?” Mav demands.
At the unwavering concern in his tone, I freeze. Stare at him. Study him.
“What the hell are you playing at, Maverick Tate?”
He scoffs, his nostrils flaring. “Despite what you think, Mckenna, I’m not the enemy here.”
“I don’t know you,” I remind him.
“You’re living with me,” he points out.
“I don’t trust you,” I clarify.
Mav stills. His eyes widen slightly, surprise etched in his irises.
I roll my lips together, regret blooming in my stomach. Shit. Did I…hurt his feelings? I open my mouth to apologize, especially because Mav asking if I’m okay is decent of him. “Mav?—”
“No,” he interjects, shaking his head. “You’re right. I’m the fun, life-of-the-party guy. You shouldn’t trust me, Mckenna. In the end, I’ll only let you down.” He stalks out of the kitchen, his words hanging like a thundercloud in the vacated space.
A reminder. A warning.
A premonition.
A promise.