13. Mckenna
THIRTEEN
MCKENNA
“You can’t be serious,” I hiss at Mav. We’re standing in the kitchen next to the espresso machine.
The coffee sputters and drips, and I glare at the dark brew, desperate to shoot it back like a tequila shot. I need the caffeine. I need the routine of drinking coffee, the normalcy of it. I need something to do with my hands.
Before I strangle Maverick Tate. My goodwill toward him dissipated the second I got twisted up in this little scheme. Pose as his fake girlfriend?
Sell myself—my dignity—for financial gain?
The thought makes me cringe and I want to take that out on Mav, too. But it’s not his fault that I’m in the position I am.
Chatter filters into the kitchen from the band and Mav’s team in the living room. They’re still assembled, waiting for my response. Their voices are low, a quiet hum of muted hope. Silence stretches between their sentences, shallow lulls searching for my voice.
For my answer.
My hand darts out for the demitasse cup, and I drink the bitter roast in one gulp.
“I don’t have an answer for you,” I whisper, half hoping his team hears me, half wishing they don’t.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“This is insane,” I tack on, slamming the cup down.
Mav grips the back of his neck. His eyes are rimmed with shame that unsettles me because it’s so unlike him.
Mav doesn’t have regrets or feel remorse. He doesn’t take responsibility for his actions or give a shit about how his poor choices impact others.
Except right now, he’s looking at me like he does.
A lump forms in my throat, and I move to make another espresso.
“Mckenna.” He touches my wrist, stopping me.
I sigh. Stare up at him. Tears of frustration fill my eyes, and I shrug.
“What do you want me to say?” My shoulders slump, and his expression twists.
I look down to where our toes nearly touch. He’s barefoot, his feet large and dominating. Eating up the space. Mine are covered in soft, light pink socks with a floral pattern. I scrunch my toes, nervous.
Maverick Tate could overwhelm me. He could scoop me up and swallow me whole. He’s that kind of man.
Charismatic, radiant, larger than life.
Maybe that’s why I’ve disliked, even resented, him for so long. Perhaps that’s why I’ve kept my distance.
Because if I give him an inch, he’ll take more than a mile. He’ll take everything.
His hands, big and callused and firm, latch onto my shoulders. “Look at me.” He gives me a little shake.
I drag my eyes up over his thick thighs, his lean and toned torso, and the flare of his broad, muscular shoulders. Over his bobbing Adam’s apple and chiseled jawline, his perfectly shaped mouth that’s both endearing and sardonic.
His blue eyes are two pools of concern, edged in a wariness that looks foreign on him.
“I want you to be honest,” he replies calmly.
“I don’t like you,” I remind him.
“You do a little bit,” he argues.
I snort, rolling my eyes at the truth in his statement. “Not enough to date you.”
“But enough to live with me?”
“Maverick,” I scold him.
“Mckenna. Please.”
My eyes widen. “You’re really this desperate?” I shake my head. “I’m not good girlfriend material. I’m focused on school and overwhelmed half the time. I’m opinionated and stubborn, and…well, I’m not fun. At least, not the kind of fun you like.”
His lips twitch, one side of his mouth curling. His fingertips dig into my shoulders. “What else?”
“I like early mornings. I live on caffeine. I don’t trust easily, and I hate letting people in.” I arch my eyebrows. “My family life is a mess. Hell, my entire life is falling apart. Trust me, you don’t want me.”
“But that’s just it,” he murmurs.
“What?” I shake my head.
“I trust you.” His voice is solemn, and his eyes are serious. Truthful.
“Why?” I wonder. Especially when I’ve explicitly told him that I don’t trust him.
“Because you’re loyal. You’re a solid friend. You’re determined and disciplined and honest.”
I tilt my head, wondering if I’m still asleep. Is Maverick really complimenting me? This cannot be real life; this doesn’t make sense.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he chortles. “Even though we have our differences, and there are many of them,” he concedes as I open my mouth to argue. “There’s still a level of…respect between us.”
My mouth snaps shut. Because he’s right.
“Whatever you need financially, whatever the reason is that you’re working so many hours at the café, I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of you.”
“I don’t need?—”
“If you do this for me, help me improve my image and reputation, help me not blow up the fucking band, I’ll make sure you have the time you need to study. The opportunity to intern, clinic, or whatever the hell Aiden was talking about.”
I bite the corner of my lip.
“What are your reservations?” he asks, more curious than frustrated by my silence.
For a moment, a mere blink, we’re back in this kitchen months ago, establishing our ground rules for living together. How did so much change in such a short amount of time?
“It seems…unfair. Like, I’m getting a handout.”
Mav snorts. “Trust me, you’re not. You think you’re not good girlfriend material? I am the worst fucking boyfriend candidate on the planet.”
“Yeah, but it won’t be real.” I wave a dismissive hand.
“But it will need to look real,” he reminds me.
I shake my head. “You’re really going to give up your parties and your women? Lia and the others? Come on, Mav, this is a terrible idea. I’ll end up looking like a dumb airhead whose rockstar boyfriend fucks around on her, and you’ll end up?—”
“I won’t fuck around on you,” he cuts me off, his eyes hard.
I laugh. Not a giggle. Or a chuckle. Nope, my body bends in two, and I clasp Mav’s arm for support as I succumb to the insanity of this discussion. I laugh hysterically and desperately until tears prick the corners of my eyes, and my words are nonsensical.
He said that like he meant it. Like he would treat this…this arrangement…as a commitment. Maverick Tate wants to…date me? And make it look real.
Look real. Even though it’s fake.
It’s all fake. Right?
I grip his arm tighter. It has to be fake.
Because if I let myself believe that Mav cares for me—even as a friend, even a little—I’ll lean into him. And I can’t afford to lean on anyone. I can’t be that na?ve, trusting girl anymore.
I won’t.
“All okay in here?” Jameson folds his arms across his chest, one shoulder leaning against the kitchen entrance.
At his interruption, I straighten and drag the backs of my hands over my eyes.
I’m fine. I’m okay. I got this.
“Give us a minute,” Mav snaps.
“You’ve had ten minutes,” his brother mutters, staring at me curiously. “You okay, Kenny?”
I nod, still chortling, as I wipe tears from my cheeks. I don’t respond because words fail me as another bubble of laughter bursts from my lips.
I got nothing!
“For fuck’s sake,” Mav mutters.
Jameson sighs. “Two minutes.” He holds up two fingers and turns around.
Mav narrows his eyes at the back of his brother’s head.
Then, he focuses on me. He bends his knees and dips, so we’re eye to eye. “Mckenna, I swear to you, I won’t throw parties; I won’t fuck around with Lia and the other women.” He works a swallow as if the thought of forgoing sex is physically painful. I guess with how often he indulges, it would be. “I won’t embarrass you or cause you to hate me any more than you already do.”
The promise in his words pulls me up short. He’s…serious. Damn him. My laughter disappears as quickly as it started. I swipe my tongue over my lips and admit a truth. “I don’t hate you.” My voice cracks.
He gives me a look, and I manage a watery smile.
“I’ll give you my best, even if it’s lacking,” he promises. I know it’s the best he can offer, and I appreciate his honesty.
“I’ll pay you back for?—”
“Nothing. Please, let me make this even. This isn’t charity, Mckenna,” he reminds me.
“My tuition is over fifty-thousand dollars, Maverick,” I say firmly. “I’m one-hundred-sixty-thousand-dollars in debt and?—”
“Fuck,” Levi says from the doorframe.
Maverick and I glare at him, and he tosses his hands in the air, backing out slowly.
Confusion ripples over Mav’s expression. “Why? Your parents are?—”
“In the middle of a nasty divorce.” I scratch my nose. “It’s complicated and messy, and I’m…”
“What?” he presses.
“Forgotten,” I admit, trying to smile.It slips.
Maverick stares at me for a long time. He searches my eyes for answers I won’t give.
“You could never be forgotten, Mckenna,” he says quietly. He reaches for me, envelops me, holds me against his chest. One of his large hands cradles the back of my head. He presses a light kiss to my temple. “I don’t know all the details about your family, but I do understand how fucked up family dynamics can be,” he admits quietly. “And I could never forget you, Mckenna.” His tone is low and honest. He’s not taking a jab or making a joke, he’s…comforting me. “I’d never want to.”
His kindness leaves me on edge, causing me to shift my weight from one foot to the other. I’m scared to trust it. To trust him. And I hate that about myself.
I pull back to look at him, clocking his sincerity. Gah! I hate feeling vulnerable, naked, like this.
“Mav, I?—”
“Say yes, Mckenna,” he pleads, his expression earnest, his eyes steady. “Say yes. You may not like me. You may not trust me. I can’t offer you the emotional boyfriend shit you deserve. I suck at romantic stuff. I’m more of a pain in the ass than anything else, and you know that. Hell, I know that. But I promise you that I’ll never forget you. Won’t leave you behind. I can be that guy for you, Mckenna. I can be your friend better than a fake boyfriend. Let me.”
I roll my lips together, touched by the sincerity in his tone. The backs of my eyelids burn, and the desire to cry, to press my face against his shirt and sob, rises within me.
I push it down, scrubbing my hands over my eyes.
This isn’t like me. I’m not a cry-on-a-man’s-shoulder woman. But Mav’s frank assessment of my life, his heartfelt concern, broke something inside me. I haven’t let anyone in in such a long time, not truly.
And for some strange reason, I believe Maverick Tate.
I shouldn’t give him an inch and yet…I want to. I want a friend that’s here, present. Someone I can truly count on. It’s dangerous and still, I yearn for it.
He’ll never be the man of my dreams, but he would make a decent friend. If I let him in, he’ll be here. He won’t leave me behind.
Hell, he’ll probably make me laugh more than anything else.
I pull in an inhale, hold it for several beats, and exhale. My heartbeat thrums in my temples, and I scrape my teeth along my lower lip.
Mav watches me, his eyes pleading, his expression etched with concern more than anything else.
Concern for him? Or worry for me? Maybe a combination of both.
I hold his gaze, steady eyes that don’t blink.
“Okay,” I agree. “Yes.”
He doesn’t smile or whoop with glee the way I would expect.
He doesn’t shout my response to his team or crack a joke.
Instead, he holds out his arms. Opens them for me.Again. But this time, he wants me to go to him. To enter whatever the hell this is on my own terms.
I hold his gaze as I step into his embrace.
Mav wraps me in a hug that is warm and comforting. He holds me like he knows the parts of my soul I don’t share. Like he understands them, me , intimately.
I press my face against his chest and inhale, and he squeezes me tighter.
“We’ll be okay, Mckenna.”
“Yeah,” I agree. And I believe it. Him.
I place my trust in Maverick and something deep inside of me settles. Accepts. Embraces him back.