Chapter 5 Amelia
amelia
. . .
I’m a fucking idiot.
I should’ve said no when he told me we needed to talk. But the seriousness in his voice made me curious, so here I am, stuck at BNA, waiting for this dumbass to pick me up.
I’m standing at baggage claim in worn Doc Martens, an oversized Sleep Token tee, paired with sheer black tights.
Twenty-six years old, and I’m still making bad decisions, like I didn’t learn the first time.
He’s late.
Maverick is late.
I’m going to kill him.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, eyes flicking toward the glass doors for the fiftieth time. I’m trying not to look like I care, but I’m also debating whether I’d commit a felony if he doesn’t show in the next two minutes.
People walk by in groups—families with screaming toddlers, a flurry of cowboy hats, and bachelorette parties with glittery tote bags and rhinestone boots.
I exhale through my nose, anger simmering beneath the surface. I pull out my phone from my purse, texting my girls.
Amelia
Where the fuck is he? I didn’t agree to come here to stand at the airport like a bufoon.
Catalina
Finally, you’re here, fuck. Come over, I miss you.
Layla
I-
Layla
I was not informed.
Layla
You skank ass bitches, fuck you.
Layla
Didn’t mean that, but like.
Amelia
Sorry, Layla, Mav said he needed to talk and was weirdly serious.
Layla
Don’t talk to me.
Catalina
Layla, stop being a dramatic bitch. She came here to talk to Maverick.
Layla
Yeah, okay, whore.
Catalina
Layla, we’ll plan a girls’ trip, and you guys can stay at my house.
Catalina
I’ll cook.
Catalina
Carter will behave, maybe.
Catalina
He’s sucking on my neck rn. So, if my texts don’t make sense, that’s why.
Layla
If you’re not pregnant by the time I see you next, I’m going to scream
Amelia
Catalina
Carter said, and I quote, “Tell her Mav’s probably already pacing the parking garage because he’s a little bitch.
Amelia
Anyway, if I disappear, it’s probably bc I murdered a man.
Layla
Do it.
I choose not to answer, throwing my phone back into my purse. My boot taps aimlessly against the vinyl flooring.
Where the fuck is this asshole?
Rex meows loudly in his crate.
“I know, baby,” I say, crouching down to look at him. “We’re waiting for this dickhead.”
Just as I’m admiring my furbaby, this loud, obnoxious voice slices through baggage claim.
“HI BABYYYYYY!”
I flinch.
A woman next to me becomes startled by his shrieking voice, dropping her iced coffee.
Maverick Hayes.
Walking through baggage claim with his head held high, as he walks in long strides, his blue eyes locked on mine.
I stand there with my arms crossed, analyzing him.
He’s wearing short, black shorts, showing off his toned quads.
Every step he takes, I can see each defined muscle contract with each stride.
A crisp white tee hugs his broad frame, practically about to rip due to how fucking big he is.
A tattoo sleeve snakes across his right arm, black ink swirling down from, I assume, his shoulder, to his wrist.
His shaggy blonde hair peeks out from under his backward black baseball cap.
And his face? Covered with a shit-eating grin.
He looks good.
Shut up, Amelia.
“You miss me?” he calls out again, walking toward me with his arms stretched wide.
I narrow my eyes at him, my arms still crossed tightly around my chest.
“Subtle,” I say dryly as he gets closer.
He stops a foot away, still beaming, as his eyes scan me from head to toe like he’s drinking me in. His gaze lingers on the sliver of my thigh exposed through a slight tear in my tights, then flicks back to my face with a little twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Damn,” he says, voice dropping lower now that he’s close. “You look even better pissed off.”
“You’re late.”
“Sorry, I was making sure my house was presentable for you.”
I arch a brow. “Who says I’m staying with you?”
His lips quirk into a grin, flashing his pearly whites. “Me, I said you’re staying with me.”
Greattttt.
I sit quietly in the passenger seat with Rex’s carrier nestled between my legs, all while Maverick hums along to the radio, tapping his finger against the steering wheel.
He’s annoyingly attractive.
I sneak a glance at his side profile; his jawline is sharp, and there’s a dimple in his right cheek that only shows when he grins, which, unfortunately, is often.
But it’s his right arm gripping the steering wheel that catches my eye.
It’s fully inked, a sleeve of detailed black and grey roses, and a broken clock stuck on a time on his outer bicep.
I catch myself staring, eyes lingering a second too long.
He must feel it, because without turning his head, he grins, opening his big mouth.
“You like what you see, doll face?”
I roll my eyes so hard I practically see stars.
“You fucking wish.”
He laughs, and it’s infectious, but I try to suppress it. That same shit-eating grin spreads across his face like he’s been waiting all day for me to look at him.
“I missed you, too,” he mutters under his breath.
Rex lets out a grumble from the carrier, which Maverick finally notices.
He glances down. “What’s in there?”
I smirk. “You wanna see him?”
His eyes narrow, curious. “I’m a little scared, but yeah.”
I unzip the carrier and pull Rex out slowly, cradling his hairless, wrinkled little body in my arms like the prince he is. He’s wearing a purple knit dinosaur hoodie with soft felt spikes down his spine. His face remains unbothered, judgmental, as always.
Maverick glances over and lets out the most high-pitched, genuine scream I’ve ever heard from a man his size.
“What the fuck is that?! Is it sick? Why is it bald?!”
I snort. “That’s my literal son, you fucking bozo.”
He swerves slightly. “That’s not a cat, that’s Smeagol!”
Rex blinks at him.
Maverick gags like an impetulant child.
“It’s staring at me. Why is it staring at me?”
“He senses weakness.”
“I’m not weak,” he mutters, “just not emotionally prepared for a naked alien on my dashboard.”
I grin and kiss Rex’s head. “He’s majestic. You wouldn’t understand.”
“I don’t understand any of this,” he says, eyes still flicking back to Rex.
I dismiss him and shift my body to look out the window.
For a while, we drive in silence.
Outside, pine trees rush past in a green blur, their needles catching the wind and scattering it like whispers.
The sky is bleeding into dusk, muted oranges and smoky reds swirling together like spilled paint on wet canvas.
The light through the windshield is golden, casting long shadows across the dashboard and catching on Maverick’s jaw as he drives.
I can feel the question sitting between us, heavy and unspoken.
So I ask it.
“Why am I here?”
His fingers tighten slightly on the steering wheel as his jaw tenses.
He doesn’t answer right away.
“We’ll talk,” he says finally, glancing at me.
I nod, but I don’t look away.
“Wanna grab a drink before we get to the house?”
My fingers tap aimlessly against my thigh, and against my better judgment, I respond.
“Sure.”
Forty-five minutes later, we finally pulled up to Boots I just sat there nodding my head and listened.
Maverick walks up to the counter, giving Reed his card to pay for the bill. As Reed closes his tab and processes his card, Mav turns around, his eyes landing on me, and winks.
I scoff, crossing my arms.
He grabs his card and receipt from Reed, gives him a fist bump, and says goodbye.
“Ready, dollface?”
I nod, grabbing Rex from my lap, scooting out of the booth.
Maverick bolts in front of me, pushing open the large wooden doors, holding them open with a mock bow.
I roll my eyes, stepping outside. The scent of whiskey, sweet notes of cigars, and cedar is replaced by the faint sweetness of honeysuckle drifting from somewhere down the street.
His Bronco is parked at the curb, metallic dark green paint shimmering underneath the streetlight. He unlocks it and looks over his shoulder. “Your chariot awaits.”
My nose scrunches as I stare at him. “You’re such a flirt, do you ever turn it off?”
“Not for you, baby.”
I dismiss him, climbing into the passenger seat as he closes the door for me.
Rex nestles into his carrier, falling back asleep.
For a while, we drive in easy silence, streetlights flashing across his face, catching the slight curve of his smirk.
“You gonna tell me why I’m here,” I ask, “or is this your attempt at making me fall for you?”
He taps the wheel, eyes on the road. “Patience, dollface. I like a good build-up.”
I scoff. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“I enjoy all my time with you,” he says with a grin.
I roll my eyes, turning toward the window. “You don’t even know me.”
“Yet,” he says, glancing over with that smile that should be illegal. “But I’m a quick learner.”