Chapter 4 Maverick #2
Her calves hit the back of the futon, and I cross the distance of the room in a few large strides, plop down on the couch, and pull her down on top of me.
She wastes no time losing her shirt, and I appreciate her efficiency.
I wait for the heat to surge through me, or for my hands to magnetize to her body, but as she continues to roll her hips over my lap, and drag her open mouth across my neck, my eyes practically burn a hole through my door.
Once I’m in my room, nothing outside it matters, but right now, all I can think about is what Chloe and that guy are doing on the other side of the wall now that they’re alone.
Are her legs spread over his lap? Is he running his fingers through her wild hair, or grazing the skin of her back?
Did she tell him she was upset earlier, or why?
Fuck, with the amount she was drinking, does she even remember she was upset earlier?
Kat grunts, pulling me from my racing thoughts, and when she digs her nails into my shoulder, I feel absolutely nothing. Usually, it doesn’t take more than a look and I’m ready to go. Evidently, not tonight.
Her fingers sink past the waistband of my sweats, gripping the base of my cock, and like a reflex, I catch her wrist in my hand.
“I’m sorry. Do you mind if we take a rain check?”
Her hips freeze, and her head snaps back, confusion lining her brows. I’ve had a few beers, but I’m far from drunk, which is how I’m able to spot the traces of something like embarrassment or hurt in her eyes.
I might hook up with a lot of girls, but I’m not an asshole. I run my hands over her shoulders, giving her a reassuring squeeze, before I shrug with a lopsided grin. “Whiskey dick,” I lie.
“Oh.” She jumps from my lap, throws her shirt back on, and begins smoothing down her hair while I stand and walk toward the door.
I hold the handle a beat longer than necessary before barely cracking it open. When no light pours through, I pull the door fully open. The moonlight coming through the backdoor lets in just enough light that I can make my way to the kitchen and flick on the dimmer switch.
“I’ll text you later?” she asks.
I give a curt nod, but I think we both know that unless we happen to run into each other at another party, it’s unlikely we’ll hang out again. Still, I place a kiss on her cheek and close the door behind her.
The light from the kitchen is just bright enough to see half of the couch from the living room.
I should ignore it. I should head straight to my room.
I’ve spent more than half the night thinking about her already.
I sent home a sure thing because I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
I should head straight to my room without a second glance.
I don’t.
My eyes squint as I try adjusting to the darkness.
“Such a gentleman, Hall.”
I breathe a sigh of relief when Chloe’s voice hits me, and she’s alone on the couch.
“Is that my reputation?” I ask with equal sarcasm because I know she thinks I hooked up with that girl.
And I won’t correct her. I let people think whatever they want about me.
You throw a punch on the ice, and you’re a hothead.
You hook up at a frat party once or twice, and you’re a playboy.
I learned a while ago that it’s a waste of my time trying to change anyone’s perception of me.
“What is it with guys not wanting to let you sleep over after?”
If she’s asking, I’m assuming she doesn’t have many sleepovers at Nathan’s.
I should be honest and tell her that once a woman gets in your bed, it feels like they’re trying to get closer to you, and it makes it harder for them to leave, both in the morning and from your life.
But when I look at Chloe with her knees tucked up to her chest, I can’t bring myself to deliver that blow.
“I think it’s my possessive personality. My bed is mine, and I’ve never really cared to have anyone in my space.”
She nods her head once with pursed lips, and I can’t tell if that answer satisfies her or catches her off guard. I’m about to ask, but she shifts on the couch, lying on her side and cupping a hand under her cheek.
The moonlight reflects off the still lake water, leaving enough light for me to turn off the dimmer and make my way to my room.
“You were right about him.”
I freeze with one hand on the doorknob as her whispered words sink in.
“Nathan,” she clarifies when I turn to face her. “He texted me earlier, asking if I could come pick him up from another party.”
“But you decided to stay?”
I swallow, waiting for her response, but even though her eyes are fixated on mine, she’s not really looking at me. Hesitantly, I take a step toward the couch, sitting at the far end. From this angle and this close up, I’m able to catch the gleam on her face.
“I think I was so defensive earlier because I really did believe that this time would be different.”
“What would be different?”
She swipes at her cheek, and my chest grows heavy.
“Last semester, I stopped reaching out, and when he got back after summer break, he told me he missed me, and like the good little dog I am, I went running right back to him.” She huffs a breath, but it feels more like a way to hide the hurt in her voice.
I know Nathan from passing. We’re not friends by any stretch of the imagination, but for a moment, I almost wish we were, so I could ask him what the hell is wrong with him.
“Fuck that guy, Chloe. He’s an idiot.”
She shakes her head, burying her face into the crook of her elbow.
“I’m serious. He doesn’t want to claim you as his girlfriend, went out to a party, couldn’t pull tail, and then expects you to drop your life for him? Dude’s a loser.”
She shifts onto her back, twisting her lips like she’s fighting back tears.
“He’s not even hot,” I continue. “He looks like someone who would jerk off to All Dogs Go to Heaven.”
That pulls a laugh from her. “What?” she asks through a full smile.
“I don’t know.” I shrug, spreading my legs further in front of me. “Seems like something a loser would do.”
“He’s not, though.” She wraps her arms around her middle but is at least comfortable enough to extend her legs.
Her feet brush my thigh, and I don’t think I’ve ever held so still.
“He’s not a loser, or an idiot, or anything else.
If anything, I’m the idiot for thinking he would change his mind about us. ”
I pull my gaze from where we’re touching, but I still feel her warmth through my sweatpant-covered legs. “Why are you holding on to him so tight?” I hear myself voice my questions out loud. “Why him?”
“It’s just always been him for so long, and I really believed that one day he would wake up and see me, too. See that I’m here.” Her voice trembles, and I don’t know why, but I cover her ankle with my hand. “I could be good for him. I could love him. And we could be something good together.”
The silence begins to stretch between us. The only sounds now are the cicadas buzzing outside. My thumb grazes the bracelets around her ankle, rolling the silver charm once before settling in the small curve just beneath her bone.
“He doesn’t deserve you,” I let the words slip out.
She doesn’t answer right away, and even though I meant it, for a second I wonder if it was too honest.
“I think…” She shifts back onto her side, pulling her legs up with her.
“I think I just never considered a world where we didn’t end up together.
I’ve probably seen too many movies, or read too many romance books, and somewhere along the way, I’ve convinced myself that it’s just supposed to happen, but…
” she trails off, squeezing her eyes shut like she’s trying to shove it all back inside, and there’s an unfamiliar ache in my chest when a lone tear slides over her button nose.
I don’t have the right words to say to her.
Hell, I don’t have any words besides ‘He’s an asshole’ and ‘You’re too good for him.
’ So instead, I look around for an extra blanket.
Unfortunately, our house wasn’t exactly styled by Martha Stewart, and other than some still-damp beach towels from earlier hanging on the backs of the chairs, there’s nothing out here.
I stand from the couch, looking down at Chloe, whose eyes have remained closed and her breathing has steadied.
A strand of her blonde hair falls across her face, like it’s shielding anyone from seeing the tears she just shed.
I want to reach out and tuck it behind her ear, but I leave it.
I busy my hands by reaching behind my head and pulling off my sweatshirt.
The air-conditioned room feels cool against my bare torso, but before I head back to my room, I drape the fabric over her legs.