Chapter 15 Chloe
chloe
For all the money in the world, I could not have guessed where this day would take me. When Nathan showed up in my class this morning, I should have known I was in for some shit from the universe. But ending up alone, in a car with Maverick, wasn’t even in my realm of possibilities.
“I can’t believe you write your grocery list by hand.”
I look up from the folded piece of pink paper between my fingers, to Maverick who’s driving with one hand on the wheel, while smacking his gum around an infuriatingly handsome smile. “I can’t believe you refer to your vehicle as the Whore Runner.”
He drops his head back to the seat, letting out a laugh made of pure sunshine. It’s warm and rich, and my body hums like it wants to bathe in it. I blink, pulling my attention back to the list in front of me. The list doesn’t make me forget how to breathe. The list is safe.
Most people I know go to the closest big chain grocery store in the neighboring town of Holly.
Which works for me, because I prefer the charm of the Linden Creek Market.
It’s the kind of place so small you can smell the stinky cheeses right when you walk in.
The walls are made of shiplap with soft yellow overhead lighting rather than fluorescent, and at least fifty percent of the stuff is locally made.
Someone old enough to be my dad is pushing his mini cart out the doors while looking down at his receipt. It’s not until we step out of the way that he does a double take, smiles, nods, then carries on.
A woman deciding on a flower bunch to the right of the entrance also looks.
She sees Maverick first, then her gaze flicks to me, before her eyebrows pull together and she looks back at Maverick.
I have half a second to wonder if she’s trying to figure out what a guy like him is doing with a girl like me, but just as the thought forms, the kid at one of the two cash registers lights up.
“Hey, Maverick! Killer game last week.”
I try to hide behind Maverick’s large frame, but his hand stays pressed to my lower back, keeping me at his side.
“Thank you.”
“Bro, I hate the Thrashers. I was just waiting for you to knock someone's ass out.”
Maverick smiles but it’s so painfully forced. I don’t understand how this kid who is still smiling from ear to ear doesn’t notice. I wait for him to tell the cashier that he’s not a psycho, that he doesn’t just go around throwing punches for others’ entertainment, but he doesn’t.
“Maybe next time.” He claps the young cashier’s hand once before turning to grab us a cart.
“Alright, what’s first?” he asks, leaning his forearms down on the handle.
“Umm.” I strum my bottom lip, contemplating asking him why he doesn’t just correct people, but for the first time in days, his pretty blue eyes aren’t focused on me.
I can’t tell if he’s avoiding me because he’s embarrassed, or because he’s afraid to see if I share the cashier’s opinion of him.
I clear my throat, looking down at my notes. “Flour, butter, sugar.”
“What’d you call me?”
I open my mouth but he smiles that crooked grin of his, and I lose my train of thought.
“Come on, let’s roll.” He stands to his full height, pushes the cart forward, and I fall into step behind him.
The oversized green T-shirt he’s wearing does absolutely nothing to hide the width of his back.
If anything, it only makes it harder not to stare.
The fabric pulls tight across his shoulders when he moves, stretching just enough to hint at how broad he really is.
His sandy sun-lightened blond hair is slightly grown out, along with a dusting of a five o’clock shadow, but it does nothing to take away from the sharp angles of his face.
His gold chain glints under the overhead light as it rests against his tan skin, barely visible above the collar.
I blame the fact that I’ve only ever seen flashes of it and now my interest is piqued, but I wonder if it’s just a metal chain or there’s something more there.
I quicken my pace to walk beside him, mostly so that I’ll stop staring at his back, which proves to be pointless because now I’m close enough to see the veins running down his arms. There’s absolutely no universe in which both of my hands could fit around one of those arms. His hand tightens on the cart handle, and his forearms flex, almost purposefully, like he knows exactly what the image is doing to me.
I run my tongue along the back of my teeth, taking slow measured breaths.
“Looks like you’ve got options.”
I shake my head, ridding myself of the mental images I’ve started making up. “What?” I ask.
“There’s like ten different types of flour.” He nods to the shelves behind me.
“Oh.” I turn around, perusing the shelf but not really focusing. Flour, Chloe. Stop thinking about him, and pick a fucking flour.
I squat down, grabbing a bag from the bottom shelf and turn just in time to find Maverick tossing a bag of marshmallows into the cart.
“What is that?”
“Marshmallows.”
“I know what they are, but why are they in the cart?”
“Because I have a craving for Rice Krispies treats.”
“But…but those aren’t on the list.”
“Live a little,” he whispers like we’re conspiring together.
I sigh, set the flour into the cart, and turn without saying another word.
By the time I get the chocolate chips, sugar, butter, and strawberries, Maverick has filled the cart with cereal, peanut butter, and cinnamon rolls.
“Mav—”
“Chlo—” he mocks me.
I know nothing about my frame compared to his could ever be intimidating, but I put my hands on my hips, lifting my chin to him, nonetheless.
“The list, babe.” I wave the paper in front of his face. “We have to stick to the list.” When I lower it, his head is cocked to the side, that easy devastating grin already in place, and I realize what I just said.
“I didn’t—” I fumble, bringing my fingers to my eyebrows. “I didn’t mean babe like, babe, I meant it like, you know, let’s go, babe.” I punch my fist in the air. “It’s like sporty. You play hockey, you should know.”
“I know that I’ve never called anyone on my team babe.” He smiles pointedly at me. “I think you meant let’s go, baby.”
He snatches the list from between my fingers. “Look, we’re already here, and I’ll obviously buy the stuff with my own money. Going off the list won’t kill us. Plus, I’ll make you something sweet to eat later for being so good.”
I roll my eyes, shove him out of the way, and take hold of the cart so he can’t add anything else.
“You’re such a rule follower.” Maverick laughs, falling in step beside me as we head up to the front of the store. At the registers, I veer left past the one and only self-checkout stand.
“Really?” he asks, looking down at me. “We could be out of here in less than two minutes.” He throws an arm out to the empty scanner.
“Well, if you hadn’t filled the cart with three different cereals, we might have been under the ten-item limit.” I smile at him.
His cheeks puff as he blows out a long breath of air, but I catch the tilt at the corners of his mouth as he unloads the cart onto the belt.
More than two minutes later, Maverick slides the last bag into his 4Runner
“Next, you're going to tell me you just leave the cart in the parking lot,” I say, pulling back from the car.
“I’m wild—” He reaches an arm overhead, closing the trunk. “But I’m not an animal.”
I look over my shoulder at him, and his cocky grin drops in an instant.
Before I can process why, his hands are on my waist, yanking me back against his chest, as the air is stolen from my lungs.
It feels like eternity where I can’t make out what’s up or down.
All I can register is him. The solid heat of his body pressed against my back.
The strength of his arms wrapped tightly around my body.
The heavy air rushing from his mouth, grazing the top of my head.
My fingers that were just holding the cart, are now resting on his bicep and I curl them, instinctively telling myself it’s for balance.
“Jesus, Chlo,” he murmurs.
I blink, turning to look forward, and catch the car that is just inches in front of my cart now halfway out of his parking spot.
Maverick doesn’t let go. His fingers are still firmly planted on my waist and his cool scent overwhelms me. I’m painfully aware of every place on my body that’s touching him, and for one final beat, I melt into his touch.
I clear my throat, and his hold on me loosens. Not completely, but enough that I notice the loss of physical contact. It’s the memory of his touch that lingers on me for the rest of the afternoon, and well into the night.