Chapter 17 Chloe
chloe
It’s been twenty-four hours and my lips are still buzzing from a kiss that didn’t even happen, and for every hour that I’ve spent replaying it, I’ve spent two telling myself to get a grip.
I am too damn busy between classes, making sure I’m ready for that interview, and all my extra curriculars to be concerned with any sort of heat that might have coursed through my body when Maverick’s lips brushed against mine.
And I’m definitely too busy to dissect why I was so disappointed that’s all it was.
“Chloe?”
Or at least I should be.
“Huh?” I drop my fingers from my lips and whip my head back to Oliver. “Sorry. What’d you say?”
“No worries,” he says with a laugh. “I said, I gave your number to a friend of mine who needs some help, too. I hope that’s okay.” He stands from the table, gathering his laptop and books, and the library around us finally starts to come back into focus.
“Yes.” I shake my head, clearing my throat. “Yeah, of course.”
“Cool. You doing anything fun tonight?”
I lift my shoulders with a deep inhale, hoping something will come to me and I don’t have to tell this guy for the third week in a row that I’m getting take-out and spending the night with Hulu. “Yeah, maybe.”
“My brother is in a fraternity,” he says, pulling on his green Carhart jacket. “They’re having a party tonight. You should come.”
Fraternity parties and I don’t usually go hand in hand, but I smile anyway and say, “Sounds fun. Text me.”
He smiles again, and I wave him off before pulling out my phone. My stomach does that heavy plunge thing when I see that I have five missed text messages. The first one is from an unknown number, which I almost immediately delete until I remember it could be Oliver's friend.
Unknown: My vote for Rowdy’s tonight got veto’d and the house decided to go to the Kappa Si party tonight. Be my date?
Unknown: BTW this is your boyfriend. I had to put Noah in a headlock just to get your number from Sass.
I cover my mouth when I let out a small snort. I reread the texts once more before deciding he can wait a little longer and open the other messages.
Sav: Where are you?
Sav: I got chicken and dumplings.
Sav: Also, your boyfriend is harassing people for your number. Weirdo.
They both use the term boyfriend sarcastically, but the way my little romantic brain is wired, tricks me into believing that I don’t hate the thought of it being real.
Chloe: If you got my second favorite food, you must be trying to butter me up.
Sav: Can’t I just love you?
Chloe: You can. But you’re more of a quality time kind of girl. This act of service screams of something more.
Sav: I just wanted you to have a nice full belly so you’ll feel good and happy when we go to the Kappa Yamma Jo Jamma Fee Fi Fo Famma Party later tonight.
The laugh that bubbles out of me gets heads tilting in my direction.
I gather my stuff, pull my beanie on, and make my way to the parking lot.
My knuckles pale as I grip my phone tighter in my hand.
I once read that even if it’s cold out, but your head is covered and warm, then you should be fine.
I think by fine they meant like, won’t die.
Out here in the parking lot, where the leaves skirt across the pavement and the wind nips at my bare legs, my beanie isn’t doing shit.
Apparently, giving my middle finger to what the weather app says has its limits, and my cute little study outfit just found mine.
I drop down to the seat of my car, and the door closes on its own with a little help from the wind.
Sav: I know you’re overthinking it. Stop. Don’t let Rosie be right about you.
Chloe: I’ll be home in 15.
I fire off the text before opening the other thread.
Chloe: Still not a date. But I’ll meet you there.
Chloe: Oh, and stop beating people up for my number.
Maverick: For you? I’d do a whole lot more for a whole lot less.
“Okay, okay. Never have I ever been in handcuffs.”
To my right, Maverick and Silas clink their bottles together with a smile so good it feels wrong, before taking a sip of their beer.
“You’ve been arrested before?” I pull out from under Maverick’s arm, looking up at him.
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “The fun kind of handcuffs.”
I press my tongue to my cheek and look over at Savannah, who gives me an exaggerated wink.
Since Noah and Savannah have started dating, we’ve done a lot more going out with the hockey team, which I don’t complain about.
They’re fun, easy on the eyes, and I’ve never had to pay for my own drinks.
For the most part, they show up as a team and then disperse to do their own thing.
Now that two thirds of the main trio have plus ones, though, it feels like we spend a lot more time all together.
“Alright, my turn,” Parker announces, holding his hands up. “Never have I ever been stuck in traffic, shoved a T-shirt down my pants, and made a make-shift diaper.”
My jaw drops as I look around the kitchen. Silas ducks his head. Noah’s lips twist, likely holding back a laugh. Maverick takes a step away from me, patting Gabe’s shoulder. He places his index finger under Gabe’s bottle and tilts it to his mouth. “Here. Let me help you, buddy,” he says.
“It was one time, and it was bumper-to-bumper traffic!” Gabe shoves Maverick off, rolls his eyes, and takes a drink of his beer while the entire kitchen bursts into laughter.
“Bro, I don’t care if I’m in traffic, or I’m on the goddamn moon. No shot am I shoving a shirt down my pants and pissing myself.” Silas looks at him.
“That’s one of those things that your mom tells you not to worry about because no one will remember.” Noah laughs. “Except we’ll all be on our deathbeds still talking about it.”
“If you piss in my car on the drive up to Fernwood next weekend, I’m leaving you on the side of the road,” Silas says to him. “Without your thumbs, so you can’t even hitchhike.”
“Listen, I was going easy on you before, but now that I know how dirty we’re playing, get me a refill.” He points to the counter that Savannah’s sitting on. “It’s on.”
“Boys!”
I twist, looking over my shoulder, but Maverick keeps his arm wrapped around me, unmoving. A tall guy with a British accent, wearing a green Lions baseball hat, and some rather tight fitting jeans cuts between where Silas and Parker are standing.
“Quit your little circle jerk and get outside. The table has been set and waiting for us to kick your arse.” He flicks his wrist in the motion of tossing a ball.
“It’s telling how you associate little and jerking off in the same sentence," Silas deadpans.
“Do they even play beer pong where you're from? It seems cruel to take advantage of you,” Parker adds.
“I’m from Manchester, not Siberia, ya muppet. Now, put your money where your mouth is. There’s a bet going on outside that says you lot have lost your touch.”
There’s a single second of silence before Gabe speaks up. “Fuck it. I’m in.” He throws back the contents of his drink and sets the empty cup on the counter turning to Noah. “Come on, King.”
Noah rolls his eyes, but from what I can tell, the man has never met a bet he wouldn’t take.
He hooks his arm around Savannah’s shoulders, pulls her in, and places a kiss to the crown of her head.
She laughs, already halfway to the door and everyone else follows behind them, leaving Maverick and me alone in the kitchen.
“Make you another drink before we go out?” Maverick looks at me, and even over the Lil Baby song blaring with a mix of a hundred different voices, when his eyes settle on mine, it feels like we’re the only two people here.
I nod and hop up onto the spot that Savannah just left. The laminate is cool under my palms and the backs of my thighs, and I settle into it, grateful to take away some of the heat now coursing through me.
Maverick turns back to the makeshift bar, and I can’t pull my gaze away from his arms as he works. He lifts the bottles and slices the limes, unhurried. The muscles in his forearms flex as he works around the limited counter space. Close enough that I can feel him without ever touching him.
“Hockey player by day, bartender by night?” I ask, mostly to focus on something other than his arms.
He glances over his shoulder with an easy grin.
“Something like that.” He squeezes the lime over the cup, drops it in, then hands it to me.
Our fingers brush, but that unmistakable brush only affects me because nothing in his face changes.
I take a sip, keeping my eyes locked on his over the rim of the cup.
It’s lighter than I’m used to, but Savannah’s drinks have ruined me.
They didn’t give her the nickname Heavy-Handed Alvarez freshman year for no reason.
I’m about to slide from the counter and suggest we go find her when the kitchen door bursts open.
A guy barrels in, loud and fast, shouting a greeting at Maverick. In one second, I’m offering a small wave, and the next, he’s yanking open the refrigerator door, forcing Maverick to move.
Straight into me.
His body slots between my knees as he sidesteps the door, pushing himself further against the counter where I’m sitting. Instinctively, I scoot back, but there’s nowhere to go. The cabinets behind me dig into my neck just as his hands bracket my hips, catching himself.
“Hall, they told me you're up next,” the guy says.
Maverick answers him over his shoulder, the picture of calm.
While I hold my breath, twisting to focus on something other than the way his body feels hovering over mine, I latch on to anything I can.
The faded curtains hanging in the window, the sink stuffed with bags of ice, the glow of the lights in the backyard.
“See ya out there,” the guy calls out, followed by the door swinging shut.
The kitchen goes quiet again, and slowly, I turn my head.