A built-up sigh I hadn’t known I’d been holding in comes out, long and full of pent-up emotion. So what if Maverick is here, listening? It’s not like the entire campus doesn’t already know why we broke up. Gossip spreads like wildfire.
“What do you want, Alex? I have a class to get to.”
He stiffens as he glances briefly at Maverick, who is curiously still standing here. “I just wanted to see you, and…say hello. Now that football is over, I thought we could get together and talk about everything. I never had the chance to tell you I’m sorry in person for…everything.”
An image of him and Martha-Muffin in his bed flashes in my head. “You mean for cheating on me.” Get it right, asshole.
Alex closes his eyes briefly then takes my elbow and gently pulls me aside.
With a sigh, I let him. Maybe if he can say what he needs to, he’ll stop bothering me.
“Don’t be like this, Delaney,” he says in a lowered tone. “Muffin was a one-time thing. I swear I’ve never cheated on you before.”
My heart aches at the memory. I shake my head. “You…you are not the person I thought you were. We’re over, Alex.”
He bites his lip, a pleading look in his eyes. “I just want things to go back to the way they were.”
I take a deep breath, the urge to flee intense. “I have to get to class now.”
I turn back around, and Maverick is still standing over near the hedge, his face concerned as he watches us. He calls my name as I stomp past, but I keep going.
I just need away from both of them. Football guys can suck it.
I imagine both of their eyes on me and barely resist throwing up a one-finger salute, but those cocky athletes aren’t worth the energy it would take.
Delaney
Being an introvert comes with tells. Sometimes I giggle uncontrollably, but more often than not, I sneeze when I’m nervous. When I’m faced with a situation that tilts my world on its axis, a tingling starts up in my nose, itching and building pressure until finally I sneeze. Senior year of high school, I got caught skipping school, and when the principal called me into his office, I sneezed so many times tears poured down my face. He let me go after stuffing a box of Kleenex into my hands. Sometimes it works in my favor and I can use it as an excuse to make a quick exit, but sometimes it can just be downright annoying.
Like now.
“May I sit here?” a deep voice says from behind me.
My body knows who it is before my brain does, and right away, I suppress the pre-sneeze sensation by inhaling sharply and holding my breath for five seconds.
I slip my glasses down a few notches as I look over to see Maverick staring at me. It’s been a couple of days since the donut tragedy, and we’ve passed each other in the hallway a few times. Once I thought he said something, but I’m too awkward to stop and say, Hey, did you just say something to me? so I just ignored him.
We’re inside the auditorium for our psych class, and my hands flutter around the desk next to me. “Do whatever you want. Be prepared, though—the lights are rather dim back here. Wouldn’t want you to fall asleep.”
Somehow he manages to settle his large frame into the cushioned seat and reclines it back, him and his long jean-clad legs taking up all the space next to me—and the air.
“Ah, I could never fall asleep here.” He shoots me a grin, and I mentally put up my shields. Don’t get sucked into the hotness.
I nod, making small talk. “Yeah, it’s an interesting class.”
“And you’re in it.”
My lashes flutter and I can’t bring myself to look at him. I just can’t. A normal person would ask what he meant by that, but this is me. I just clear my throat and scoot my leg over a little to give him more room.
Just be cool, Delaney.
“What are you drawing?” he asks, leaning over my shoulder.
I stop the doodling I’ve been doing in my notebook. The heat from his body is intoxicating, and I swallow. “Han Solo.”
His lips twitch. “Hate to break it to you, Buttercup, but Han Solo isn’t a cat. He’s the captain of the Millennium Falcon.”
“He’s also a scoundrel and a smuggler,” I add. “And who gave you permission to call me Buttercup?”
He waves that off and says, “I know he’s a scoundrel—it’s what makes him endearing. He’s a badass and also has the best friend ever, a seven-foot-tall Wookie with a gun. He’s my favorite Star Wars character ever, next to Yoda.”
Maverick likes Star Wars? I just assumed he sat around and watched recordings of football games while guzzling beer with a girl on either side of him.
I nod and point to my doodle. “Named my cat after him, Han Solo #2.”
“What happened to #1? Killed by a light saber?”
I laugh. “I hope she ran off with a tomcat. She’s probably living in a tree house with her baby kittens right now.” I don’t tell him I cried for a month when she disappeared. I don’t actually know what happened to her, but imagining her with a sweet little family is the vision I like to keep close to my heart.
“Living the dream,” he says, and I flick my eyes at him. He’s hard to look at full-on, but I do, letting our eyes meet, my green and his pale blue. Almost iridescent, like a glittering opal, they contrast vividly with his tanned skin. His chin is firm and square with the hint of a cleft in the middle, and his hair is a mixture of dark blond with streaks of gold, painted by the sun from all those days of practicing football. I can’t see his scar from this angle but I know it’s there, on the other side of his face, that one little imperfection.
A slight smile curves his lips as his eyes warm, and I seize up, realizing I’ve been staring about ten seconds too long. That kind of stare means you either want to kill someone or sleep with them, and I’ve just crossed that line.
“Delaney?”
He says my name softly, and my mouth dries up as a shot of electricity shoots straight to my core.
Good grief, ignore this weird hormonal reaction you have to Maverick.
Right. Now.
“You okay?” he asks.
He thinks I’m an idiot.
“Fine, totally fine. How’s it going? How’s football? Oh, yeah, it’s over…but you’re still practicing, right? To get ready for next year and all? Can’t believe we’ll be seniors. Also can’t believe you decided to stay another year when you could have been drafted.” I’m rambling and my voice sounds breathy. I gulp in a deep inhalation to steady myself.
He scratches his head, a bemused expression on his face. “You’re funny.”
“I don’t talk much, but when I do, I make the most of it.”
He laughs. “I stayed because I wouldn’t have been picked early enough yet. I need to build my stats if I want the best deal. I have a buddy who went early and his contract sucked. I have another friend who waited it out and got a two million dollar deal.”
“It’s all about the money.”
“Especially if you’ve never had it,” he adds.
Interesting. Maybe Maverick didn’t grow up with much. I think back to what I know about him, and I realize it’s basically nothing, except that he’s from Magnolia. I stare down at my doodle. I’m not rich like Alex, but I do okay with the money Nana left me. I own the house Skye and I live in, and I don’t have to work a full-time job. Thankfully, I’m at WU on an art scholarship.