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“Nice to meet you, Maverick.” His smile mirrors mine, but his gaze is shrewd and assessing as he takes me in. “Gabriel Lockwood.” His grip is firm, and he returns his attention to Clover. “I’m so glad my wife has the kind of neighbors who look out for her. Makes me feel a little bit better about the neighborhood she’s living in.” He stresses the wordwife, and I doubt I imagine it when his grip tightens around mine for a moment.
I try to keep myself from reacting, but I’m pretty sure my eyebrows pop. Well, shit. When she said an ex sent her the basket, I figured she meant an ex-boyfriend, not that she was married, and apparently still is.
“Ex-wife,” she counters. “And you really don’t need to worry about the neighborhood. It’s not as though I’m living next to a methadone clinic.” She’s definitely throwing out a hostile vibe.
“There’s a lot of student housing around here, though. You should be on the other side of the university.” He tucks a hand in his pocket and gives her a mischievous grin. “And I haven’t signed the divorce papers yet, so I still have a chance at winning you back.”
He winks at her, and I barely resist the urge to punch him in his smug face.
She returns his smile with a saccharine one of her own. “On a cold day in hell.”
Gabriel’s grin widens, and he turns back to me. “You can see why I’m trying my best to get her to give me another chance, can’t you? Life is boring without this kind of sass on a daily basis. You said you live down the street? Are you a student of my wife’s?”
I tuck a hand in the pocket of my hoodie, wishing I was dressed differently and hadn’t called her professor. I glance at Clover, who’s still holding the sides of her cardigan.
This guy is older, probably in his mid-to-late thirties. He’s wearing name-brand everything, and not in a trying-too-hard kind of way, but in an I-make-a-lot-of-money way. There’s an air about him, too, like he’s used to getting what he wants. He’s charming and established. Not a twenty-one-year-old with most of a degree and a part-time job at a gym.
“Yeah. Until the end of the semester anyway. Then I’m just her neighbor.” I rock back on my heels.
His expression reflects amusement. “And which course is my wife teaching you?”
“Creative writing.”
“Ah, yes, my wife is an excellent storyteller, aren’t you, darling?”
That sounds like a shot if I ever heard one.
“Ex-wife, Gabriel,” Clover reminds him, lips pursed, arms crossed.
“Not until the papers are signed, my love. And we need to schedule a dinner to talk about that.” He gives me a conspiratorial smile. “Wish me luck getting her to agree to give me another chance.”
“Professor Sweet seems pretty adamant about the ex part, so I guess you’re gonna need all the luck you can get, huh?” He has to be the one sending her the baskets.
“Seems that way. It was nice to meet you—Maverick, was it?”
“That’s right.”
“Is that a nickname or your given name?”
“Given.”
“Interesting. Well, Maverick, I appreciate you helping out Clover, but now that I’m in town, that probably won’t be necessary.”
“Right. Okay.” I’ve got no less than a million burning questions, none of which I can ask. Like, since when did he move to town? “It was nice to meet you, Gabe. I’m sure I’ll see you around.” I turn to Clover. “See you on campus, Professor.”
“Of course. Thank you for popping by.”
“No problem. Anytime.”
I walk backwards a few steps before I turn and head down the street, but at the end of the block, I go right instead of heading for the park and circle back toward my house. I don’t mind a little friendly competition, but a husband who’s trying to win her back is a whole different level.
And it makes me realize exactly where I am when it comes to Clover.
This isn’t a game I’m playing.
* * *
I walk backthrough the front door of my house to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. This could be a good or a bad thing. Good, because it means I’m not responsible for making it; bad, because I have no idea who’s in the kitchen.
