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His eyes snap to mine—as though he can sense me watching him—and a smirk creeps onto his face. The smug bastard. Dropping my gaze, I twirl my fork around the plate of spaghetti, stuffing it into my mouth to stop myself from groaning aloud.
“Seriously, look at them,” Maisie whines, her fingers tightening around the tray. I don’t condone, or like violence for obvious reasons, but I’d pay good money to see this five-foot-two girl go up against a group of four six-foot-plus men. “Also, why do they have to be so pretty?”
Scoffing, I flick my gaze back to Maverick and his friends. Nash with his dirty-blond hair and chiseled face. The other two he must have met at BU. They aren’t from back home, as there’s no way you’d meet any of them and forget.
They’re all dressed similarly, plain Henley’s and blue or black jeans covering their long legs. I think none of them are under six-foot-two, and their faces? Holy hotness.
They could be models. Blond hair, brown hair, black hair. Pale skin, golden, and bronzed. They’re all different, but much the same too. Perfection in a package of four way-too-handsome dudes, and it’s totally unfair. But what’s more unfair is that my heart doesn’t beat faster as I flick my gaze over Nash or the other two.
Nope. The fickle little thing stays nice and steady in its cage, but the moment I find Maverick again, it takes off in a gallop, skipping a beat when I find him still looking my way.
“They’re alright, I guess,” I finally say to Maisie, forcing my eyes back to her. An ache starts in my chest, but I shut that shit down. “If they’re friends with Maverick though, they’re obviously dickheads, given his stunt this morning.”
“Yeah, that’s the issue,” she grumbles, stabbing her chicken forcefully. “The nice guy is rarely the one looking like that.”
“I don’t know, maybe you’re just looking in all the wrong places.”
She purses her lips, eyeing me shrewdly before a wide grin splits her lips. “You know what, I think you’re right. Tonight, Operation: Find Nice Men starts.”
“Er, yeah, no.” Shaking my head profusely, I push my half-eaten spaghetti away and grab my can of Coke instead.
“Yup,” she insists, flinging her hair over her shoulder and standing quickly. “I need to get laid, which means I need a wing woman, and with you, we just need to start the slow transition of getting back on the horse. I promise, Bea, I won’t let anyone hurt you. But you’re nineteen, it’s time to start enjoying yourself again.”
“I can enjoy myself perfectly fine without male company, you know.”
“Well, duh.” She grabs my hand, pulling me to my feet. “You’re the best chick I’ve ever met, but don’t you wanna start having some fun? I’m not talking about you going on dates or finding a guy to hang out with. But just feeling it out a little bit. You’ll never know if you’re ready if you don’t at least give it a shot. You only do the college thing once, and we’re going to do it right. I’ll never leave your side, I promise. It’s been like a week and you’ve sorta become my ride or die.”
“The level of codependency this early in our friendship is probably a little concerning, actually,” I tease, linking my arm through hers as we exit the cafeteria.
I can feel Maverick burning holes in my back, the hair at the nape of my neck standing on end. The urge to turn around is strong, but I don’t. He doesn’t get the satisfaction of a reaction from me.
“Yeah,” she hisses, wincing playfully. “We should probably try and make some more friends while we’re at it.”
“Good luck with that one. I’mdust,apparently, whatever the hell that means.”
Maverick
Vibrations run through my ass, my phone continuously pinging with incoming texts and notifications. Yet nothing from the one person I want a reaction from.
When I walked into the cafeteria and my eyes zeroed in on her, I expected something. A flicker of emotions in her eyes, a shudder in her chest, an expletive flung at me . . .something.
Instead, her eyes held mine for a beat before she looked away with zero hesitation. Which did nothing to justify my conflicting emotions surrounding the video. I didn’t send it out, nor did I expect anyone to actually taunt her. But I guess Nash was right.
Truthfully, though, I fucking hated when that popped up on my screen. Watching her fall didn't fill me with any joy or satisfaction, it just made me angry at whoever thought to fucking film it.
Gray slaps my back, shoving me toward our table when my feet halt. The urge to walk over to her, drop down beside her, and force her to react is too strong.
“Get a move on, dude,” Gray says, stopping himself when a chick saunters up to him. She’s about five six with legs for days showcased in a tiny mini skirt, and yet I might as well be looking at my nan for all the reaction she stirs in my body.
She whispers in his ear, and a deep charming laugh leaves his mouth, one he only uses for women. It’s fake as shit, but given the way she slides her phone over to him, waiting while he punches his digits in, it works.
Shaking my head, I force myself to move again, ignoring the way the crowd watches us. It’s awesome to be top dogs around here, but it gets tiresome having to beonall the time.
“There’s a dorm party over in Redders tonight, we going?” Nash asks, tipping his head at me as he passes, dropping into a seat at our table. Front and center. Only the best for the Bears.
“You talking to me again?” I quip, sliding my bag to the floor and following suit.
“Never not talking to you dude,” he replies, leaning back until his chair tips onto two legs. “Just ’cause I don’t agree with everything you’re doing, doesn’t mean I’m not your boy for life. We’ve been friends way too long for that shit. Couldn’t get rid of you even if I wanted to.”
