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“Not really,” I mumble, pushing off the table and turning to face Nash. Maverick lingers over his shoulder, refusing to look in my direction, which is fine by me, considering I can’t purge the image of the pretty girl hanging off him from my mind.
“You wound me.” He gasps, slapping a hand over his heart before he reaches out, grips my shoulders, and pulls me out of my chair. His arms fold over me, his grip tight as he squeezes, pouring all the words he doesn’t know how to say into this hug. “I missed you, little sis.”
His words hit my chest instantly, and my eyes burn as I blink away the strong emotions. Nash was always like what I thought a brother would be, and he basically adopted me as the sister he never had from that first day we met.
Where Maverick was something else, Nash and I had clear boundaries neither of us even thought of crossing. While I can appreciate that he’s attractive, he does nothing to my heart or body.
Not like his friend, who turns to me now, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he takes in Nash’s hold on me. When he catches my eyes, his narrow before he stomps away.
“You can let go now, Nashville,” I tell him, pinching the skin under his white shirt until he winces and relinquishes his hold on me. Maisie looks on with confusion, glaring at Nash, who hasn’t stepped out of my way yet.
Grabbing her hand, I pull her next to me, making introductions. “Nash, Maisie. Maisie, Nash.”
“Now tell her I’m a nice guy so she gives me her number, Baby Bea.”
“Yeah, that would be a hard no,” Maisie retorts, tilting her head as she stares at him. There’s a glimmer of something in her eyes, and I assess him, trying to imagine what she’s seeing.
His dirty-blond hair is a tousled mess that falls over his brow, dipping into his eyes. Dark-blue eyes watch her closely, his full lips spread into a smirk. Like Maverick, he’s tall, but where Maverick is broad and defined, Nash is leaner with more of a runner’s body than someone who spends hours in the gym working with weights. Wearing a pair of black cotton shorts and a white tee, he looks like the boy next door who, while nice enough, would break your heart the moment you give him the chance.
“Looks like you’re on your own with that one, Nashville,” I say when he whispers something to Maisie who stomps on his foot, her eyes hard with annoyance before she storms away.
I start to follow her, but Nash grabs my wrist. My body reacts in an instant, flinching at his firm grip, and he drops his hold, stepping back and putting some distance between us. “Sorry,” he whispers, a sad sort of smile on his face. “It’s really good to see you, Bea. We should catch up.”
“Yeah,” I answer, smiling as I turn to follow Maisie. My eyes catch on Maverick again, and his gaze is locked on where I rub my wrist, the one Nash grabbed.
When he looks up again, there’s something deadly in his expression, but for the first time since I showed up to BU, his anger isn’t directed at me. Yep, Nash is on his own with that one too.
Grabbing my bag, I toss it over my shoulder and make my leave. Maverick steps in front of me the moment I pass his table, though he makes no move to touch me.
“He hurt you?” he asks, tilting his head toward Nash.
“You care?” I quip, raising a brow.
He looks back at me, a smug smirk on his lips but it feels wrong. “Not really.”
“You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?” I blurt without thinking, the hurt from his words pulsing around me. “Why can’t you just leave me alone? Leave the past in the past, Maverick. Where it belongs.”
“I would love nothing more, but you see, since you showed up, it’s impossible. You’re fucking with my head, and the only thing that is going to stop that is for you to get the fuck out of my school and out of my life.”
“Well, unfortunately for you, that’s not going to happen.” He narrows his eyes, directing that anger back to me, and in a weird way, it feels right. I understand his hatred, understand his rage, and it’s better this way. Otherwise, it’s all too confusing. “This is my life too, Maverick. Don’t you get that? I’ve let others dictate it for too long, not anymore. And not you.”
“We’ll see about that,” he mutters, his fingers closing around a piece of hair that’s fallen free from my bun. He tucks it behind my ear, leaning close enough that his breath fans over my cheeks, and I feel the familiar burn as they flush. “Have a great day, Bumblebee.”
“Whore,” the girl next to me whispers, snickering to herself when I turn to her with a scowl. She smiles, her eyes alight with smug satisfaction as she turns to face the projector at the center of class, but I can barely pay attention.
My phone has been buzzing nonstop for the last hour. The ‘ad’ on Briar bulletin—the college’s own social media—asking for some companionship has been blowing up. While I appreciate the hits, and the ego boost from knowing men find me attractive, and some women, I didn’t put the stupid post up.
Someone must have somehow hacked into my account, and now my phone won’t stop ringing because not only was a doctored photo of me holding up a sign reading,company needed,shared, but my number was plastered all over the post too.
The last message I opened read,desperation isn’t hot, but you sure are. I’ll let you take a ride, baby.After that, I silenced the ringer, shoving it to the bottom of my bag to stop myself from launching it across the room.
Seems Maverick switched paths, and instead of telling everyone to ignore me, he thinks giving me all their attention is enough to get rid of me.
Once again, when I went to the administration office, begging them to somehow put a stop to it and change my account details—since every time I delete the post a fresh one pops up—the lady at reception told me they have no control over the system. I swear, that woman lives just to tell students she can’t help.
Leaning over to the girl next to me, I snag my phone out of my bag and offer it to her. She looks at me with wide eyes, confusion stark in her features. “If you want some numbers, you only have to ask. Jealousy isn’t a good look on you.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” she demands, pushing my hand away.
