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A dry laugh falls past my lips, and I sigh. “What other possible reason do you have to slut shame another girl? Your taunts are juvenile and petty and say far more about you than they ever could me.”
“At least I don’t need to do beg for someone to fuck me.” She scoffs.
“Hmm.” I open the app, scrolling through the numerous comments. “‘Please, baby, let me come on your tits. Yes, please, I’ll fuck that pussy so sweet.’Doesn’t look like I’m the one begging, does it?”
“You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“No, I don’t think I should.” Grabbing my bag, I shove my phone back into it, zipping it up before tossing it over my shoulder as the class filters out. “But maybe you should take a look in the mirror.”
“He’ll never fuck you, you know,” she snaps, standing and blocking my way. She lets her eyes run over the length of me, my oversized hoodie and black leggings paling in comparison to the tight jeans and corset style crop top she wears. “There are rumors that you came here for Maverick Brady. But just know he doesn’t go for whores.”
“Oh, honey.” I chuckle, ignoring the sting that follows her words. That is one rumor I haven’t heard yet, but—considering the things Maverick has said—it’s not surprising he’d stoop low enough in his efforts to get rid of me. Just like the post today. I’ve no doubts it’s his handiwork. “If you want Maverick, he’s all yours. Though he’s never really been one to go for women without a brain cell, but hey, there’s a first for everything, right?”
I push past her, leaving her standing slack jawed in the center of the aisle. She makes no move to correct my assumption, nor to call anything out after me, and a flood of satisfaction washes over me.
I’ve never been the girl to stand up for myself. Always slinking in the background, taking what anyone offers with a smile on my face. But I won’t pretend it doesn’t feel good.
The more Maverick pushes, the harder I want to push back. Something about his fight, his anger, fuels me to want to prove myself not only to him but to me. For the first time in years, I’m realizing I don’t need anybody else to fight my battles for me and that feels really fucking good.
Maverick
“You really dropped the ball on that one.” Nash laughs when he drops down beside me on the couch, shoving a beer into my hand. While he sips from his bottle, he scrolls through the notifications on the “company wanted” ad on Beatrice’s bulletin, kindly reading his favorite ones out loud.
“No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t, that’s why every time your phone pings with a new notification you look about ready to throw it at the wall and rush off to strangle someone. Why can’t you admit it, bro?”
“Admit what?”
“That the thought of another guy going for Bea is eating you up inside,” he answers, leaning forward and dropping his phone face up on the counter. The new messages popping up in real time have me fighting the urge to take my beer bottle to his screen.
“You’re deluded,” I tell him instead, leaning back and tipping the beer to my lips.
“Uh-huh.” He flicks through the channels, landing onAnchormanbefore he settles into the couch. “What happens if she takes someone up on their offer?”
“She won’t!”
“Wait, did he just growl?” Beck asks, joining in with Nash’s laughter as he settles in on the armchair. “I thought dudes only did that in the books my sister reads.”
“I didn’t fucking growl.” Shoving off the couch, I finish the beer before tossing it into the trash can and grabbing my gym bag from the counter. I reach the door, ignoring my friends as they continue to rib the shit out of me.
I open the door and step back the moment a fist lands on my chest, a tiny squeak following. “Shit, sorry. I, er, I didn’t.” Beatrice pulls away, her eyes wide with worry as she drops her gaze to the floor and brings her thumb up to her mouth, chewing on the skin while worry lines wrinkle her forehead.
For some stupid reason, unbeknownst to me, I hate that look on her face. Especially directed toward me. Sure, I want her to fucking leave so she can stop messing with my head and let me get back to my perfectly crafted life, but the last thing I would ever want from her is her fear.
Reaching out, I tug gently at her hand, watching as the bead of blood forming at her thumb, from where she’s peeled away the skin around her nail, drops onto my palm. I fucking hate it.
“It’s fine, Bumblebee,” I mumble, pointing my thumb over my shoulder with a sigh. “If you’re here for Nash, he’s in there.”
Her nose wrinkles, her lips downturned. It’s another moment before she looks back up to me, her expression harder than before. “Actually, I’m here for you.” She shoves her phone into my chest. “Remove it. Now!”
The fire pouring off her in waves awakens my dick in an instant. I don’t know what it is aboutthisBeatrice, the one who talks back, who doesn’t bow under my reign, that makes me feel so fucking alive . . . but I don’t like it.
“Remove what?” I ask, a smirk tickling my lips.
“Don’t play dumb, Mav. It doesn’t suit you.” She steps into me, crowding into my space for once, rather than the other way around. My feet move out of instinct, needing to put some space between us, but she doesn’t stop.
In less than a second, I find myself back in my apartment, my friends watching in rapt silence as Beatrice closes the door behind her, mumbling a hello to them before reeling off a series of numbers. “Zero, nine, one, five. Now delete it. Permanently.”
