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I hold up my hand for a high five. She has to jump to reach it, and she doesn’t fully succeed; her fingertips slap haphazardly against my palm. She throws her head back and laughs, then tries again.
My heart swells until it feels like it’s going to burst. Maybe I don’t have it all together right now. Maybe I haven’t been the best son or brother or friend. Maybe I’m a horny bastard who can’t stop gawking.
But I love her.
I fuckingloveher.
And maybe that should count for something.
Chapter Fifteen
Azalea
Afterthegame,weskip the Uber and walk back to the hotel instead. Our conversation is buoyant, our footsteps light. Now that the sun has gone down, it’s a warm, comfortable night. Maverick looks happier than I’ve seen him in quite a while. Seeing him like that lifts my own mood even higher.
When we arrive at the hotel, Maverick opens the door for me. “So will you admit to being a Cubs fan now?”
I pretend to think about it as I breeze past him. “I don’t know. It seems a bit premature.”
“Really? You were screaming pretty good when they reversed that call at first.”
“Well, it was a bad call.”
Maverick grins. “You’re right, it was.”
We walk across the lobby, bypassing the bank of elevators in favor of the stairwell. Maverick plods up the stairs beside me, his arm brushing mine, and my skin erupts in goosebumps. I subtly shift away to put a little space between us.
For the last three years, my friendship with Maverick has been solid and consistent. It’s been something I’ve relied on, found solace in. But lately, there’s been a shift. I’ve been moreawareof Maverick than ever before. I feel simultaneously warm and chilled when he touches me. I find myself staring at his lips as he speaks. I notice the ripple of his back muscles through his shirt when he leans down to tie his shoe.
I haven’t forgotten what his mom told me that first time I went to their house after she went on hospice.I think he’s a bit lost, and it’s not because I’m sick. He has been for a while.I know she didn’t put his happiness on my shoulders—in fact, she explicitly absolved me of that responsibility—but I find myself thinking and worrying about him daily.
Then there was her other directive.Pay attention to the way he looks at you.
And I have noticed. I noticed a few days after that, when he came over to my house, and I haven’t stopped noticing. When he looks at me, his eyes brighten. The corners of his lips turn up in a tiny smile that almost seems private, like he only intends for me to see it. On days when his grief is heavy, his gaze finds mine even more than usual, and I feel like I can see inside his heart.
And there are, of course, the less innocent looks—the ones we discussed earlier, while we waited for our Uber. My face warms at the memory. I’m not sure why I momentarily lost my mind and admitted—not in so many words, thankfully—that it makes me feel pretty and sexy and desired when his heated stare lingers on my curves. For a moment, when the words were there hanging between us, I thought…well. I thought he was going to do something about it.
But he didn’t.
I don’t want to admit, even to myself, how disappointed I was.
“I need something else to eat,” Maverick says as we reach the second landing. Our hands skim against each other again. I’m starting to wonder if it’s really an accident. “I’m gonna order a pizza.”
“Okay.”
“Do you want any?”
“Nah, I’m not too hungry.”
“So I can get extra ham?”
My head snaps toward him. He grins, knowing he got me. “Okay,” I admit. “I might have a slice.”
“I’ll get it on half.”
We reach our floor and head down the quiet hall to our room. I haul my overnight bag into the bathroom while Maverick puts in the pizza order, and by the time I’ve showered, tugged a brush through my tangled hair, and put on pajamas, two slices of pepperoni pizza are waiting for me on a paper plate. Maverick is cross-legged on his bed, chewing on his ham-flavored atrocity as he watches SportsCenter.
“Haven’t you seen enough baseball for one night?” I ask.
