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Of course, he didn’t believe them.
Me:Whatever do you mean?
Dad:I like Maverick, too.
My stomach was tied into a huge knot. Dad liking Maverick surprised me. Had he picked up on something? Had he noticed Maverick staring at me during dinner? I’d tried my best to keep my eyes on them or my plate, not to give off any neon signs that I cared what Maverick thought.
Me:Goodnight, Daddy.
I shut off my phone and shoved it underneath my pillow. If only Dad knew how bad Maverick tormented me in high school, he wouldn’t think that anymore.
Why do things have to be so complicated?
A loud sound woke me, even though I hadn’t realized I’d fallen asleep. The sleep in my eyes faded as I rubbed the heel of my palm against them. Light filtered into my room, a shadow cast against my bed, and then I felt the bed move.
“What the—,”
“Josie,” Maverick’s voice strained. I felt at ease knowing it was just him, but when I smelled the liquor on his breath, I began to panic.
Everyone in Zachary knew that the star football player didn’t drink. Never drank at parties, never smoked. “Maverick,” I whispered, reaching over to turn on my bedside lamp.
The light did enough to see him, his mushed hair and heavy-lidded eyes only made him look more attractive. “Have you been drinking?”
He chuckled, running his thumb down the center of my bottom lip. “Did you have fun with your little boyfriend?”
Definitely drunk.The slur in his voice left little to the imagination of what happened when I went to get ice cream with King.
“Maverick, you’re drunk—,”
His dark brows pulled down in anger, he palmed the back of my neck and kissed me. It was angry, forceful, and full of every pent-up emotion that he held deep down. Before I could stop him, he’d crawled on top of me, kissing my neck and pulling at his t-shirt as I’d secretly dreamed of since I moved in.
But this wouldn’t happen this way.
“Maverick,” I whispered, shoving at his chest, but he didn’t budge.
I felt every hard line of his body against mine, his hips pushed against my opened thighs, showing me just what he wanted. He sucked my neck into his mouth, his fingers pulled hard at the hair on the nape of my neck.
“God, I want to ride you so hard into this bed that it breaks,” he mumbled.
Oh my ...“Maverick,” I said again. “Stop it.”
“I can’t,” he whispered. “Please let me have you.”
Tears began to well in the corners of my eyes, from want, frustration, and confusion. “Stop it,” I said louder, shoving him enough that he sat back on his shins.
A wild look—a drunk off-his-butt look—traveled over his face. A snarl rose from the corner of his mouth. His lips were puffy from sucking at my neck, the evidence of how it affected him pressed against the inside of his jeans.
“You think this is easy for me?” he slurred.
I sat up on my elbows. “What are you talking about—,”
Maverick jumped from the bed, hands in his hair like a madman. “I spent years wanting to end it and you took my chance away!”
I opened my mouth to respond but he yelled, “And now you’re going to sit around and date this prick when I want you?” He bent down over me, his eyes searching my own, for what I didn’t know. “I won’t let him have you, do you understand?”
I understood a lot in life, but nothing about this conversation. “Maverick,” I said calmly. “What are we talking about? I took what away from you?”
Maverick’s green eyes turned dark and he slapped my lamp from the nightstand to the floor, causing me to scream. The anger on his face scared me, but I needed to know now more than ever, what he was talking about.
