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Jesus.
"What the—oh my God!" Scar screeches, dropping her keys again.
I chuckle and adjust my ball cap. "Sorry."
She snatches her keys and is inches from me.
I close my eyes and inhale her peach scent.
"Maverick, what are you doing?" she says between breaths.
My gaze slowly travels from her feet to her face, admiring the beautiful sight before me.
Her face turns a pinkish color.
I smile.
"What do you want, Maverick?"
This time, my groan is in frustration and annoyance.
"Stop calling me that."
She rolls her eyes.
"Come eat lunch with me."
"No," she responds without a beat.
I tilt my head to the side and grin. "Come on. Don't make me beg."
Scar sighs and glances to the right before returning to me. I see her battling her desires in her mind: Should I go, or shouldn't I?
Come on, Scar. Say yes.
She's about to say something when her phone rings.
Damnit.
She pulls her phone from her bag.
When she looks to see who's calling, her eyebrows pull together, and she clenches her jaw. She ignores the call and throws her phone in her purse.
"I have to go," she mutters, walking past me.
I reach for her but hold back, knowing that will set her off.
Scar hops in her car and pulls away from the curb, leaving me alone on the street.
THIRTY-FIVE
SCAR
As soon as I got behind the wheel, I pressed my foot on the accelerator when I pulled away from the curb.
When I felt Maverick’s body near me, it felttoocomfortable. The way he begged me to have lunch with him started to melt the stone wall around my heart.
I wanted to hate him.
