Butfuck,I like the thought of him showing off. Being the big, strong man and not leaving me a choice.
I like it more than I should.
“I’ll walk out on my own,” I say, and I tuck my chin to hide the blush creeping up my cheeks.
“Good.” Maverick pops onto his feet and offers me a hand. “Shower first, then we can go.”
“I’m not supposed to be in there, remember?”
“It’s just me here, and I’m not sitting next to you when you smell likethat.”
I let him pull me up. “I’ll be quick.”
“Take as long as you want. Do you have a car?”
“No. I do Ubers or the Metro.”
“I’ll drive us. It’s not that far.”
I dust ice shavings off my leggings. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Because I’m a nice guy, and I can see how today is getting to you. I don’t want you to sink into some funk just because of one loss. I’m also really fucking hungry, so the faster we get there, the better.”
“Fine.” I give him a small smile, and he answers with a beam of his own. “Show me where these showers are.”
FIFTEEN
EMMY
Thirty minutes later,I’m sitting across from Maverick in a red-checkered booth in a diner that’s so small, I could probably touch both sides of the wall if I stuck out my arms.
I look at the paper menu on the table that tells me the restaurant has been around since the 1930s, and my stomach rumbles again.
“Do you come here a lot?” I ask.
“Once a week since I got drafted by the Stars.” Maverick scoots half an inch to the left to avoid hitting his head on the low hanging light overhead. “It’s kind of like Johnny’s. I can throw on a hat and a hoodie, and no one will know who I am. If they figure it out, they don’t care. They’re just here to eat good food.”
He did throw on a hat on the quick drive from the arena then had the fucking audacity to turn it backwards on his head when he parked his Mercedes in the gravel lot out front.
I’ve always considered myself a feminist, but there’s something so goddamn sexy about a man in a backwards hat that has me ready to drop to my knees for the patriarchy.
I clear my throat. “What do you normally order?”
“It’s cruel to pick a favorite. The grilled cheese is delicious. You can’t go wrong with the club or meatball sub either. And, ifyou’re really feeling wild, the burger with a pretzel bun is better than any orgasm I’ve ever had.”
The comment makes my heart race. I stare at the list of side items, trying to distract myself from thinking about Maverick Miller and his orgasms.
Potato salad.
French fries.
Coleslaw.
Right there, Red.
Atta girl.
“A grilled cheese sounds great,” I almost shout.
