You busy?
Maverick
Also, do I look like someone with a dirty image to you? Be honest.
“I heard about your meeting.” Carter finally says.
“How the fuck did you hear about my meeting?” I shoot back.
“Reed,” Carter says, brushing a strand of Catalina’s hair off her cheek.
Catalina giggles into his shoulder.
I flip him off, glaring at Reed.
Reed shrugs and slides another bourbon my way without a word.
I text Amelia again.
Maverick
Wanna get matching tattoos and pretend we’re stable?
Her typing bubbles appear.
Then disappear.
She finally replies.
Amelia
Bite me.
God help me, I smile.
First real one all damn day.
amelia
. . .
I’m a fucking idiot.
I should’ve said no when he told me we needed to talk. But the seriousness in his voice made me curious, so here I am, stuck at BNA, waiting for this dumbass to pick me up.
I’m standing at baggage claim in worn Doc Martens, an oversized Sleep Token tee, paired with sheer black tights.
Twenty-six years old, and I’m still making bad decisions, like I didn’t learn the first time.
He’s late.
Maverick is late.
I’m going to kill him.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, eyes flicking toward the glass doors for the fiftieth time. I’m trying not to look like I care, but I’m also debating whether I’d commit a felony if he doesn’t show in the next two minutes.
People walk by in groups—families with screaming toddlers, a flurry of cowboy hats, and bachelorette parties with glittery tote bags and rhinestone boots.
