My throat tightens as I look up at him, and for one terrifying heartbeat, I believe the words he’s saying.
Someone at the back of the pack laughs. “She looks more like a groupie than a wife.”
His arm wraps around my waist as his hand presses against my lower stomach, pulling me directly into him as he pushes through the growing crowd of paparazzi.
“Watch your mouth, she’s my wife,” Maverick says, as his hand shoots out, shoving the paparazzi’s camera aside, towering over the small man who now looks like he regrets what he said.
The cameras keep clicking, flashes of white burning my eyes.
Maverick’s hand digs into my side as he shifts his body in front of me, cutting off the flash of another camera. His other hand flies up, palm forward, stopping one guy from stepping in any closer.
“I said back the fuck up!” he snaps, “you got your photos, now get the hell out of my way!”
They keep pushing forward relentlessly, trying to get around him for a better shot of me. Maverick moves ahead, physically shoving one of the cameras out of his face. The guy stumbles, but Maverick doesn’t stop.
He drives us onward, pulling me with him like I’m something he refuses to let anyone touch.
His arm stays wrapped around my waist, his body acting as a shield from it all—the stares, the flashes, and the noise.
Maverick doesn’t look back or say another word.
We managed to turn into a narrow alley between two shops, and the noise fades behind us, turning into a dull murmur of voices.
There’s a gentle hum from a vending machine nearby, and a light aroma of fresh green tea.
But there’s no more cameras.
It’s just him and me.
He finally stops walking, his chest rising and falling as he releases me, his fingers dragging slightly against my waist before they fall away.
“You okay?” he asks, brushing a stray hair from my face.
I swallow, trying to steady myself. “I’m okay, that was kind of intense.”
He nods, jaw clenched. “Yeah, they can be real shitheads.”
I glance at him. “Clearly.”
“Do you still want ice cream?”
“Yeah, but I’m not going back out there with those zoo animals.”
His eyes meet mine. “That’s okay, dollface, I’ll order you whatever flavor you want back at your apartment.”
My chest squeezes with the familiarity of being spoiled by someone, but I quickly push those feelings down.
He says it like it’s nothing, like wanting to do small gestures for me is the most natural thing in the world.
And that’s the problem.
Because all men love-bomb you, shower you in pretty words until you believe them. And once you fall for their shit, they show you their true colors. They break every piece of your self-confidence and shred your heart until there’s nothing left.
I stare at him for a moment. His blue eyes searching mine, waiting for an answer. I didn’t even realize how close he was standing in front of me.
I step back, clearing my throat.
“Okay, quarterback, let’s get some ice cream.” I finally answer.
