He lets out a throaty laugh, and the sound is pure and unfiltered, something I can strangely listen to all day.
Amelia, we don’t do this, remember? Knock it off.
“Let’s go then, vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles is calling my name.”
I snort to myself, a man of his stature eating sprinkles is comical.
Maverick pulls out his phone and orders us an Uber back to my apartment, his thumb swiping across the screen like it’s something to focus on instead of everything that just happened.
“Our Uber is pulling up, ready, dollface?”
I glance at him, hesitating, my hand twitching at my side.
I’m so fucking nervous to step back into the crowd. My chest feels tight, like I can’t get a full breath, and every flash of a camera makes my skin crawl.
The voices around us blur into deafening static, and for a second, I feel like I might break down right here on the sidewalk.
It’s impulsive, reaching for his hand, but I push aside my feelings about my past and do it.
Slowly, I reach over and slide my fingers into his.
He doesn’t say anything, but just as quickly, his strong calloused hand wraps around mine and squeezes.
I keep my eyes forward, refusing to look at him, even as my heart flutters and my throat goes dry.
We start walking back toward the main street, toward the glow, noise, and foot traffic.
The Uber pulls up quickly, its headlights casting a low glow over the curb as the car slows to a stop.
Maverick doesn’t hesitate, stepping forward and opening the door for me. His hand finds the small of my back as he guides me in, his fingers pressing just enough to remind me he’s still there.
I don’t say anything as I slide into the seat, my skin buzzing where he touched me, trying not to wonder why part of me doesn’t want him to move it.
Our hands are no longer intertwined, but I can still feel the ghost of his fingers between mine.
And I don’t know why I already miss it.
maverick
. . .
Maggie
Check your social media, you’re trending, yet again. This time it’s about “your wife.” I’ll call you in a couple of hours.
Ican never catch a fucking break. I’ve been here for one day, ONE, and there’s already news circulating.
Lame.
Pocketing my phone, I turn my attention back to the concrete city, taking it all in before I head back to Tennessee and see what shit storm I’m met with next.
Los Angeles is an interesting place, to say the least. Sorry to the people who live here, but I physically can not.
It’s loud, scary, and definitely not Tennessee.
We walk side by side, along the sidewalk, off of Hill Street. Different shops pass my periphery.
Coffee shops line the street, their chalkboard signs and mismatched tables creating a cozy atmosphere, with the aroma of espresso and burnt caramel lingering in the air. We walk past a crystal store with shelves full of shiny rocks and sage bundles I don’t understand, but Amelia stops,glancing at the different crystals in the windows before she continues walking.
