“Some are calling her unstable. One article said you’re clearly acting out. They think she’s trouble wrapped in ink.”
I clench my jaw. “They don’t know her.”
“You think they care?” Maggie says, “They’re interested in how she looks.The tattoos, the attitude, and the fact that she didn’t smile.”
“She shouldn’t have to perform for them.”
“I agree,” she says, “but that’s not how this works. Weneed a neutral response. Something that makes this look intentional, not like you lost your mind and married a problem.”
“She’s not a problem,” I say, voice low.
Maggie exhales. “Maverick?—”
“I knew they’d do this,” I cut in, “I knew the second those photos got out, they’d tear her apart. She went from mystery woman a couple of weeks ago to now a tattooed menace.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. Unfortunately, this is how the media goes. You, out of all people, should understand.”
I grimace at her jab, clutching my phone tighter. “I can handle the heat, Maggie. But they don’t get to make her a headline.”
Maggie pauses. “Maver?—”
I hang up.
Walking back inside, I flop onto the red velvet couch I was sitting on earlier. Amelia is still working and didn’t even glance at me when I came back in.
Look at me, just once.
I wanna say centuries pass by, but since my phone call with Maggie, six hours have gone by, and I feel like I’m dying.
I’m sprawled on the studio couch for hours, suffering. My arm covers my forehead, as my legs dangle off the side.
Rex crouches at the far end of the cushion, tail flicking and eyes narrowed into little slits of judgment.
“This is abuse,” I groan, voice cutting through the hum of Amelia’s tattoo machine. “I’ve been starved. Forgotten. Left to rot while my wife plays Picasso with a needle. No food. No water. No love. Nothing.”
Amelia stays still, continuing her work and ignoring me.
I kick the couch arm hard enough to make Rex hiss. “Hours, Amelia! HOURS! Do you know what happens to a man after being without attention for so long? He crumbles. I’m basically a skeleton under this jersey.”
Her client snorts, shoulders shaking.
I spring upright, stabbing a finger in his direction, eyes wild. “You think this is funny? This is a man on his deathbed. Prisoners get yard time. Dogs get walked. I’ve been abandoned in broad daylight. A forgotten quarterback. A relic.”
Rex lets out a hiss.
I throw both my arms wide, addressing him directly. “Silence, demon cat. You thrive on my misery. I, however, need affection and snacks to survive.”
Amelia finally leans back from her client, snapping off her gloves with a sharp flick. Her glare pierces right through me. “Oh my God. I’m done. Fuck.”
The theatrics vanish in an instant. I sit up straight, a grin spreading across my face in feral triumph.
“You ready to go, dollface?” I ask, waggling my brows.
She glares at me, tugging the strap of her crossbody bag on her shoulder, her black gloves balled in one hand. “Yes, you fuck, let me say bye.”
Amelia turns back, tossing a casual “Later, losers,” to her coworkers.
I bite back a smirk.
