Uncertainty eats at me. “Can I trust you?”
“No,” he answers honestly. “But I’ve never lied to you.”
True. He’s abusive, crazed, and unpredictable, but he’s not a liar.
“Where do you want to meet?”
“I’ll pick you up at six and we can go wherever you want.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll shoot you a text, so you can send me your address.”
“Whoa, pump the brakes. How’d you get my number?”
“I have my ways,” he responds casually, as if invading my privacy is no big deal.
I glare at him. “Whatwaysexactly?”
“I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.”
Jesus take the wheel, because I just made a deal with the devil.
Maverick arrives at six o’clock on the dot and we head to my favorite seafood restaurant. I go at least once every visit.
The drive is painfully awkward. Getting a root canal would be preferable. We have no idea what to say to each other. Maverick keeps a death grip on the steering wheel, and I stare out the window.
This date is way too freaking stressful. Even deciding what to wear was a chore. I wanted to look sexy, but not trying-too-hard sexy. After nearly two hours of deliberation, I put on an off-the-shoulder white sweater, skinny, sky-blue jeans, and black-suede high-heeled boots. The second he parks, I throw the door open so fast I’m surprised it doesn’t fly off the hinges. Once we’re sitting at the table and the waiter takes our orders, the silence resumes. I twirl my straw in my glass of water, creating a miniature whirlpool.
“Apply to any colleges?” I ask, breaking the ice.
“A few, got accepted into Baylor on a football scholarship.”
“Wow, congrats,” I say sincerely. “Most colleges don’t send acceptance letters until spring.”
“Thanks.” He’s actually blushing and it’s the hottest thing ever. “The coach has had his eye on me since sophomore year.”
“You’re welcome.”
Sure, he’s afforded advantages due to his father being a prominent judge, but I’ve seen Maverick on the field. His skills are unparalleled, so the full ride is well-deserved.
“I’ve never heard of that school.” I tuck a stray curl behind my ear and his avid gaze follows the action. “Where’s it located?”
I swear those intense amber eyes could make a nun forget her vows and sin for hours.
“Waco, Texas.”
I grab a cheddar biscuit from the basket and bite into the flakey crust.
“Is your goal to play professionally?”
“Yeah, going pro is my dream.”
“What’s your backup plan?”
“Don’t have one.”
My face dips into a frown. “What if you’re not chosen by a team?”
