I finally tear my gaze away from Maverick just in time to watch Nathan take a step back. But his focus is on Maverick when he adds, “Just like old times.” He blows me a kiss, before turning around and I blow out a breath.
“To the store?” There’s an edge to Maverick’s voice. Not anger or annoyance like I expect, but something more unsure.
I swallow, gripping the strap of my bag with one hand and quietly squeeze the hand he’s still holding with the other. “I actually have to get some stuff done first, so I was going to go to The Den.”
He nods once, and then takes a step, leading us to the coffee shop.
The sun finally breaks over the building to our right, warming my skin as we walk, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of Maverick’s hand still wrapped around mine, and my neck flushes at the realization. It would be weird to pull back now with the coffee shop only two minutes down the path, but now that I’m aware of it, the fact that we’re still holding hands feels even more noticeable.
“So, you and Nathan?” He scratches the back of his neck, avoiding my eyes, and I stop so suddenly, I pull him back a step.
“Are you jealous?”
He scoffs. “The day I’m jealous of Nathan Quant will be the day I start believing in fortune cookies.”
My mouth falls open in shock but my laugh betrays me. “Who doesn’t believe in fortune cookies?”
“Realists.”
I shake my head, but my smile doesn’t fade. “Okay, so you don’t believe in anything, and you’renotjealous.”
“I’m not jealous. I was just curious.” There’s a slight twitch to his finger when he says it, and if I hadn’t been completely focused on where our hands touch, I would have missed it. “Have you been talking to him?”
“No,” I rush to say. “Today was the first time I’ve seen him since he found out we were dating.” I playfully bump my shoulder to his. “He somehow talked his way into this criminology class.”
“Is this something he does often?”
I shake my head. “We’ve only had one class together and it’s where I met him.” At the time, those days felt so easy. We would flirt in class and I finally worked up the courage to ask him to study. I knew the material like the back of my hand, but it felt like a safe excuse to hang out. Only, now that I’m three years older, I see it for what it really was. We would study…aka I would do most of his work, and then we would hook up. At the end of the semester, when everything felt uncertain and I knew I might not see him twice a week anymore, I asked him if he wanted to be more.
I should have heard him the first time he said he wasn’t ready to date. More than that, I should have listened. Maybe then, I wouldn’t be in the position of analyzing every word, or reading into every move he’s made since. Maybe then, I wouldn’t be in the position I’m in now.
“Is criminology your major?”
“No.” I laugh but it comes out more of a scoff. “No, I actually hate this class. Savannah is the true crime girl in our relationship.” I shiver at the thought of the snippets of the podcasts I’ve heard her listening to before. “I’m just takingthe course because I’m a suck up, and I’m trying to get a leg up on the competition.”
“Competition?”
We reach the doors but we don’t go inside. Maverick leans against the waist-high stone wall, keeping a foot of space between us, but never letting go of my hand. His thumb brushes over mine once. He watches me, patiently waiting for me to respond, like we’re not moving forward because he’s not done hearing what I have to say.
“Umm, yeah,” I stutter, trying to focus on what I was saying. “This professor is finally getting a new TA next year, and everyone who’s been a TA for him in the past has gotten a letter of recommendation from him for grad school, followed by an acceptance letter.”
“Damn. Grad school?” He seems shocked, but impressed. Like he didn’t automatically assume I had to go to grad school, but admires that I could.
I take a step back, dropping his hand, and looking toward the coffee shop. “Anyway, Thanks for keeping me company. I should”—I point a thumb over my shoulder—“get my stuff done, so I can get to the store.”
“I’ll see you later.”
I bite my bottom lip, giving a quick nod, and turn to head inside.
14
maverick
“Nuh-uh.”I inhale through labored breaths, pointing a finger at Sage. “You don’t get to be yawning when you’re the one who called an eight a.m. workout on a Monday.”
Sage drops her head back and barely keeps a hold on her clipboard. “To be fair, I made this calendar last month.”
“Last month you wrote down eight a.m., and this week you didn’t change it.”
