“So, you’re writing a book, but don’t plan on being an author. Taking a major class, but not going for the degree? If you tell me you tutor for free, I’m going to change my title from boyfriend to manager.”
She laughs. “No. That I really do for the spare change.”
“Okay, so all the other stuff?—”
“We should go,” she cuts me off. “I want to get all the supplies to Creekside by the afternoon, so they have plenty of time to set up for tomorrow.”
When asked about her major or any plans, she retreats, closing herself off completely. Noted.
15
chloe
For all themoney in the world, I could not have guessed where this day would take me. When Nathan showed up in my class this morning, I should have known I was in for some shit from the universe. But ending up alone, in a car with Maverick, wasn’t even in my realm of possibilities.
“I can’t believe you write your grocery list by hand.”
I look up from the folded piece of pink paper between my fingers, to Maverick who’s driving with one hand on the wheel, while smacking his gum around an infuriatingly handsome smile. “I can’t believe you refer to your vehicle as the Whore Runner.”
He drops his head back to the seat, letting out a laugh made of pure sunshine. It’s warm and rich, and my body hums like it wants to bathe in it. I blink, pulling my attention back to the list in front of me. The list doesn’t make me forget how to breathe. The list is safe.
Most people I know go to the closest big chain grocery store in the neighboring town of Holly. Which works for me, because I prefer the charm of the Linden Creek Market. It’s the kind of place so small you can smell the stinkycheeses right when you walk in. The walls are made of shiplap with soft yellow overhead lighting rather than fluorescent, and at least fifty percent of the stuff is locally made.
Someone old enough to be my dad is pushing his mini cart out the doors while looking down at his receipt. It’s not until we step out of the way that he does a double take, smiles, nods, then carries on.
A woman deciding on a flower bunch to the right of the entrance also looks. She sees Maverick first, then her gaze flicks to me, before her eyebrows pull together and she looks back at Maverick. I have half a second to wonder if she’s trying to figure out what a guy like him is doing with a girl like me, but just as the thought forms, the kid at one of the two cash registers lights up.
“Hey, Maverick! Killer game last week.”
I try to hide behind Maverick’s large frame, but his hand stays pressed to my lower back, keeping me at his side.
“Thank you.”
“Bro, I hate the Thrashers. I was just waiting for you to knock someone's ass out.”
Maverick smiles but it’s so painfully forced. I don’t understand how this kid who is still smiling from ear to ear doesn’t notice. I wait for him to tell the cashier that he’s not a psycho, that he doesn’t just go around throwing punches for others’ entertainment, but he doesn’t.
“Maybe next time.” He claps the young cashier’s hand once before turning to grab us a cart.
“Alright, what’s first?” he asks, leaning his forearms down on the handle.
“Umm.” I strum my bottom lip, contemplating asking him why he doesn’t just correct people, but for the first time in days, his pretty blue eyes aren’t focused on me. I can’t tell if he’s avoiding me because he’s embarrassed, or because he’s afraid to see if I share the cashier’s opinion of him. I clear my throat, looking down at my notes. “Flour, butter, sugar.”
“What’d you call me?”
I open my mouth but he smiles that crooked grin of his, and I lose my train of thought.
“Come on, let’s roll.” He stands to his full height, pushes the cart forward, and I fall into step behind him. The oversized green T-shirt he’s wearing does absolutely nothing to hide the width of his back. If anything, it only makes it harder not to stare. The fabric pulls tight across his shoulders when he moves, stretching just enough to hint at how broad he really is.
His sandy sun-lightened blond hair is slightly grown out, along with a dusting of a five o’clock shadow, but it does nothing to take away from the sharp angles of his face. His gold chain glints under the overhead light as it rests against his tan skin, barely visible above the collar. I blame the fact that I’ve only ever seen flashes of it and now my interest is piqued, but I wonder if it’s just a metal chain or there’s something more there.
I quicken my pace to walk beside him, mostly so that I’ll stop staring at his back, which proves to be pointless because now I’m close enough to see the veins running down his arms. There’s absolutely no universe in which both of my hands could fit around one of those arms. His hand tightens on the cart handle, and his forearms flex, almost purposefully, like he knows exactly what the image is doing to me. I run my tongue along the back of my teeth, taking slow measured breaths.
“Looks like you’ve got options.”
I shake my head, ridding myself of the mental images I’ve started making up. “What?” I ask.
“There’s like ten different types of flour.” He nods to the shelves behind me.
