“No.” I shake my head, taking a step back, desperate for some air. “No, I just mean like a code word. In case…in case one of us gets confused…” I trail off, wanting him to get the hint but not wanting to alarm him.
“Confused about?”
“Just…” I huff a breath, annoyed that he’s going to make me say it. “In case either one of us starts to think that any of this is real.”
“Ah.” He nods his head, biting down on his bottom lip.
“I just mean?—”
“No, I got it. Don’t worry. I’ll never think this is real.”
I try not to physically rear back, but hearing him say the words is a painful fucking blow. I knewhewouldn’t catch feelings. I very clearly meant thatI’mthe one who needed a code word. His words continue to echo louder in my head with each breath I try to take, and somehow, that’s going to have to be enough for me.
“How about butterfly?”
“What?” So caught off guard, my voice is nothing but a whisper.
“Butterfly can be our safe word.”
“Code word!” I throw back at him.
“Whatever.” He smiles, and a peek of his green gum shows through his teeth. My stomach dips at the reminder of his spearmint taste.
“Why butterfly?”
He shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I can’t imagine I would ever be saying the word butterfly. It’s…safe,” he says with a wink.
I turn around, placing my forearms on the railing again, and only now do I remember that Nathan is out here. Or atleast he was. I scan the backyard once, and he’s nowhere to be found.
“Okay.”
Maverick leans his arms beside me. The cool material of his vest brushes against my bare arm, sending goosebumps over my skin.
“Butterfly, butterfly, butterfly.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to change the word toBeetlejuice?” I ask.
“Nah. I’m just trying to get the word out of my system. You know how you never thought you might want something, until you’re told you can’t have it? Same thing.”
“Yeah,” I breathe, forcing my gaze away from those blue eyes that could so easily trick me into thinking this isn’t all fake.
I know exactly what that feels like.
18
maverick
The clouds rolled in earlylast night and never left this morning. I pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my freshly buzzed head as I make my way across the parking lot to Creekside.
“Good morning, Mr. Hall. You’re here early today,” Monica greets me.
I look at my watch. “It’s nine-thirty. Don’t old—elderly people,” I correct myself, “wake up with the birds?”
“I meant earlyfor you.” She lifts a teasing brow.
“I’ve got a heavy practice later. I wasn’t sure how long it would run, and if it’s as brutal as I imagine it will be, I didn’t want to risk choosing my bed over my volunteer hours.”
“Good man.” She smiles, nodding her head approvingly, and I pause, because that’s not something I hear often. It’s not that I don’t think I’m a good guy; it’s just that aside from the people that know me, it’s not usually their first impression of me. Not that I give them anything to go off of, really. Most people know me as the hockey guy,the aggressive hockey guy, or the good fuck. Beyond that, no one really attempts to know me any deeper.
