The Consequence of Loving Me: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Aftershock Series Book 1)

by Kat Singleton

  What a shame.

  I collect other people’s imperfections. I cherish them when people have them.

  I quickly try to find one of his, at least physically, but come up short.

  He shakes his head while a lazy finger runs over the handle of his mug—not even gracing me with a verbal response.

  A shrill laugh breaks my concentration on him. I glance over to where the guy from earlier pulls one of the girls onto his lap. It nearly causes her to spill some kind of ugly green drink all over both of them.

  My eyes find Maverick once again. I wrap my hand around the cold cup of my drink. The condensation from it attaches itself to the skin of my palms.

  He sighs. “I’ll start then. My name is Maverick. I’m a senior here, majoring in poli-sci. Future lawyer.”

  Of course he is.

  “I am originally from Kansas City,” he continues, “which is only about forty-five minutes from here. My twin sister Lily goes here as well.” He taps against the wood of the table, and I notice ink stains down the side of his left hand.

  I briefly wonder if he’s left handed as I take a long drink out of my straw. “Will she be one of my new roommates?”

  His lips pull up in that taunt of a smile. “You say that like you’re confident we’ll take you in.”

  My nose scrunches. I shift in my chair, flipping my long, blonde hair over my shoulder as I say, “You say that like I’m a stray dog.”

  He lifts his shoulders in a shrug, a smirk forming on his lips. “Well if the shoe fits…”

  I kick him under the table in the shin with the heel of my boot. He winces, immediately bending to rub where my heel just hit him. The sudden movement causes him to spill coffee all over his hand.

  “Shit,” he mutters, quickly dropping the coffee mug onto the table. It makes a loud thump in the process. He scowls at me while he licks the coffee off his fingers.

  I give him an innocent smile. “I don’t take well to being insulted.”

  He continues to clean himself up before he glances back at me, nodding. “Noted.”

  I sit back in my chair and hum, the smile on my face most likely making it blatantly obvious to him that I find joy in his displeasure. My fingers trace shapes on the condensation of my cup as I wait for him to clean up the mess he’s made.

  After he does so, the chair underneath him groans as he adjusts into a new position. “No, my sister is not one of our roommates.” He takes a long sip from the mug then adds, “Lily and Aspen would literally kill each other if they shared the same roof over their heads.”

  “Aspen?” I ask.

  “Veronica, meet Aspen.” His long finger points to a different corner of the shop, and my eyes follow it.

  I can’t help but be a tiny bit surprised when I notice the guy from earlier. He still has the one girl from earlier placed in his lap as he laughs with one of his friends.

  “That man-whore over there is my best friend, and unfortunately, my roommate,” Maverick clarifies.

  “You can’t be serious.” Color me actually shocked. Somehow it didn’t even occur to me that Maverick would be friends with someone like this Aspen guy.

  Then again, I hardly know Maverick. And I certainly don’t know his obnoxious friend. But something tells me Aspen is more of an open book than my good friend Maverick here is.

  Maverick chuckles as his hand runs through his hair again, simultaneously showcasing the lean muscles that wind up his arm while I fight another eye-roll at what seems like a display. “Unfortunately, I am dead serious,” he says. His gaze travels to where Aspen finally takes notice of the two of us across the coffee shop.

  I stare in disbelief—or is it fascination?—as Aspen deftly shoves the girl off his lap and crosses the space. “Maverick!” he calls.

  Aspen’s long legs take him quickly across the coffee shop. I’m not shocked to find a pristine pair of boat shoes attached to those legs. Maverick stands up to do that odd greeting guys do before Aspen plops down in a chair too close to mine.

  “And who is this beautiful creature?” Aspen asks, his arm stretching out to rest on the back of my chair.

  My chair makes a loud screeching noise as I push it farther away from him. “Uninterested,” I state.

  I stare him dead in the eyes before the biggest grin spreads over him. The smile takes up so much of his face. I wait to see what his reply will be, but he just shakes his head and whispers something to Maverick.

  My eyes cautiously watch them exchange words. The two are different in many ways. Maverick has a calm, confident demeanor about him. From the ten minutes I’ve already observed Aspen, he has more of an in-your-face air of confidence. Maverick’s dark hair is longer on the top, buzzed at the sides. Aspen’s is blond and buzzed all the way around his head. As I stare at Aspen, I notice his face is made of soft edges, like his peaked nose. Maverick’s face is completely made of straight lines and hard edges. I begin to compare their eyes when I realize Maverick is staring at me. The corner of his lip pulls up when Aspen says something else in his ear.

  I huff in response. “Care to enlighten me on what you boys are talking about?” My coffee makes a slurping sound as I finish the rest of my iced latte. I shake the ice around to try to get one last sip of the caffeine before I plop the cup back on the table.

  “I was asking my good friend Maverick about his new friend.” Aspen waggles his eyebrows.

  Maverick stays still.

  Yup. Very different.

  Deciding what the hell, I stretch my arm out in Aspen’s direction. “Veronica Cunningham. Can’t say it’s too nice to meet you.”

  His eyes light up like those of a dog that’s just had a bone placed in front of him. He takes my hand in his and shakes it. “Aspen Bellevue. And I can say it’s nice to meet you.”

  His fingers latch around my hand. I decide I’ve been nice enough for one day and pull my hand back, setting it in my lap.

  “Veronica here is going to be our new roommate,” Maverick chimes in.

  He’s been so quiet during this encounter I almost forgot he was there.

  Aspen’s eyes shoot to me as he ponders over his friend’s words. “I think my year was just made.”

  Maverick shakes his head as he takes a casual sip of his coffee. His phone vibrates on the table and he quickly reads over the words.

  “This will be interesting,” I exhale, not quite sure what I’m about to get myself into.

  I expect Maverick to comment on the fact I had just pretty much agreed to move in with them, but he stays fixated on the iPhone he holds.

  “Everything okay with Selm?” Aspen asks, a serious tone taking over his just-playful voice.

  One of the girls who’d previously occupied his lap starts to walk our way across the shop, but after one serious look from Aspen, she turns around and sits back down with her group of friends.

  Maverick’s eyes catch mine for a brief second before he pushes his phone into the pocket of his joggers. “I gotta run. Aspen, will you get Veronica’s number so we can set up a day for her to move in?”

  Aspen nods, a concerned look written all over his face.

  My jaw hangs open as I wonder what the hell is going on.

  And who is Selm?

  Maverick reaches across the table, laying his cold fingers across my hand that’s sitting on the table. “It was nice to meet you, Veronica. Looking forward to having you in our place.”

  And with that, his tall body gets up from the small chair and walks out of the coffee shop, while I’m left staring at his retreating form. My thoughts are all over the place, and I’m unsure which exact part of the last hour to process first.

  Why does Aspen look so concerned?

  Am I really about to move in with complete strangers?

  All these thoughts cross my mind as I type my number into Aspen’s phone. He’s saying words to me, but they aren’t registering.

  Finally, I catch a mumbled goodbye from Aspen before he gets up and heads in the direction Ma
verick just went.

  Well, this just got even more interesting.

  3

  Maverick

  “I’ll be there in five minutes,” I tell Selma, hanging up the phone and quickly dodging a person on a bike who almost just trampled me. My tennis shoes scratch against the pavement as I rush toward the fine arts building all the way across campus.

  I pass by the message board where just over an hour ago I first met our new roommate—Veronica.

  It’s odd to think I was mere seconds away from missing her when I left my last class for the day. She was standing there, staring at the board, and for some reason, that—in combination with her pink floral combat boots—got my attention.

  The slightly tense introduction led us to where we are now—me, possibly having a psychopath as a roommate. Judging by her long blonde hair, her know-it-all attitude, and sarcastic quips, something tells me this may have been a mistake. But, we need a roommate.

  At least she doesn’t smell.

  There is the small matter of Aspen already falling for her just by what she looks like. He’ll learn as quickly as I did that there’s something more behind her pretty face, and I’m not sure it’s exactly pleasant. A small price to pay to have someone chip in on the rent.

  I find Selma crying outside the brown brick fine arts building. She’s huddled behind a bush that looks like it’s only days away from completely dying. When I put my hand on the small of her back, she flinches under my touch, a breath of air flying from her lips in a gasp.

  Her green eyes connect with mine, and my heart breaks inside me as tears fall down her pale cheeks.

  “I didn’t realize it was you,” she says, sniffling. She uses her sweatshirt sleeve to wipe under her eyes, smudging mascara across her cheekbone in the process.

  I reach up and gently use the pad of my thumb to wipe it off. When I take in the rest of her body, I notice her other hand is clutching her phone, her already pale fingers turning paler. I gently pry her fingers open and put her phone in my pocket.

  “Come here,” I say, pulling her into me as close as possible. I would swallow her whole if it meant I could protect her from the rest of the world.

  Her small body molds around mine as she lets out a sob.

  My hand gently strokes her short, auburn hair, my fingers tangling through her unruly curls. We’ve been in this same position many times before, and I know there’s nothing I can do for her other than stand here and be her strength.

  I’ve been Selma’s rock since we were kids; since her family moved in next door and I witnessed her dad chastise a seven-year-old about the way she was carrying a box. It was a bright sunny Kansas day outside, but her face only reflected darkness—sadness. There aren’t many memories I have of my childhood that don’t include her. For as long as I’ve known Selm, I’ve been her safe place. Her home. Because the actual home she comes from is her own living hell.

  “I hate him,” she says against my abdomen. It comes out muffled, and her hot breath against my abs sends shivers down my spine.

  “I know, Selm,” I respond. “I do too.”

  She’s talking about her sorry excuse of a father. It takes a lot for me to dislike somebody, and I rarely use the word hate, but I hate Tony Matthews with every fiber of my being.

  He’s the reason Selma constantly cries, even though I’ve done everything in my power to shift his fury away from her. Since I was a kid, I’ve made it my job to put myself between Selma and her father; and every time I think I’ve succeeded, she somehow still ends up in tears. My armor has taken many blows from him. I was Selma’s knight in shining armor before I even knew what that meant, and I won’t stop being it now.

  I continue to play with her hair, clutching her tiny body against mine. We fit together like an odd-shaped puzzle—her petite frame almost too small for my tall one—but somehow, we make it work. That’s the story of us—making it work, despite every obvious thing insisting we shouldn’t.

  Finally, her crying subsides, and her heart-shaped face looks up at me. Her green eyes glisten as she whispers, “Take me home?”

  “Always,” I respond, bending down to kiss the top of her head. I stay there for a moment, lost in the comfort of her scent. The same scent she’s had since I first kissed her in high school.

  We walk in silence at first, both too wrapped up in our own thoughts to create conversation. I have to slow down my steps so her short legs can keep up. Once we’re a few minutes away from our house, I finally get the balls to ask her what happened.

  When she doesn’t answer, I run my thumb over her small hand in mine. “Talk to me, Selm.”

  She doesn’t respond at first, and I give her the time to work through her thoughts. Just when I think she might not tell me, her soft voice speaks. “He found out I got a B on my comp two paper. He’s pissed.”

  I nod, running her words over in my head.

  Selma is an only child to a father who runs one of the biggest law firms in the state. His dream was to have a boy who would one day run his company for him. I wouldn’t have wanted to be in the hospital room when he found out the boy he’d been told they were having the whole pregnancy was actually a girl.

  He’s resented Selma her whole life. Since the moment she took her first breath, he hated everything about her. Starting with the fact she was a her.

  In short, he’s a dick.

  Selma’s mother, on the other hand, was the kindest human being I knew—until she changed. As we were growing up, Selma’s mom—Tiffany—radiated kindness. She was constantly in the kitchen, baking anything my five-year-old brain could conjure up and request. She was the icon for local philanthropists. She held charity functions all the time. Selma and I were constantly going through her toys to donate to children who weren’t as fortunate as we were.

  Tiffany Matthews had the kindest soul.

  But Selma’s dad—Tony—can tarnish anyone he meets.

  Now, Tiffany is harsh. Cruel. She might even say worse things to Selma than Tony does, at this point.

  I remember the moment I realized Tiffany’s heart went from being soft to harsh. Selma and I were both fifteen, and it was just before our school homecoming dance. I had arrived early, and I sat in Tony’s office for fifteen minutes as he dragged on about his firm. Part of me was interested—by then, my dream of becoming a lawyer had only just surfaced—but a bigger part of me was wondering when Selma would save me from her dad.

  Finally, I heard voices in the kitchen. Tony and I both made our way in that direction. Selma and I were positioned in front of their spiraling staircase, my arm draped modestly around her waist. It was the closest she and I had ever been. I could feel her quick intakes of breath where my hand rested above her hip. I was lost in thought—realizing my palm had never rested on a girl like this, let alone my best friend—when Tiffany’s words broke through my thoughts.

  “Selma, dear?”

  “Yes, Momma?”

  “You need to suck in. I can see way too much of your fat in these photos,” Tiffany said.

  My hand felt the way Selma’s stomach tensed. And worse, I felt her stomach pull in.

  “Much better,” her mother said.

  Because of my hand placement, I knew Selma spent the next five minutes of our photo ops with her stomach clenched and pulled in. I spent those same five minutes with my blood boiling.

  Her mother had gone cold, and I knew it had to be devastating for Selm.

  It was a pivotal moment in my life. Before then, I had always protected Selma; it was in my blood to do so. An instinct. But on that day, I vowed to myself that I would never let Selma’s kind soul turn to stone like her mother’s had.

  I wouldn’t let her father or her mother be the reason the light left her eyes. Nothing else mattered to me in that moment other than sheer determination to wrap Selma in a tight cocoon and use myself as a shield to protect her from the harsh reality of her world.

  That night was the first night I kissed her.

  It wa
s the night we went from being best friends, to being more.

  Now, our more looks a lot like best friends who share a bed and occasionally kiss every now and then.

  Selma’s voice breaks me out of my memory. She’s going on and on about how hard she studied for the test, which she did. Every spare second she found—outside of work and completing her assignments for her other classes—had been spent studying for that test.

  But to her dad, it didn’t matter.

  “He has no right to be mad, Selm.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the keys to our front door. They jingle before I twist them in the appropriate locks and pull them back out.

  Selma barely looks at me as she breezes in, letting her backpack flop onto our couch when she reaches it. “But he does, Maverick. He’s paying for me to go here. I don’t want to disappoint him. I just need to work harder. Be better.”

  Her last words are said from the kitchen. I hear her open the refrigerator door and rifle through it until she finds whatever she’s looking for. Probably string cheese. She’s been obsessed with it since we were children.

  I find my guess to be true. She’s unwrapping a cheese stick when I walk into the kitchen.

  I prop my hip against the granite counter and look at her. “Want me to talk to him?”

  Her small fingers pull a long strip of cheese and then she places it into her mouth. Those green eyes find mine as she nods her head.

  “I’ll call him right now,” I respond, pulling out my phone and retreating to our patio.

  His name is in my recent call log, so I click it and wait for him to pick up.

  We’re a couple of minutes into a heated conversation when Aspen approaches our house. I can tell he knows exactly who I’m talking to by the look on his face. He gives me a sad nod before going through the front door. I know Selma’s in good hands with Aspen, so I engage again with Tony.

  “I won’t accept an illiterate daughter,” he says, causing blood to rush through my body in anger.