by Eliza Park
“I didn’t think the quotient for patience could run less than zero percent.”
I hooked my fingers into the waist band of my underwear and peeled them off, linking them over Maverick’s other shoulder.
He groaned.
“I dare you to turn around,” I taunted, tracing the lines of his back muscles with the pads of my fingers.
“You cruel, cruel woman.”
I smiled, biting my lip, watching the goosebumps rise along the flesh I touched, “You said something earlier, Mav, about making a mistake in letting me go. You got it wrong though,” I said quietly, “I practically shoved you out the door.”
“Yeah, thanks for the reminder.”
I giggled at his sarcastic response, “That’s the problem though, isn’t it, Cap? I spent all that time obsessed over the wrong guy. You can’t blame me for being a little too eager to have the right one within my grasp.”
“Are you wearing any underwear?”
“They’re on your shoulder.”
His voice hardened, “Please go put some clothes on.”
“Fine,” I said, kissing him on the shoulder lightly, “But only because you asked nicely.”
I skipped into my room, glancing back to see if Maverick would watch me. He stayed where he was, unmoving, controlled. Pulling open the door to my closet, I was momentarily grateful he hadn’t followed me. I didn’t want him to see the organized insanity my room had become. It was part of my new normal: finding the smallest things in my life I could have complete control over. My closet was one of those things. It was coordinated to perfection by category and then color and nothing in here had been chosen by my mother or one of her assistants. It was all me. And even though it was mostly athletic wear, baggy shirts, lots of sweaters, thanks to the chilly weather in Ireland, and jeans, it was everything to me. I owned a single dress Janey had convinced me to buy, but otherwise I was officially a shorts and jeans girl. Even my shoes and socks were organized. Nothing remained from my old life.
I stood there, looking at the contents, and suddenly wished I’d had something appropriate that was a little more form fitting. My shorts were all slightly too long, my shirts just too big, the only stuff I really had that highlighted my new curves were yoga pants and sports bras, and I couldn’t justify walking around the city in just that. I sighed and settled on a pair of shorts and my smallest t-shirt, one I’d gotten from a bar in Dublin with a local band’s album on the front. I’d never even listened to the music, just needed an extra article of clothing to layer under the unending number of sweaters and jackets I had to wear.
I slipped on a sports bra, ignoring the only real bra I had, another item I hadn’t yet worn, and pulled on the rest of my clothes before sauntering back out to the living room with a pair of black chucks in hand. Mav was sitting at the kitchen counter, his long hand wrapped around a coffee mug, already dressed in another t-shirt and jeans. His eyes wandered down my body with an accompanying smile, “So, you’re a converse girl now?”
I sat on the stool next to him, dropping one of the shoes on the floor to pull the other one over my foot. “Did you know that the oxford isn’t the only shoe in the world? I was amazed. There are even stores in these things called public malls that don’t have them at all.”
He snorted a laugh and swiveled to face me, arms resting on his thighs. “You’ve been to a mall?”
“Yeah, get this, in Idaho they don’t have valet service everywhere you go.”
He widened his eyes in fake astonishment, “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.”
“What a world.”
I grinned, “So what are we doing today, Cap?”
“I figured some of the old usual stuff. Art Gala, charity event, birthday party for someone we’ve never heard of.”
I paused, my fingers on the laces of my sneakers.
“I’m kidding,” he said, letting out a short laugh, “You really don’t miss any of that stuff, do you?”
“Honestly, my first thought was how quickly I was going to ditch you and run to a street vendor selling hot dogs.”
Maverick made a face, “Celeste, I know you’re different now, but please tell me you don’t eat that shit.”
I shrugged, “I haven’t had the opportunity, yet.” I finished lacing my sneakers and hopped out of the chair, rounding the counter to clean up our dirty dishes.
Maverick stared at me, watching with curiosity, “You don’t have a maid?”
I raised an eyebrow, “No, Mav, I don’t have a maid.”
“I don’t even know you right now.”
“Do you have a maid?”
He shifted uncomfortably.
“Are you serious? You’re in college, you have a roommate, and you still have someone come clean up after you?” I tsked in disappointment.
“It’s so much easier, Celeste. Even if I had the time to clean, do you have any idea how dirty football players are?”
I laughed, “Does she make your bed?”
He offered me a sheepish look.
I tucked the dishes into the dishwasher, holding back a chortle, “You’re hopeless.”
“If I find a decent enough maid outfit, would you teach me your ways?”
I raised an eyebrow, wiping my hands on the kitchen towel and hanging it back over the oven door. “Is that what you’re into these days? Maids? I thought it was cheerleaders.”
“Oooh,” he groaned then, holding his hand over his heart, “Just you in a short skirt, Ace, that’s all I need.”
An image flashed through my mind. Plaid skirt, olive skin on my pale thighs. I looked away, blinking back the memory, and fighting the sudden surge of fear shooting through my stomach. It happened like that sometimes. Brief, quick memories I couldn’t suppress followed by uncontrollable emotions. Fear, rage, and then guilt. Sometimes the memories were so vivid I could still smell his shampoo or feel his untrimmed fingers digging into my flesh.
“Celeste.” Maverick’s voice was low, “Are you—?” I heard the scrap of the stool against the floor and schooled my expression.
“I’m okay,” I said quickly, dismissing the feeling with a wave of my hand, “So where are we going?”
“Have you visited your campus yet?”
It took me a moment before I could meet his gaze, “I haven’t actually. Have you?” I’d been meaning to wander the campus sometime this week. Classes didn’t start until Wednesday, so I still had plenty of time to find my route and practice it several times.
He shrugged, “I went on a tour there while I was interning. Thought we could check out where your classes would be, grab some lunch, maybe stop by and see my parents?”
My eyes lit up, “I would love to see your parents!”
Maverick shook his head, chuckling, “And here I was hoping you’d want to spend the whole day with me.”
I walked around the counter to the front door, grabbing my phone and sticking it in my back pocket, “You’re okay, Mav, but you’re not Lucy and Abel Lockwood.”
He held the door open for me and we walked out together, slipping down the narrow hallway to the elevator.
Chapter 32
Maverick
It was late by the time we finally returned to Celeste’s apartment. I was walking on air, high off of our time together.
Watching her walk through her front door, eying those long legs, I knew tonight was going to be difficult. I’d been checking her out all day, and I wasn’t blind to the fact that every other male we came across above the age of 13 had been doing the same. Celeste hadn’t usually noticed the stares, but now it seemed they made her uncomfortable, and I could understand why. It was the same reason she wore the clothes she did. Baggy, hiding that incredible figure. Ramirez had made her cautious, probably forever, and I wanted to fucking murder him for it.
Celeste set her phone on the counter and turned to me, green eyes full of the same elation I felt. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?”
“Sounds
perfect to me, Ace.”
She hesitated, gaze locked on her chucks before drifting back up to me, “Are you staying the night?”
Bad idea, Mav.
Real bad idea. Don’t say yes.
“Do you want me to?”
A light pink rose into her cheeks and I swallowed a groan. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to watching those change of emotions so clearly written across her features.
“Yeah, if you want to.”
“I do.”
She nodded and spun, a smile on her face as she walked over to the living room and turned on the TV. “What should we watch?”
“Something extremely gory, with no sex scenes or romantic interests of any kind.”
Celeste laughed, looking back at me over her shoulder, remote in hand. “You that afraid of me, Cap?”
I rounded the couch and plopped down next to her, admiring the curve of her legs under those ugly shorts, “Yes,” I said simply.
Her ass filled the space next to me, hip nudged into mine, fitting perfectly under my arm. I stared at her profile as she searched through a selection of movies, wanting to trace the line of her jaw with my fingers. I touched a lock of hair falling over her shoulder, smiling to myself as the color rose, once again, into those cheeks.
“You’re very distracting for a guy who doesn’t want to get laid,” she said.
I wrapped the strand around my finger, smirking. “I never said I didn’t want to get laid, just that I shouldn’t.”
She rolled her eyes, continuing to flip through the movies until she finally settled on one. Horrible, cheesy font filled the screen, and she angled her body suddenly to look at me.
“And why is that again?”
“Sanity.”
“Yours or mine?”
I laughed, “Both.”
She leaned forward, her pouty lips a fraction from mine, looking up at me with those wide greens. “I’m already crazy, Mav,” she whispered, “Why don’t you get on my level?”
I released the strand of her hair, sticking my fingers into the curtain at the back of her neck, “You’re not crazy,” I said quietly.
She smiled, her eyes moving to survey my mouth, “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
“That’s true, I hardly know you at all, and yet, I feel like I know you better than anyone.”
Grassy green eyes widened at my admission and she tore her gaze away, glancing at the television screen and pulling away from my hand. She sat back against the couch and the moment was gone.
“So, tell me about Yale.”
“Tell me why you went to Dublin.” And didn’t visit me. She’d been avoiding the topic all day, and the more quickly she changed the subject, the more intrigued I was.
Her mouth spread into a smile, “How many girls have you slept with?”
I sighed, leaning my head against the back of the couch, “Next question.”
“Are you not answering because you don’t know or because you do, and you don’t want to tell me?”
“Both?”
She angled her body to face me again, her knee pressing against my thigh. “Come on, I won’t judge.”
I gave her a look.
“Okay I will, but tell me anyway.”
“I’ve become much more of an asshole the last few years.”
Her head fell to the side, blonde hair drifting across her arm, “You were never really an asshole, Mav.”
I touched the hair at her shoulder again, wrapping it around my finger, “Not to you, not always. But to others.”
“Oh, whatever, you have so many friends now. And you’re avoiding the question.”
“I’m avoiding the question? You’re one to talk.”
“What? I’m not avoiding anything.”
“No? Tell me about Dublin.”
She narrowed her eyes, “There isn’t anything to tell.”
I pointed at her with my free hand, “That’s a lie.”
Her lips pursed together, and she turned away from me again, eyes focusing on the screen, giving me another prime opportunity to study her profile. I’d been examining her any moment I got. The small movements, the turn of her eyes, the curve of her lips when she smiled. I didn’t want to miss anything and forget if she disappeared again.
“I went to Dublin because my mom was going to take me there after she kidnapped me,” she said then, her voice low.
I inhaled a breath, and on the exhale I admitted my own crappy truth to her, “I’m not sure how many girls. At least thirty. I stopped counting after a while.”
Her mouth fell open in astonishment, “You ho!”
I laughed, “It’s not that many, really. Some of my teammates are probably in the hundreds.”
Eyes widened, she put a hand briefly over her mouth, “Brody?”
I shook my head, “No, he’s celibate. Not sure why.”
“Good for him.” She turned away from me again, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Wait, are you mad?”
“So, you’ll have sex with a bunch of random women, but you won’t have sex with me.”
I couldn’t control my laughter, “Because having sex with you is different, Celeste. You’re not some random woman”
“It’s because I’m damaged, isn’t it?”
I straightened, tugging on her arm, “What? Damaged?”
“I know I’m fucked up, Mav, but I’m not completely broken.” Her face was set in anger, but I could see the hurt brimming in her gaze.
I took her hand in mine and gently pulled her forward, linking my fingers behind her neck. “I don’t think you’re broken, Ace. Or crazy.” I held her gaze, “I thought I explained before, but I’m happy to do it again. I want to fuck you. Believe me. I want nothing more than to be inside of you, but doing that will consume me, body and soul.”
Her eyes watched my lips again, “Doesn’t sound so bad to me.”
There it was, that unmistakable chemistry, the link that held us together surging between the space of our bodies. I stood, disconnecting myself from her completely before I fell into the trap those green eyes had been setting for me, and went and sat on the large tan chair sitting perpendicular to the couch.
She smirked at me, and I knew she saw the bulge growing in my jeans.
“So,” she said, shifting on the couch, “Thirty girls, at least. How did you manage to even bag that many women?” Her mouth shifted into a teasing grin.
“Well, women love assholes, Ace. Especially rich ones.”
“We would rule the world if it wasn’t for generalized, stereotyping statements like that.”
“It’s true though, isn’t it? Think of all the women who fall over themselves to get to your dad.”
“It isn’t easy to make it on your own in the world of rich, straight, white men, Mav. Most of those women just want comfort and security.”
“And Maserati’s.”
“The worst thing my dad, or any man in his position, can do, is make those women believe they’re working for something, only to snatch it away when another comes along, or to hide it under a bunch of legal paperwork to avoid a scene.”
I could tell this was getting a little too deep for Celeste’s taste. She’d never spoken about her dad in a truly negative light before. Something had changed in the last couple of years, but I couldn’t let on that I knew what it was.
“Have you heard from your dad recently?” I asked casually.
“No,” She said, her voice a touch more than angry, “I haven’t heard from him, nor do I plan on trying to contact him in the future.”
“Why?”
Celeste crossed her arms over her chest, her mouth setting in a grim line, “Because he’s an asshole.”
“Yeah, but he raised you.”
She scoffed, “Hardly. A team of private tutors, catholic nannies, and loads of pills raised me until they could justifiably ship me to an overseas boarding school.”
“He still cares about you.”
A short laugh burst from her chest, almost startling me with the noise, “I don’t think so, Mav.”
“What makes you say that?”
She shook her head, dismissing the conversation.
“He called me this summer, you know.”
That piqued her interest, “He did? Why?”
“Wanted to offer me a position as one of the company’s many lawyers after I graduate.”
“That’s not for another, like, three years, right?”
I shrugged, “I don’t think it was about me. He asked if I’d heard from you. He had no idea you’d gone to Ireland.”
“Good.”
“I’m guessing he doesn’t know you’re back?”
She lifted a shoulder, looking every ounce the uncaring teenager.
“Celeste,” I said quietly, almost pleading, “Jack might not be a good guy, or even a good dad, but he’s still your dad, and he does care about you.”
“That’s just it, though isn’t it?” She said, turning to face me, “He isn’t my dad, not really. He’s just a sperm donor with a guilty conscience. You know who’s a good example of a dad? Abel fucking Lockwood. You have a good dad, your dad has been a better dad to me the last twenty years than my dad ever will be. It was his idea to send me to rehab, his idea to get me a new therapist instead of that psycho one I had. I’m pretty sure he even introduced me to my grandparents and found the will my mom left behind.”
I froze. Most of those things had been my ideas, my dad just had the power to execute them. “He introduced you to your grandparents?”
“Yeah, I got a mysterious packet of information about my birth mom in rehab. I’m pretty sure it’s from your dad, although I’ll never ask him to admit it. Legal stuff, you know.”
“Why would you think it was him?”
She tilted her head to the side, thoughtful, “It had to come from someone who really cares, right? And your parents are the only ones who’ve really given a shit about me.”
“Celeste,” I started, wanting, needing to tell her the truth. I wanted to shout it at her, hold her by the arms and scream that it was me. I was the one who fucking cared.
“I know, it doesn’t matter now, but I hope they know I’m grateful. Kinda wish they’d told me sooner, though.”