Maverick looks up and makes a noise that sort of sounds like agreement but continues walking without saying anything. My oscillating moods are probably not making things any better.In the past twenty-four hours, I’ve yelled at him, insulted him, listened intently as he opened up to me, shared a bed with him, ogled him on at least two occasions, revealed personal details about my family, and acted like a possessive, jealous boyfriend having a completely unjustified freak-out. He must be starting to get sick of me by now.
I wish I could say I knew why I’m acting like this, but I don’t.
I am so out of my depth with him, it’s not funny. I’ve tried so hard to hate him. To position him as the enemy. To view his wealth and power and motives with suspicion. And what does he do? He slowly but surely dismantles every objection, one by one by one, by being a good, decent, and honest person, leaving me with no choice but to face the one truth I’ve been trying to avoid for a while now—Ireallylike him.
And if I’m ready to face that fact, I need to shoulder the responsibility for ruining what was a lovely picnic.
“Want to play a game?” I suggest, the droplets turning into a light drizzle.
“No, thanks,” he replies without looking back.
The increasing rain is making it harder to see, so I pick up my pace to catch up to him. “Why not?”
He grunts in frustration and mutters something under his breath that sounds an awful lot like, “I’m sick of playing games.”
I could pretend not to hear it, but I can’t seem to let it go. It niggles away in my brain, gnawing into my better judgment until my stupid mouth blurts out, “What is your problem?”
Maverick stops walking and glares at me. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
The can of worms is officially opened.
And because I’m an angry, frazzled idiot who’s confused by all the emotions Maverick is stirring up in me, I, not for the first time in my twenty-four years, speak without thinking.
“What? Just because I’m not throwing myself at you like I’m sure everyone else does. Must be hard to accept that not everyone falls under your rich-boy spell.”
“You know what, Jackson? Fuck you. I don’t deserve that. If you want to hate rich people and think we’re the root of all evil, knock yourself out. But I have been nothing but nice and accommodating to you the entire time.”
“Congratulations. Treating another human with base-level respect. Want an award?”
What the fuck is wrong with me? Things were going so well. I can kiss that truce well and truly goodbye now.
“Yeah, well. At least I’m in contention for that award,” he says, raising his voice over the rain. “Can’t say the same thing about you, can I?”
He takes off, and I chase after him. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Forget it,” he says, stomping angrily, jaw clenched.
“No. Say it.”
“Leave me alone, Jackson.”
There’s a sharp edge to his voice I’ve never heard in all the times we’ve battled. I may have really pushed him too far this time.
I fall back to give him some space, but I can’t shake his words out of my head. He totally nailed it. I’ve been so in my feelings about my worsening condition, angry at him for taking over the sanctuary, and confused by my attraction to him thatI’mactually the one who hasn’t treatedhimwith base-level respect.
And yet, despite that, he’s never once pulled out the boss card and reprimanded me. He’s never even threatened to fire me. Even when I was on the verge of resigning, he was pleading with me not to do something I’d regret later.
Guilt weaves through my body until it becomes unbearable. “I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t hear me.
Probably because I took the coward’s way and murmured the words so quietly against the heavy rain, I could barely hear them myself.
I move briskly to get ahead of him and block his path, forcing him to stop. He’s all wet now. Battling against the heavy raindrops, I squint to see him properly. His wet brown hair sticking to his forehead in clumps. Rain dripping from his nose and chin. But it’s his eyes I’m desperate to see most of all, those deep blue eyes I was convinced were full of arrogance but are actually windows to the soul of a man capable of so much kindness and strength and resilience and love.
My hands find their way to his face, cupping him the way I did outside Bunny’s all those months ago.
“I’m sorry,” I say, loud and clear enough for him to hear me even in the rain.
