Chapter Ten

This isn't the disaster apartment I was expecting.

Given Maverick's reputation, I thought there would be empty pizza boxes, questionable socks, and maybe a suspicious stain or two. I'm pleasently surprised this place is decent.

It's unfinished with boxes stacked against the far wall, a curtain hanging where a door should be, and a mattress on the floor where a bed should be. But this space is clean and smells like fresh paint.

"So this is your place?" I ask, spinning on my heals.

"It's a work in progress," he sheepishly admits.

"It's... it's got potential."

"Sometimes I think about buying furniture," he says, opening the fridge, "but I could never justify spending money on stuff I barely use. I'm either at the bar, working, or sleeping."

I follow him into the small kitchen nook, which is freshly renovated and painted. The stove top is clean and the counter appliances stashed to one side of the counter to maximise space.

I peer inside the fridge, half expecting to find leftovers, but there's fresh vegetables and sauce bottles.

"You have fresh vegetables?"

"Sometimes I cook, but I knew I needed more of something as you wouldn't be impressed with a cup of noodles."

"You're right."

He gestures for me to hop onto the counter while he pulls out ingredients.

"Alright, chef," I tease. "What's on the menu?"

"Garlic stir-fry noodles."

My stomach answers before I do. "Please tell me this isn't just a clever pickup line."

"Give me ten minutes," he says. "Then you can decide if I'm better at food or flirting."

The smell of garlic hits the pan, warm and rich. I sit cross-legged, watching him move around the kitchen like he's done this a hundred times. There's something calming about it.

He plates the food and hands me a bowl. I take one bite and nearly melt.

"Okay. That's annoyingly good."

He leans against the counter across from me, smug.

"So," I say between bites, "you can cook."

"A few things," he admits. "But I'm better at cocktails. I was always the guy in charge of drinks at frat parties."

"You were in a frat?" I ask.

"The one we met at, actually. That was my old house."

"Is that why Emalyn picked that party?"

"Yes." He nods.

"Do you think she'll join a sorority house?"

He places his bowl down and steps between my legs, his hands warm on my waist.

"It would be easier if she did."

"Easier how?"

"We wouldn't need to sneak around as much."

"You still have to prove yourself."

His smile deepens. "And I plan to."

His hands slide along my waist as he leans in. I loop my arms around his neck, fingers sliding into his hair.

"Thanks for lunch," I whisper.

"Thanks for trusting me enough to come here."

He searches my face, then leans in again. Our kiss is soft and lingers longer than it should. His fingers graze under the hem of my shirt and my breath hitches.

"I should probably get ready for work," I murmur.

"I think your boss would understand."

"His customers might not."

Maverick groans dramatically. "I hate that you're responsible."

"I know," I tease. "It's exhausting."

I hop off the counter, collect my things, and we walk downstairs together. At the hallway, we part ways.

I freshen up, fix my hair, and pretend I wasn't just making out in my boss's kitchen. When I step out, the bar is already half set up. Maverick moves chairs outside while Joey restocks the fridges.

By the time the doors open, the bar is buzzing. I keep my head down and ignoring the way Maverick glances at me like I'm a secret he can't stop thinking about.

In the kitchen, I load a tray of glasses into the dishwasher when Maverick slips in behind me, wraps his arms around my waist, and kisses my neck.

"Can you not?" I laugh. "I'm trying to work."

"Take a break. You work too hard."

"Let me finish these first."

He pouts but steps back. I hit start on the dishwasher and turn—just as he pulls me in for another kiss.

"Maverick?"

We freeze at the sound of Emalyn's voice.

He groans and rests his forehead against mine. "We really need better timing."

"If this is too hard," I say, "we can stop."

"Nope."

He sighs and walks out. I fix my shirt, swipe on fresh lip gloss, and follow.

Emalyn is perched at the bar with friends I've never seen before. She's mid-eye roll as Maverick approaches.

"You can't bring minors in here and expect free drinks," he snaps. "Are you out of your mind?"

"I thought my brother could be cool for five minutes."

"I run a business, not a frat house."

"Fine." She slides off the stool and gives me a long, suspicious look. "Good luck with Mr. Grumpy Pants. I'll text you the party details later."

"Thanks."

She leaves, and I feel Maverick's stare on me.

"I have an eight a.m. lecture tomorrow," I say quickly. "So I'm going straight to bed."

"Alone?"

"We're taking it slow, remember?"

He smiles. "You're worth slow."

* * * * *

The other waitress calls in sick, so I stay through to close so Maverick isn't by himself.

Once the doors are locked and the music fades, Maverick turns to me.

"Want a drink?"

"Always."

"What'll it be?"

"Cosmo. Something pink and pretty and stronger than my willpower."

He laughs and starts mixing. The shaker clinks in his hands. His biceps flex in a way that's frankly unfair. I'm already struggling to take things slow myself.

He slides the drink to me with a grin. "I've started a list."

"A list?"

"Of how to be better."

I sip. "Tell me more."

"Burning the old mattress and buying new furniture is at the top. Maybe some girly things."

"Girly things?"

"For when you stay over."

That catches me off guard in the best way.

"I'm free Wednesday. Let's go shopping."

"We can test beds because height is important."

"Maverick!"

"Sorry. It's been a while."

My phone buzzes and I glance down in annoyance. "Emalyn has texted me three times about some party."

"Are you going?"

I shake my head. "No. Can you walk me home?"

He doesn't hesitate.

"Always."

Maverick grabs my coat and we step into the night. It's cooler than I expected, but I barely notice.

He threads his fingers through mine as we walk under the streetlights, and I can't stop smiling.

For the first time in a long time, it doesn't feel like I'm about to fall, it feels like I'm going to fly.