Page 10 of Best Part of Me

Maverick slows as he turns down a street I recognize with willowy trees and brick townhomes. It’s a picture-perfect iconic street in Maple Ridge, Colorado in the suburbs. I live with my dad downtown in the apartment above our family hardware store half the time while the other half is spent at Chris’s apartment in Denver.

Jones, me, Maverick, Rosie, and Mia all practically grew up together in Maple Ridge. Our days were spent stuffing too many quarters in the candy machines at Martin’s Hardware, trying to sneak into R-rated movies, and riding our bikes in between the produce displays on the sidewalks.

All that feels like a lifetime ago now.

Maverick pulls up along the curb outside his townhome. I peer up at the worn red brick and it feels different. I’ve been to Maverick’s place several times with Jones. But never alone.

Maverick turns the bike off, and my butt tingles. My ears finally relax after listening to the rumble of the motorcycle for the past hour or so. I take off the helmet and fiddle with my hair. The up-do is smashed, and strands of curls have slipped out of the bobby pins. Maverick climbs off the bike first, removing his helmet and releasing his mess of short dark wavy hair. He hangs it off the bike and then holds a hand out to me without saying a word.

I must look like a disaster. Between the helmet-hair, my sweaty forehead, and my boobs where my phone is currently squished, not to mention the rumpled wedding dress, I can only imagine. But he gazes at me with warmth in his brown eyes and a small smile that appears genuine. I slip my hand into his and let him hoist me off the bike, letting go once I have my bearings on the ground.

Wordlessly, he climbs up the steps to his townhome. A few people are walking down the sidewalk, and they give me judgy eyebrows. I hurry up the steps and follow behind him. He unlocks the door and holds it open for me to enter first. Inside is a door to the left and one to the right with stairs leading up to Maverick’s apartment.

Climbing the steps with the layers of fabric in my fists feels like it takes an eternity. I try to block the last few hours of events out of my mind. I don’t regret my decision. Chris and I were all wrong for one another. But it doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about how I’ve let everyone down.

I approach his apartment door but step to the side to leave room for Maverick to unlock it. Again, he opens the door, allowing me to enter first. As I pass him, he stares down at me, and his brown eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them. A tremble racks my body and confusion swims in my head. I’m clearly overanalyzing his hooded gaze. Maverick doesn’t look at me like that.

“Thanks again,” I finally manage to say once we’re both inside his apartment.

He shrugs off my appreciation. “You seemed like you could use a friend.”

Oof.

Friend.That fucking word twists in my belly and sounds wrong. Even though it’s not. I did need a friend. And there he was. Probably the last person I ever expected.

“I did.”

I unhook the straps on my heels and slip my feet free, abandoning the sparkly shoes by the front door before shuffling around Maverick’s apartment. I try but fail not to take in every square inch and imagine what his day-to-day in this apartment might look like. My phone vibrates from where it’s still nestled in my cleavage. I’m afraid to look but tug it free from its sweaty home and regret it instantly. Missed calls and unopened texts from Dad, Jones, Rosie, and Chris.

“Please don’t tell Jones you’re here. He’ll kill me,” Maverick says while he removes his suit jacket and tosses it onto the back of the sofa.

“Has he tried calling you again?”

He pulls his phone from the front pocket of his suit pants, and he doesn’t have to answer. I can already read it on his expression.

But he nods at me anyway as he holds his screen up in my direction. “And he’s blowing up my phone with texts too.”

“How long before he shows up here pounding on your door?” I ask, a bubble of sincere worry in my chest.

“Not long.” He slips off his dress shoes before going into the small kitchen, and I continue meandering through his apartment like some kind of psycho, thumbing through the books stacked haphazardly on a shelf.

“Here.” He hands me a chilled glass, and I don’t even look at it before I press it to my lips and suck it down.

The whiskey bites at my tongue, but at the same time, it satisfies me in a way nothing has in a while. When I finally come up for air, I find him staring at me, brows raised.

“It’s like you read my mind.”

“Yeah?” He takes a swig from his glass while loosening the tie at his neck.

Even that simple act is sexy.

I take another drink, swallowing the burning liquid past the lump in my throat.

He sits on the edge of the coffee table. “There’s nothing more satisfying than a glass of whiskey. Well, not nothing,” he clarifies, quirking a brow and smirking.

A tremble racks my body. I want to agree, but I can’t say my sex life is anything to get excited about. Sure, Chris and I did it plenty of times. But it always seemed like something was missing. Thewowfactor, as Rosie would call it. I guess I assumed that’s how it was supposed to be, and I grew used to the idea that our sex life would be only mediocre after marriage.

When I don’t speak after a few moments, Maverick saves me from my spiral on all things sex and Chris and our entire relationship, and he asks, “So whatreallyhappened?”

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