Page 17 of The Consequence of Loving Me

“Look, I’m sorry if this damages the obviously large ego you have, but no, I don’t know your name. If you tell me it, maybe we can get past whatever grudge you have toward me,” I say, absentmindedly spinning one of my long blonde curls around my finger in nervous habit.

He narrows his eyes at me, obviously considering his next move. “Connor Liams.”

I extend my hand out to him, my thick stack of bracelets jingling with the motion. “Nice to meet you, Connor Liams. I’m Veronica Cunningham.”

The corner of his lip lifts in a hint of a smile. The longer I look at him, the more I realize he is really cute. A mop of curly, dirty blond hair sits at the top of his head. It’s hardly tamed, and it looks like parts of it might even still be wet, like he just quickly showered and threw on whatever he could find for homecoming. I notice a boutonniere pinned to his chest, reminding me of the fact that he must have arrived with a date.

I wonder where she is, but I don’t ask.

“I know who you are,” he says, his green eyes crinkling at the corner with a smile.

“Well, I don’t know who you are,” I reply as the DJ switches back to an upbeat song. I take a step closer to him, knowing whatever his next words will be that it’ll be harder to hear him over the sounds of the DJ.

“And I guarantee you won’t spend the time to get to know me,” he bluntly says.

I don’t like being told what to do, and I don’t take well to people telling me about myself. “Try me.”

His cheeks spread in a wide smile as he pushes himself off the bleachers. He finally extends a hand toward me, and I don’t hesitate to take it. His large hand engulfs mine; it’s warm and even a bit sweaty—but for some reason, it feels right.

So, I let the complete stranger—who obviously isn’t my biggest fan—lead me out of the crowded high school homecoming, unknowing where we’d end up next.

9

Veronica

The sound of feet stomping above my head wakes me from the vivid memory in my dream. Something hard digs into my stomach and when I roll over, I realize it’s one of the hangers from the night before. I must have fallen asleep after Maverick left. I let my eyes drift closed once more when the sound of stomping once again shakes the ceiling of my basement bedroom.

“Ugh!” I grumble against my silk pillowcase. I’m fairly confident I could kill Aspen I’m so angry.

Selma is too skinny to be making that much noise and Maverick moves with too much grace. That only leaves my dear friend Aspen. And he is suddenly very high on my shit list.

Rolling over, I rub my eyes, trying to clear my head from the dream I was having. A nightmare, really, now that it’s over. In it, I was still with Connor. And I’m struck with the harsh reality that he’s not here with me.

I rarely let my mind wander to my high school days. There’s nothing for me to remember from that time of my life other than pain and devastation. When I let my mind wander to those days after Maverick left last night, it sent me into a spiral of memories. The recollections following me even after I finally closed my eyes—hoping to escape them.

I’m just starting to get out of bed when a knock sounds at my door. I didn’t even hear anyone come down the stairs, but I get up to open it regardless.

“Aspen, I might full on throttle you for waking me up,” I say, opening the door expecting to find Aspen on the other side, but instead there’s a grinning Maverick.

“Oh, Veronica.” He sighs. “Please don’t ever say that to Aspen as a threat. He will view that as more of a prize.”

“Shit. You’re right.” I leave the door open and walk back into my room, not worried if Maverick is coming in or not.

Walking over to my mirror, I remember I am still in my pajamas. I look down at them before looking back up at Maverick. “Mind waiting out there for a minute? I need to change.” He nods, walking out the door he just came in.

“Aren’t you going to be late for class?” His voice echoes from the other side of the wall.

I quickly undress, putting on a fresh bra and new underwear. I reach for the first articles of clothing I can find. When I’m fully dressed, I peek out into the common area of the basement. I find him staring at the black TV screen, his hands shoved into the pockets of his tan chinos and his backpack slung lazily over one of his shoulders.

“Maybe,” I respond to his question from earlier.

I roll my eyes as the stomping above our heads persists. It sounds like an elephant is up there. Honestly, it’s impressive somebody with that toned of a body type can make this much noise.

“I happen to be in the same class as you and I can confirm we are about to be very late if you don’t get ready right this moment,” Maverick says.

I roll my eyes. I’m late to this class every time I have it, but I don’t have to point that out to him. I grab a pair of socks from a basket on the shelf and slip them on my feet, a pair of tennis shoes following after.

My hands are pulling my hair into a messy bun when he steps back into my room.

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