Page 35 of The Consequence of Loving Me

“Nothing for me tonight, Len,” I say, not bothering to look up. Len couldn’t give a shit if I looked him in the eye or not, so I don’t. It’s unnecessary.

“Well, that’s great,” a voice responds, but it’s not Lenny’s.

I lazily drag my eyes away from the table to the man standing a few feet away from me. I sigh and say, “What are you doing here, Maverick?”

His hands are tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. He ignores me, pulling down the hood of his sweatshirt and sliding in right next to me. His dark hair sticks up in various directions.

“You know there’s a whole open side over there, right?” I ask, looking to the other side of the booth while sliding to the very end of it—as close to the wall as I can get to get away from him.

He just grunts, obviously ignoring my comment. He angles his body so he’s facing me. “Why’d you come here of all places?” His blue eyes seem dull under the fluorescent lighting.

I don't answer him at first. I don't owe him any sort of explanation as to why I’m here. If I’m being honest, I don't even know why I’m here. After what happened in the library earlier, I just had to walk. And walking led me here.

“Veronica?” he pushes.

I bring my gaze to his, rolling my eyes. “I came here because I wanted to.”

Maverick nods. He runs a finger over his bottom lip in concentration. “But why did you want to?”

It’s now that I notice he’s holding my bag I left behind at the library. I snatch it from his hands quickly, shoving it into the corner of the booth.

I huff, maddened that he keeps asking questions. “I’m an adult who can do whatever the hell I want to, Maverick. I’m here because I want to be here. You don’t need to read into it.”

The sound of glasses clinking mixes with the melancholy playlist of the bar. Maverick opens his mouth to say something but instead, closes it. If I cared about him, or about anything, I’d wonder what he was about to ask. But I don’t. So instead, I look around the bar.

“What happened at the library?” His voice is quiet and hesitant. I wonder if he sat on the same side of the booth as me so I wouldn’t be able to escape him like I did in the library.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Maverick.” I look at him for a brief moment, my eyes pleading for him to drop it. We hold the moment for a little bit longer before I pull my eyes away from him.

Dollar bills cover every surface of the walls. Some have faces drawn on them where others have sayings or names printed on them. There are a few blank ones. I wonder why someone would go to the trouble of sticking their dollar to the wall without even signing it.

Did they feel insignificant? Like their name wasn’t even worth remembering?

Like me?

When I look away from the walls, I find Maverick staring at me. “Why are you here?” I ask for the second time tonight. This time I stare at him until he gives me an answer.

He runs a hand through his hair. “Selma sent me.”

I raise my eyebrows at him, instantly recognizing the lie. Selma is a nice girl—overly nice even—but she doesn’t care that much about my whereabouts. Plus, unless he told her about our little episode at the library, she would have zero reason to be worried about me.

“Mmm, and why is that?” I ask, turning my body to face his, but still pressing my back against the wall to keep a distance.

He fidgets, alerting me to the fact that he’s noticeably uncomfortable, those long fingers tapping against his thigh doing nothing to dissuade my assumption.

It rips at my heart.

Connor used to do that.

“The way we left things in the library…I hated it. I sat at home waiting for you to get there, anxious and worried. I just needed to know if you were okay,” Maverick says.

“I’m never okay, Maverick.” I lean in closer and make sure to look him right in the eye when I say this.

I can tell it confuses him by the way his dark eyebrows furrow together. He looks down, and before I can retreat back into my safe space against the wall, his finger is almost pressed against my skin.

“What does this say?” he asks.

My body betrays me and lets out a shiver with his almost-touch. His narrow finger gestures to the words inked over my heart. I want to get as far away from him as possible, but I can’t move, and worse, my heartbeat quickens to a speed that I know he must feel.

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