Page 50 of The Consequence of Loving Me

Just as the person next to me goes to spin the bottle, Lily and Aspen both join the circle again. Lily is trying to mouth something to me from across the circle, but apparently, I suck at reading lips.

Whatever their conversation was about, Aspen doesn’t seem happy with it. Because when I look at him, there’s tension in his shoulders. He stares at his hands, his thumbs circling around each other in his lap.

Tristan puts his warm hand on my leg, making me jump. “Whoa, sorry. Just wanted to see if you were okay,” he says.

I look at him for a brief moment, nodding my head. I don’t retreat to my room.

“Maverick, why don’t you go?” a blonde suggests from across the circle.

I don’t miss the flirtatious tone her voice takes on. I feel the need to cross the fucking circle and throttle her. It’s not even his turn. The rules were clearly stated and it’s not his turn.

No fucking thanks.

Next joke, please.

I’m an internal fucking mess when Maverick gets to his knees.

Why in the hell is he getting on his knees?

Is he listening to her?

Is he going to kiss her?

His long tan arm—the one I’ve caught myself staring at in class because of the interesting way his muscles move as he writes—reaches into the center of the circle and gives the bottle a spin. My gaze is locked on that fucking thing, even as it whirls around and around.

It seems like it spins for an eternity.

I cannot believe I’m hoping it lands on me—the only outcome that might calm the rage in me right now.

If it lands on the cute blonde with the awful and obvious suggestion, I will lose my shit in front of all these strangers.

It spins and spins and spins.

My eyes glance up from the bottle to find Maverick staring directly at me.

The look on his face I can easily read.

It looks like want, like need—and it’s aimed right at me.

A gasp next to me causes me to look back down at the bottle; it’s that same moment I notice he’s abruptly stopped it with his hand.

Time goes by agonizingly slowly as he turns the bottle until it points to me.

My throat starts to close up as I look over at Maverick, his gaze still trained on me.

It seems that in this exact moment, every single person around us has decided it would be a perfect time to shut the fuck up. Which sucks, because right now, the silence is deafening. And I’m not ready for what could happen next.

“To hell with this game,” he states. “I only want to kiss one person here.”

Shut the motherfucking front door.

I can’t look away from him. A certain intensity—or is it intent?—is all over his face.

“Veronica, it’s you,” he says, looking at me.

My heart plummets.

It’s resting at my freaking feet with the sudden turn of events.

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