Page 9 of The Consequence of Loving Me

“I’m here to pick up a piece,” he states. “Clementine said it would be ready for me.”

“Yes, it is ready for you. Let me get the paperwork and it’ll be all yours,” I tell him. My shoes echo loudly off the floor as I return to the front desk. I already prepped his paperwork, so all I have to do is hand him the clipboard.

As he reads it over, I head to our back room and retrieve the piece he bought. I almost laugh out loud when I realize he purchased the piece Clementine bought from someone at a music festival when she was probably high as a kite. The whole time it’s been on display at the gallery, I’ve thought it was hideous, but apparently it just needed someone a bit more pervy to appreciate it. The piece is made up of strategically placed blobs that very clearly make a shape that looks a lot like a woman’s lady bits.

Art is my jam. I live and breathe it. I admire the piece as I wrap it up nicely before bringing it out to the creepy old man and his way-too-young girlfriend.

After they leave, the rest of my shift drags on. I feel the itch to be deep into my paint set with a canvas in front of me. However, I find myself robotically replying to potential customers on social media.

Finally, the clock reaches four and I give Clementine a brief goodbye before I shoulder my large purse and am out the door. My heels click against the cobblestone downtown sidewalk. When I reach my car, I throw my purse in the passenger seat and unhook my parking pass off the rearview mirror. I already know the location of the house I’ll be living in, so I turn on my music and head that way, knowing I’m about to find out if saying yes to Maverick was a good decision on my part or not.

Between Maverick’s cold, indifferent demeanor and Aspen’s overeager personality—my bet is on the latter.

5

Veronica

I pull up to the house seven minutes later. It’s a nice, short drive from the gallery, and walking distance from campus. Each are a plus. When I look up, Maverick is sitting on a balcony, staring down at me. We stare at each other for an awkward moment before he pulls himself out of a lawn chair and slides the patio door open. My eyes stay on the empty porch for a few moments longer before I return to reality. Footsteps sound on the stairs as I lift my purse from the passenger seat. When I open my car door, Maverick’s heading in my direction.

His eyes fall to the five-inch heels I have on. He shakes his head. “I was gonna ask if you needed help carrying anything, but I’m almost tempted to let you do it alone just to see if you can manage it in those things.”

My eyes narrow at him. I am fully equipped for this. My mother had me in heels before I even started high school. I could probably run a marathon in these things. No doubt my feet would be hurting, but I’d be damned if I couldn’t do it. “You need to learn one thing right now, Maverick. I can do anything in heels. And I’ll look damn good doing it.”

My feet reach pavement and steadily find themselves on the cracked driveway. With heels on, I’m more eye level with all at least six feet of him than I was the other day. I give him a pointed stare before stepping past him and opening my trunk.

“I thought you said you were only bringing a few things,” he states, his body now next to mine as his eyes roam over my filled-to-the-brim trunk.

My hand reaches in for a large duffle bag. “Oh, this is a few things.”

Maverick shakes his head again, making the top of his hair fall over his eyes, when a voice comes from the house.

The look on his face makes me wonder if he regrets asking me to move in. I’m about to ask when I hear the voice again.

“Where’s my future lover at?”

When my eyes follow the direction of the voice, I find Aspen standing on the porch with a tiny brunette next to him. I let out a sigh, wondering if I can live with this kind of man.

He’s calling me his future lover with his current lover standing right next to him? Really?

“How about you stop drooling over our new roommate and come help me bring in her things? Apparently, a few things actually mean a carload,” Maverick shouts from behind me, his statement carrying a disgruntled tone.

He sidesteps me and starts to climb the stairs to the front door, not giving me a second glance.

My feet steadily take the concrete stairs before I stand at the threshold of what is my new home. Assuming it’s okay to walk right in, I do just that. I’m met with a nicely furnished house that definitely does not look like it belongs to two guys almost out of college.

It has a feminine touch to it.

And just when I’m wondering whose touch it belonged to, the brunette from earlier slides the patio door closed and walks toward me. She’s beautiful. Every part of her screams kindness and even my cold, black heart smiles back at her as she crosses the room. She takes a moment to set her phone down on a gray ottoman before closing the distance between us.

Maverick comes out of a door that must lead to my room, considering his hands no longer hold the boxes from my trunk. He leans a shoulder against the door frame, his stare locked on the girl in front of me.

My focus returns to her just as she opens her mouth to speak.

“Hi!” Her voice is as sweet as sugar. It sounds like it belongs in a commercial selling something girly and nice. Her hand extends between us, and I don’t hesitate to take it as I wonder who exactly she is.

“I’m Selma,” she says. “Mav’s girlfriend.”

My gaze automatically locks on Maverick, who’s standing behind her. But when I look at him, I don’t see any emotion on his face. He just stares at the space between me and his girlfriend.

---