Page 60 of Petite Fleur

Not today, but soon.

“Maeve, get in the goddamn car!” I snap.

She turns to look at me, but her head is hung low and she refuses to meet my eyes, not that I need her to in order to know why.

“I'm fine. You, however, are about to be public enemy number one if you don't move your car. They'll riot, key weiners into the side of your car, or steal your tires. It won't be pretty.” She rambles.

Did she just say weiners?

Stop, focus.

The goal right now is to get Maeve in my car, not ask her about her vocabulary.

“I don't care about them; they can all go fuck themselves. I care about you, and you're not walking home. It's like ten miles, for fuck sake.” I insist.

Maeve shakes her head again. However this time, it makes her lose her balance and lean into me.

Immediately, my arms are around her, and a flood of calm overwhelms me.

Is this how it'll feel when she's mine?

The heat and the weight from her body against me and the knowledge that she's dependent on me right now will forever be carved into my mind.

She smells like expensive tequila, her usual sweet blueberries, and a touch of sweat. It's intoxicating.

She's intoxicating.

“It's seven.” She slurs.

I roll my eyes and pull her toward my car anyway, ignoring her weak protests. “Yes, solid argument. I love the part where I give a shit.” I huff.

I pull Maeve along with me until we get to my car, and I practically shove her into the passenger seat. I'm able to squat down in front of her and block her from getting out. “Tell me what has made you so upset, ma fleur.” I insist.

She keeps her gaze low, staring at her fingers in her lap and letting her hair shield her face from me, but that won't do.

I tuck her hair behind her ear, smiling at her when she picks her head up and stares at me. “Tell me so I can fix it.” I add.

“I just want to go home.” She whispers in defeat.

I know she's holding herself together by a thread, only not wanting to fall apart in front of someone who she thinks doesn't know her.

This whole week has been rough for her, and I'm trying my best to fix everything.

First, that asshole professor bullies my girl, then her friends try to ditch her with an expensive bill, and then they humiliate her in a crowded club.

My girl is too fragile to be treated like this.

I handled the professor. His bones are fertilizing the winecup flowers I planted a few weeks ago. They're actually doing quite nicely despite my yard not being sandy or dry.

I'm pleasantly surprised.

But that is not the point; Turner will no longer terrorize my girl or anyone else ever again.

I handled the tab at the restaurant and the bar, as well, just to lessen any stress on her.

Now, I need to handle her idiotic friends.

Nobody hurts my Maeve and gets away with it, nobody but me.

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