Page 47 of Bitter Beats

I’m not playing this game. If I don’t set a boundary now, I’ll be lost in the dangerous territory we’re navigating.

Just because we had one nice dinner doesn’t mean we’re not different people.

Mav’s still…Mav.

The other night at the restaurant was a fluke. A moment. Mav and I came to a shaky understanding, but anything more than that is a mistake I can’t afford.

I step out first and toss over my shoulder, “Yeah. Aiden’s exactly my type. Responsible and serious. It’s good that you know that now.” I don’t look back as I leave the downtown office building. I stride toward the waiting Escalade and slip inside.

Alfred gives me a reassuring smile before closing the door. Mav slides into the front seat, ignoring me altogether.

But he wears his emotions on his sleeve. Right now, he’s furious.

I cross my arms over my chest. So am I.

Alfred, sensing our stand-off, turns up the volume and hums along as he drives back toward the brownstone.

I gaze out the window, wishing I was anywhere but inside this SUV, trapped withhim. Six months of smiling at his annoying face. Of sharing appetizers at trendy restaurants,giggling when our fingers brush. Of accompanying him to events and galas, hanging off his arm like some trophy wife.

My phone rings in my purse, and I pull it out.

Momflashes on the screen. Now she calls? Now that I’ve signed my fucking life away?

She must be back from Cabo, correctly assuming I’m right where she left me. Except now, it feels different.

Entering into this arrangement with Mav has flipped my world upside down and it’s only day one.

I laugh, ignoring the call, but my chortle is more of a choke, the sound harsh and jarring.

Alfred glances at me in the rearview mirror. Mav turns slightly as if to check on me. Or watch me croak.

But I don’t want anyone’s sympathy. Not right now. Not when I’m clinging to my animosity. Mom leaves a voicemail that I’ll check later. I slip my phone back into my purse and return my gaze to the window.

I frown when I realize we passed the brownstone. Instead, Alfred pulls into a shopping center.

“Where are we going?” I ask. I just want to go home, throw myself in a hot shower, and cry where no one can hear me. Or judge me.

“Whole Foods,” Mav replies. He turns to look at me, his expression bathed in sarcasm. “I know how much you love Kombucha and cashew butter, babe.”

Fuck my life.

Alfred glides right up to the entrance and slips from the front seat to open my door.

“Thanks, Alfred,” I mutter.

The older man smiles, his eyes ringed with compassion. “Good luck, Kenny.”

I tip my head. His use of my nickname gives me the strength to put one foot in front of the other and round the SUV to awaiting Mav. He has a shopping cart ready with a handful of reusable bags in the carriage.

A flash goes off. “Hey, Mav! Let me get one of you and your girl!” a paparazzo calls out.

My toes scrunch, and my stomach sinks. I am about to graduate from law school, and this just became my life.

Posing for photo-ops outside of Whole Foods on my way to churn cashew butter.

Mav lifts a hand good-naturedly, appearing confident and at ease. “Nah, man. We’re just trying to grab some essentials.”

“What are you eating for dinner?” the guy calls out, still snapping photos.

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