Page 19 of Maverick
I was shitty Maverick Quinn, like I always was before.
“Well. I guess I’ll see you… Around.” I shove the last of my food in and stand up. “We have an event to prep for.”
“Yeah.”
She looks worried.
“What?”
“I don’t think I can dig out of the hole that I put myself in last night. Unless a whole bunch of people implode tonight.”
“Hey, it’s been a hard few weeks. With your friend getting injured and all.”
I start to say something that she might find relatable. Draw a parallel back to Sadie’s accident, but I don’t. It’s not something anyone here really knows about. But I’ve always kept my private life private.
Even when I was married, it was only ever a ring on my finger, not a conversation I had with people around me.
Then I was gone for a few years, and when I came back, I didn’t have a ring.
If anybody wanted to bother to look up the reason why, I’m sure they could find it using my name and seeing if there were any articles. But… I don’t know why anyone would.
Theyhaven’t, at least not to my knowledge. Because no one has ever offered me so much as a single condolence.
Not that I want them.
And so I don’t say anything.
“You’ll be good,” I say. And then I go off to finish up my pre-ride rituals. And if my hand still burns from where it made contact with her, I don’t think about it.
I’m really good at not thinking about things I just don’t want to deal with.
Stella will be no exception.
Chapter Four
Stella
Against my will, I seem to have gotten myself tangled up with Maverick Quinn.
And I can’t stop thinking about him.
I’ve always found him hot. That’s the problem. As ridiculous as it is. As problematic as it is, as much as I don’t want to find him hot, I do.
And I need to be thinking about my ride. I shove all the events of the last twenty-four hours to the side, and I ride my heart out. It goes better tonight than last night, but it’s still not great. I come in third. Which wouldn’t have been so detrimental if not for last night’s middle-of-the-pack fiasco.
I’m hanging on by the skin of my teeth. But I don’t think it’s going to be good enough.
I haven’t watched the bull riders since Colt’s accident. Usually, I leave the arena before they’re announced, but this time, I crouch down in the back part of the facility, looking through the fence, and watch as the animals are loaded into the chutes. I recognize Maverick, even from the back, cowboy haton, leather chaps with fringe, and black, of course. His shoulders are broad, his waist narrow, his thighs muscular. It’s hard for me to take my eyes off him.
And why not? For a little bit, I indulge myself. I’ve got a thing for him. And he’s so much different in reality from what I’d built him up to be in my head. But he’s no less gorgeous.
It’s strange, though, to find a little humanity in him.
Colt and Dallas hate him. And I tried to keep all the longing off my face when he would walk by when they were around.
It felt harmless. It’s not even a crush.
It’s just that if I imagine somebody taking me, ravishing me, tearing my clothes off, it would be him.
