Page 41 of Bully Roommate

“Has he touched you?”

I tossed my arms into the air. “Maverick, don’t start, it’s almost three in the morning—,”

“Please,” he pleaded, his eyes lowered to my bedsheet. A defeated look traveled across his face, a face I didn’t recognize anymore.Who was this man standing in my bedroom?

This hot mess express—emphasis on the hot—looked sad, weak, and not like Maverick Booker. He almost looked like a child.

“He hasn’t, Maverick,” I whispered into the room.

Maverick’s presence hovered over me when I turned my back to him. Slowly, his fingers trailed my ear, pushing my hair away from my face. “I’m sorry ... for everything.”

He left me with a chill down my spine. Maverick just apologized to me, and ... I had no words to respond.

Only the erratic beat of my heart against my ribs, and the unknowing feeling of what would happen next.

Chapter Fourteen

Maverick

My brain pounded against my skull, and dehydration danced along my tongue, begging for water. Coach didn’t need to know I’d drank the night before, so I sucked it up and pushed through the pain.

When he called practice, I nearly guzzled the entire gallon of water on the sidelines. Jordan snorted, shoving his shoulder into mine. “Looking thirsty, Booker. What’s wrong?”

Jordan laid down on his back, hands behind his neck while stretching. “You looked pretty cozy with Josie last night. Do you break all your girlfriends’ furniture?”

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

Jordan rolled his eyes.

“Speaking of girls,” I said, grabbing my bag. “Why was Waverly in our apartment? She’s not worth your time.”

Jordan wiggled his brows. “She was a pretty good waste of time last night.”

I huffed. “Whatever—,”

Jordan sat up on his elbows. “You jealous, Booker? Maybe if you’d treat Josie nicely, she’d give you some—,”

“Piss off,” I said. “I can get Josie if I want.” Which wasn’t completely true or untrue, because honestly, I never knew where we stood. One minute I felt like I could have her and the next, it seemed unobtainable. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”

I left him laughing on the field, while I went to shower and make my rounds of potential jobs on campus. I found out quickly, after visiting the work center that ninety-nine percent of the jobs were filled.

Which left me driving around Baton Rouge, looking for any kind of part-time job I could find. Most of the restaurants, which would be great tips, were full. I felt my hope dwindle as I parked in a random parking lot and called the local high school before they closed.

I set up a time the next day to drop off his enrollment material so he could start the next week. I felt relief knowing he’d stay with me, even though our mother probably spent last night spending the money on drugs and booze.

Good riddance.

I started my truck and noticed a sign in the window across from the parking lot.Artie’s Antiquessat underneath a worn-down awning with huge glass windows and old furniture in the window.

The black and orange sign rested in the corner with HELP WANTED written in bold letters. Getting out, I raced across the road and into the small store. A bell signaled my entrance, the smell of old furniture and age settled around me.

Dusty bookshelves, old record players, and antique décor scattered around the small store. Sitting on the counter, I noticed a bell. I tapped it and waited for what seemed like forever for a man to emerge from the back.

He had white hair, a weathered face, and held onto a wooden cane with owl engravings on the top. His button-down shirt was untucked and his khaki pants were wrinkled and worn.

“Good evening. Can I help you, son?”

I wiped the back of my neck with my palm. Did he not have air conditioning or an air unit? Guessing by the industrial fan in the corner, probably not.

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