Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
“It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s me,” I tell him. “If you keep coming over here, offering me private lessons, I’m going to make decisions I can’t unmake. And let’s be real, you’re terrible at the whole not-flirting business.” I smile uneasily, hoping he understands that this isn’t me trying to push him away. I’m trying to protect us both.
“As much as I want to disagree, you have a point.” He lifts his hat, running his hand through his hair and revealing his face.
“Oh my God.” I step forward and reach up, as if to touch him, then withdraw my hand and bring it to my lips. “Did I do that?”
He has two black eyes.
His smile widens. “You sure did.”
“How can you even explain this?”
“I play hockey. Shit like this happens all the time. I’m fine. And super fucking proud that I’m such a great teacher.” He winks.
“I can’t believe you’re joking about this! I feel awful.” I poke at my cheek with my tongue. “Are you sure your nose isn’t broken?”
“It’s not broken. I promise. Stop worrying about my face and think about how badass you are that you’re capable of doing this kind of damage to a guy my size.”
I bite my lip and stare up at him. Even with two black eyes, he’s still stunning. “It is kind of badass, isn’t it?”
“It’s totally badass. Are you going to let me teach you some more moves?”
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea for me to give you black eyes all the time.”
“To be determined, then?”
“To be determined,” I agree. “Will you be in class tomorrow?”
“Eh.” He lifts a shoulder and lets it fall. “I’m not sure I can sit through a three-hour lecture with you and a bunch of sophomores who don’t know how badass you are. It’s torture.”
“You’ve done it for the better part of the semester.”
“Yeah, but that was before you got into my head and under my skin.” He taps his temple. “Three hours with a hard-on isn’t conducive to learning. It’s too heightened a state. There have to be studies about it.”
I sigh.
“That’s one of my favorite sounds, Clover. Hands down. Want to make it again so I can record it and listen on repeat?”
“This is the flirting I’m talking about.”
He thumbs over his shoulder and winks. “That’s my cue to leave so I don’t go crossing more lines than I already have. See you in my dreams.”
And with that, he disappears around the side of the duplex.
Maverick does show up for class the following night, and leading up to exams, he stays true to his word. He doesn’t stop by my house again, and the only time I see him is in class, or occasionally I pass him on campus. He nods and says hello but stays inside the lines I’ve drawn for us.
But at the end of every class, he leaves a paper crane, labeled with a number, on the edge of his desk. At first, I think it’s a countdown to the end of the semester, but the numbers keep going up instead of down. Curious, I look up the significance of paper cranes and discover that a thousand cranes equal a wish. He’s at five hundred now.
The week before final exams, I wake up to messages from Gabriel.
This isn’t uncommon. I can see the pattern emerging again, thanks to talks with Sophia. It’s what he did when things first started to go south in our relationship. He would try to take something away from me, I would fight against it, and he would do it anyway and then buy me something as a means to placate me. At first it worked. Then the things he took away became bigger, more important—essential even, to my well-being.
He continues to send gift baskets and call or message, asking when we can sit down and talk. He keeps bringing up the property in Pearl Bay, knowing it means something to me, but he doesn’t realize it’s about more than wanting to hold on to a little piece of lakefront property.
I continue to tell him there’s nothing to talk about, and he assures me there is.
I scroll through the messages, suddenly on alert. Because he’s in town. And apparently, he just happens to be passing by my house this morning. “Fuck.”
I roll out of bed and rush to throw on the clothes I laid out last night. Sending baskets was one thing, stopping by with barely any notice is another.
I fire off a text to Sophia, but it’s only six fifteen in the morning. She doesn’t usually show up at my door these days until closer to seven. I could run up to her place and hide there until he leaves. But who knows how long Gabriel would wait. I’m just prolonging the inevitable, and I don’t want to hide anymore. I want him to see that I’m just fine without him. That I’m actually better than I’ve ever been. That leaving him was the smartest decision I’ve made.