Delaney
Being an introvert comes with tells. Sometimes I giggle uncontrollably, but more often than not, I sneeze when I’m nervous. When I’m faced with a situation that tilts my world on its axis, a tingling starts up in my nose, itching and building pressure until finally I sneeze. Senior year of high school, I got caught skipping school, and when the principal called me into his office, I sneezed so many times tears poured down my face. He let me go after stuffing a box of Kleenex into my hands. Sometimes it works in my favor and I can use it as an excuse to make a quick exit, but sometimes it can just be downright annoying.
Like now.
“May I sit here?” a deep voice says from behind me.
My body knows who it is before my brain does, and right away, I suppress the pre-sneeze sensation by inhaling sharply and holding my breath for five seconds.
I slip my glasses down a few notches as I look over to see Maverick staring at me. It’s been a couple of days since the donut tragedy, and we’ve passed each other in the hallway a few times. Once I thought he said something, but I’m too awkward to stop and say, Hey, did you just say something to me? so I just ignored him.
We’re inside the auditorium for our psych class, and my hands flutter around the desk next to me. “Do whatever you want. Be prepared, though—the lights are rather dim back here. Wouldn’t want you to fall asleep.”
Somehow he manages to settle his large frame into the cushioned seat and reclines it back, him and his long jean-clad legs taking up all the space next to me—and the air.
“Ah, I could never fall asleep here.” He shoots me a grin, and I mentally put up my shields. Don’t get sucked into the hotness.
I nod, making small talk. “Yeah, it’s an interesting class.”
“And you’re in it.”
My lashes flutter and I can’t bring myself to look at him. I just can’t. A normal person would ask what he meant by that, but this is me. I just clear my throat and scoot my leg over a little to give him more room.
Just be cool, Delaney.
“What are you drawing?” he asks, leaning over my shoulder.
I stop the doodling I’ve been doing in my notebook. The heat from his body is intoxicating, and I swallow. “Han Solo.”
His lips twitch. “Hate to break it to you, Buttercup, but Han Solo isn’t a cat. He’s the captain of the Millennium Falcon.”
“He’s also a scoundrel and a smuggler,” I add. “And who gave you permission to call me Buttercup?”
He waves that off and says, “I know he’s a scoundrel—it’s what makes him endearing. He’s a badass and also has the best friend ever, a seven-foot-tall Wookie with a gun. He’s my favorite Star Wars character ever, next to Yoda.”
Maverick likes Star Wars? I just assumed he sat around and watched recordings of football games while guzzling beer with a girl on either side of him.
I nod and point to my doodle. “Named my cat after him, Han Solo #2.”
“What happened to #1? Killed by a light saber?”
I laugh. “I hope she ran off with a tomcat. She’s probably living in a tree house with her baby kittens right now.” I don’t tell him I cried for a month when she disappeared. I don’t actually know what happened to her, but imagining her with a sweet little family is the vision I like to keep close to my heart.
“Living the dream,” he says, and I flick my eyes at him. He’s hard to look at full-on, but I do, letting our eyes meet, my green and his pale blue. Almost iridescent, like a glittering opal, they contrast vividly with his tanned skin. His chin is firm and square with the hint of a cleft in the middle, and his hair is a mixture of dark blond with streaks of gold, painted by the sun from all those days of practicing football. I can’t see his scar from this angle but I know it’s there, on the other side of his face, that one little imperfection.
A slight smile curves his lips as his eyes warm, and I seize up, realizing I’ve been staring about ten seconds too long. That kind of stare means you either want to kill someone or sleep with them, and I’ve just crossed that line.
“Delaney?”
He says my name softly, and my mouth dries up as a shot of electricity shoots straight to my core.
Good grief, ignore this weird hormonal reaction you have to Maverick.
Right. Now.
“You okay?” he asks.
He thinks I’m an idiot.
“Fine, totally fine. How’s it going? How’s football? Oh, yeah, it’s over…but you’re still practicing, right? To get ready for next year and all? Can’t believe we’ll be seniors. Also can’t believe you decided to stay another year when you could have been drafted.” I’m rambling and my voice sounds breathy. I gulp in a deep inhalation to steady myself.
He scratches his head, a bemused expression on his face. “You’re funny.”
“I don’t talk much, but when I do, I make the most of it.”
He laughs. “I stayed because I wouldn’t have been picked early enough yet. I need to build my stats if I want the best deal. I have a buddy who went early and his contract sucked. I have another friend who waited it out and got a two million dollar deal.”
“It’s all about the money.”
“Especially if you’ve never had it,” he adds.
Interesting. Maybe Maverick didn’t grow up with much. I think back to what I know about him, and I realize it’s basically nothing, except that he’s from Magnolia. I stare down at my doodle. I’m not rich like Alex, but I do okay with the money Nana left me. I own the house Skye and I live in, and I don’t have to work a full-time job. Thankfully, I’m at WU on an art scholarship.
I glance back up at him. “So…why is the big guy on campus sitting in the back of the auditorium with me? Isn’t there a football groupie somewhere crying because you aren’t next to her?”
“Because I can.” He pauses. “And you aren’t dating Alex anymore.”
“What does that mean?” I can’t believe I asked, but something about him has me feeling reckless.
He gets a tight look on his face. “Just an observation. You’ve been with him since freshman year, and everyone thought you guys were the perfect couple.”
“I didn’t think you cared—you know, with the twins and all.”
“You remember the bonfire.” It’s not a question.
“Kinda hard to forget.”
His eyes find mine. “I gave you your first kiss at the bonfire. Legend says you’ll never forget me.”
I tilt my head. “What’s your name again?”
He laughs, but soon a cloud seems to settle on the planes of his chiseled face. “Alex isn’t over you.”
“Why do you say that?”
His shoulders shift, the movement barely perceptible yet giving off a visceral impression of suppressed power.
“He’s my teammate, and I see how he looks at you. He wasn’t happy to see us standing together on Monday, and that was just an accidental run-in. Imagine how he’d react if there really was something between us.” His eyes slide over to my face. “He’d probably freak out and get pissed at me, and it would definitely screw up his game, and then poof, there goes our chance at a championship next year.” He gives me a teasing look. “Kickers are rather emotional…”
I wrinkle my nose. “Regardless if any of that’s true or not, I do what I want.”
He studies me intently. “So you’re dating again?”
“Why do you care anyway?” I ask.
“Hey, Mav, aren’t you going to come sit with us?” It’s a sleek-looking girl with dark hair and a lot of hot pink lipstick speaking from behind the railing that lines the back of the auditorium. Miss Brunette trails her finger along his shoulder, giving him a soft caress.
She sends a half-smile my way, clearly not worried about me being any kind of competition. I don’t reciprocate.
He flicks his gaze at her, showing even white teeth as he smiles at her, but it doesn’t ring true. They chat about class, and I’m fascinated, watching his reaction to everything she says, taking in the way he nods, the non-interest in his gaze. His eyes find mine as she rambles on and on about some big off-campus mixer between the frat houses, and he smiles ever so slightly.
He isn’t into her, and I know it.
I don’t know how I’m able to read him, but it’s as if we have a connection and I get him.
She walks off, hips swaying as she does another little wave over her shoulder.
“You sleep with her?” I ask casually.
He shrugs. “A few times last year.”
Ah. “You’re just a playboy, aren’t you?”
“I’ve had relationships.”
I narrow my eyes at him, feeling prickly. “Yeah? What’s the longest one?”
He cocks a smile. “Dated a sweet girl back in high school for a year…” His voice trails off. “Then things got messed up and I came to Waylon. Football’s been my muse ever since.”
“Doesn’t that get, I don’t know, lonely?”
He stares at me. “Is this an interview?”
“No. I don’t even care.” Total lie. I’m dying to know the scoop on Maverick.
A gruff laugh comes out of him. “I just know when a girl’s a keeper and when she isn’t. She wasn’t.”
“Ah, a keeper—I see.”
“Yeah, you know, the one girl who makes your heart pound like crazy every time she walks into the room.” He’s looking at me with an intensity that makes me breathless.
Does he mean me?
Don’t be ridiculous.
Just then the professor enters and begins his lecture, so I pull out my iPad to bring up the class website and get to work.
I try really hard to ignore how close Maverick is sitting, how his leg occasionally brushes against mine…and I remind myself that getting interested in a cocky-as-hell football player is the last thing I need right now.