Delaney
He-Man: Are you over your ex?
Me: Why?
He-Man: Just curious. Do you miss him?
Me: Sometimes. But every day is better.
He-Man: You just have to get your groove back. I dare you to go to the library and shout out that Princess Leia is a badass.
Me: What? No!
He-Man: I thought you couldn’t turn down a dare.
Me: How will you know if I go through with it?
He-Man: Oh, I’ll be there watching. What time should I show up?
Me: Dammit. Tomorrow at 8:00 PM. BTW, I hate you. ☺
I smile, feeling good as I think about today’s text convo with He-Man. We’ve been texting on and off for the past week, just little messages here and there. He now knows I can sing every word to “Baby Got Back”, and I know he can tie a cherry stem with his tongue. I admit, I spent a few hours picturing that in my head last night.
He hasn’t brought up the whole I dare you to dream about me comment, and neither have I.
It’s Sunday night as I park my Prius at the local Piggly Wiggly and head across the parking lot. I’ve come to the second grocery store past campus, mostly because I don’t want to run into anyone while wearing yoga pants and a sweatshirt with no makeup on. I’m just about to pat myself on the back for not seeing anyone, but that all goes to hell when I’m almost to the door and see Martha-Muffin with one of her sorority girlfriends at the self-checkout near the entrance.
Part of me considers just turning around and leaving. I can always come back later, but once Monday arrives, I tend to be overwhelmed with classes and my job at the library.
Don’t let her get the best of you, Delaney.
With my head down, reading the grocery list on my phone, I fortify myself with a mental pep talk and walk through the sliding glass doors.
Don’t make eye contact, I tell myself, but before I realize it, I’m glaring right at her. She looks up, catches my eye, and sends me a sly smile, lashes batting.
Our dislike of each other is palpable and always has been. Skye claims she’s intimidated and threatened by me because somehow I managed to land a football player as a boyfriend freshman year, and all she got was an STD.
She’s wearing her usual, something ridiculous and ill-suited for the cold weather: tall Uggs and a pair of denim shorts lined with lace. Of course, her face is expertly made up, all the way down to the arched eyebrows she probably watched some two-hour YouTube video on how to make.
She finishes checking out and pushes her cart straight over to me, her pert little nose practically twitching with excitement. “Well, well, if it isn’t Delaney Shaw.” Her gaze sweeps over me, lingering on my baggy Waylon hoodie. “Here to raid the ice cream freezer? Just be careful you don’t eat the whole gallon.”
I stiffen. As a matter of fact, I do have chocolate ice cream on my list, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before I tell her that.
“Don’t let me keep you from your Mensa meeting,” I say before moving to walk around her.
I’ve gotten a few feet away when she calls out after me, almost tauntingly. “I can’t believe you’re being so rude, especially since I haven’t seen you in weeks.” I cringe, knowing she’s referring to the night I caught her with Alex.
I turn back around, knowing I shouldn’t, but I just can’t stop myself.
She puts a hand on her hip. “Look, you don’t have to be so upset about Alex. He’s an athlete. They screw around—it’s what they do.”
My stomach churns at the imagery her words bring up, and I feel the blood draining from my face.
Her friend tugs on Martha-Muffin’s arm, ushering her out the door, and I stand here for a full five seconds just breathing, trying to get myself under control.
I make my way over to the produce aisle and walk around, not really seeing anything, my heart heavy as I think about Alex and everything we lost.
On an impulse, I pull my phone out of my bag and send a text to my mystery man.
Paging He-Man. I miss you. Where are you? Not that you care, but I’m staring at cherries at the Piggly Wiggly and thinking of you. It’s been a shit day. Shit week. Shit month. Just ran into the girl my ex cheated on me with. Need to vent. Need a cigarette…or I would if I smoked.
He replies immediately, and I want to shout with glee. Awkward. Want me to kick her ass?
Yes.
Done. I’ll be there in five.
A laugh comes out of me, and for some reason, seeing Martha-Muffin doesn’t have nearly the punch it did a minute ago.
No! I’m just kidding. Plus, she’s gone already. Hey, can I ask you a personal question?
Shoot, he replies.
Do YOU sleep with those groupies who hang all over athletes? You know the ones—they’ve had more loads than a washing machine but they’re hot so all the guys want a spin?
Uh…how many loads are we talking?
Of course he sleeps with them. He calls himself “Badass Athlete”, and what red-blooded male is going to turn down what’s offered?
He-Man, you’re disappointing me.
Truth: I haven’t been with a girl in months. I’m turning them down left and right.
You’re so full of yourself.
True, he says. But I am the best.
Best at what? Football? Volleyball? Baseball?
Why are you turning them down? I ask.
I’ve been waiting on you.
WHAT?
Is he kidding? Is it the truth? He never replies, even after I linger around the produce, waiting to see those three little dots that mean he’s responding.
They never appear, and once again I’m overcome with embarrassment at my neediness and lack of male attention. Screw it. I stick my phone in my purse and head to the magazine section to pick out a new Cosmo. I move on from there and hit up the meat department. Several minutes later, I’m lifting a large container of ground beef into my cart when I hear a deep male voice behind me.
“Didn’t know you liked that much meat, Delaney.”
I stop in my tracks.
I turn to see Maverick standing behind me, wearing low-slung jeans, a tight t-shirt, and a grin. We’ve been sitting together all week in class, and it’s been pure torture. We make small talk about the weather and football, but underneath is a current of electricity that I do my best to ignore. Maybe he’s ignoring it too.
His gaze brushes over me as if he’s undressing me, and a tingling sensation tickles my nose. I can’t stop it, sneezing once, twice, three times before I clench my hands together and calm myself.
I’m digging for a tissue in my bag when he says in his southern drawl, “You okay there?”
Sucking in a breath to stop the next one, I hold up a finger for him to give me a minute, and he seems to understand. It would be better if he just moved away.
He takes my packages from me and sets them down in my cart. It’s a thoughtful gesture, and I think he does it because he knows he makes me feel out of sorts.
He’s just standing there, patiently waiting for me to speak.
“You make me sneeze,” I finally say.
“I hope you can find the antidote or we won’t be able to hang out together.”
“It’s worse when I’m surprised by someone, and you’re always sneaking up on me.” Not exactly true, but I’m making up all kinds of excuses.
“Is it because you think I’m hot, Delaney?”
“Doesn’t everyone think you’re amazing and wonderful and hot? Been there, done that with a football player, and not doing it again because all it got me was a broken heart.”
He rubs at the scruff on his beautifully chiseled jawline. “We’re not all cheaters, Delaney.”
“I’m not buying it.”
He gives me a serious look. “Challenge accepted.”
“What challenge?”
“Proving to you that I’m not like anyone you’ve ever met.”
“And how are you going to do that?” I cock my hip and lean against my cart, trying hard to be nonchalant, but it’s hard as hell with six feet four inches of solid muscle running his gaze over you.
“You can start by hanging out with me.”
“We do…in class.”
“No, more than that.” He thinks on it, his top teeth chewing on his bottom lip a little. “Definitely somewhere with a lot of other people.”
“And why is that?”
He sweeps his gaze over me. “I think we both know what’s going to happen if we’re alone.”
Oh. My. God. He is so infuriatingly arrogant that I can’t even…
“I’m not interested in you like that.” Total lie. My body definitely is; it’s my head that’s rebelling.
“Uh-huh.” He grins widely.
My eyes flare. “I’m not.”
“Are you denying what’s going on between us?” His blue eyes are hot as he stares at me, and I might have to step into the ice cream freezer to cool off.
I swallow. “Yes. Flat-out denying.”
He shakes his head and laughs a little, his face so self-assured and freaking confident that I want to scream…or kiss him. What? Where did that thought come from?
He shuffles his feet. “Maybe I’ve been waiting two years for you to be free so I could ask you out.”
What?!
His eyes go back to the packages of ground beef. He clears his throat. “You never answered my question—what’s with all the meat?”
He’s changing the subject. Thank God. “I cook for the upcoming week on Sunday nights. Monday’s taco night, Tuesday’s nacho night, and Wednesday is quesadillas.”
“She’s beautiful and she cooks?”
“Stop flirting,” I snip. “I’m not beautiful.”
“You are.”
My body tingles all over at his simple words.
He leans over into my personal space, and I smell him, dark and exotic with a hint of pure male. His finger tilts my chin up until we’re staring each other in the face.
I recall the sexy convo with He-Man, about us standing in a cramped bathroom having sex against the wall, only now He-Man has a face and it’s Maverick. He’s holding me up, cupping my ass as he slides into me, and I’m gasping his name—
I stop, my heart flying as heat rushes to my cheeks. I look down and realize how close we’re standing. One more inch and my entire body will be plastered against his, and it’s all I can do to stand perfectly still.
Tension crackles in the air as his piercing eyes stare into mine.
“In case you didn’t know it already, I like how you look.” His eyes slowly drink me in, drifting over my face and lingering on my chest. “All that blonde hair, and your green eyes. I dig how tall you are…and your curves.”
Oh, lord. I’m nowhere near as bosomy as most, but I do have nice B-cups.
I’m back in that bathroom fantasy and he’s kissing me, his hand on my breast—
I can’t breathe.
A soft voice brings us both back to the present. “Mav? I…found…you.”
I glance over his shoulder to see a delicate creature with long, flowing russet-colored hair and a heart-shaped face. With creamy, porcelain-perfect skin, she reminds me of the beautiful dolls Nana used to collect. She tilts her head and looks at us with interest.
My lips compress as I turn and mutter under my breath. “You’re here with a girl and you’re hitting on me?”
Ignoring my comment, he takes a step back and simultaneously reaches out a hand to her. “Hey, I lost you at the candy aisle. You find what you wanted?”
She nods, presenting him with the little carry basket she’s hooked on her arm. She shows him a handful of Snickers and a six-pack of Dr. Pepper. “Can…I…have…them?” Her words are drawn out.
I glance back at Maverick to see a soft expression on his face. “You can get them, but you know the rule: only one each per day. Too much of that and…”
She nods. “My…teeth…will…fall…out.”
I look from one to the other, thoroughly confused. Who is she?
He glances back at me. “Delaney, I’d like you to meet Raven—my sister.”
Oh. She does a slow blink then comes toward me, and I notice her leg hitches a bit as she moves. She takes my hand in a limp shake, her expression unsure, as if she’s not certain of the etiquette.
“Girlfriend?” she asks, her eyes going from me to him.
Maverick grunts. “Too personal, Raven.”
She shrugs and drops my hand, almost sizing me up. “Need…a…girlfriend…so…you…stop…worrying…so…much.”
Hmmm. What does Maverick have to worry about?
“Nice to meet you,” I say. “And, Maverick and I are just friends.”
She squints, looking disappointed. “Oh.”
“We have a class together,” I tell her.
“Where she mostly ignores me,” Maverick adds.
I laugh.
Raven studies me and gives her temple a little tap with her index finger. “Nice…to…meet…you. My…head…is…wonky. I…tell…everyone…so…they…know.” She shrugs indifferently.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, not quite sure how to respond.
“Don’t…be.” She smiles sweetly at nothing in particular, her gaze drifting off. “Mav…olives…please?”
He nods. “Of course, get whatever you want. Meet me back at the front to check out, okay?”
She nods, and without another glance at me, moves down the aisle.
I’m watching this in fascination. Maverick has a sister…a sister with special needs…and he adores her—it’s obvious in the softness of his eyes as they follow her.
He turns back to me. “What?” he asks, and I guess he’s reading my face.
I shake my head. “You’re such a surprise.”
“Yeah?”
I nod. “Is she the reason the highest-rated defensive player in the country decided to stay home and play for the local college?” It’s no secret that Maverick received ESPN’s highest ratings and was courted for scholarships from the big schools like University of Alabama and Georgia. I’ve even heard he promised himself to a big SEC team, but at the last moment decided to stay in Magnolia and play for Waylon—which, admittedly, isn’t a horrible team, but it doesn’t have the same prestige the Crimson Tide does.
“Yeah. It happened in a car accident my senior year that also took my mom. It…changed a lot of things for me.”
His countenance is full of melancholy, an emotion I recognize because I have the same darkness inside of me. Anyone who’s lost a loved one knows it. I nod. “I lost my parents at age ten in a car wreck. I get it.”
He straightens and gives me a surprised look, almost as if he’s restructuring how he sees me. “I never would have known it. You seem so…adjusted.”
I huff out a laugh. “Thanks?”
“You know what I mean,” he says with a little smirk. “You’re a good person, Delaney. You’re always kind and sweet and…” He stops talking and shakes his head. “Never mind. I’m talking too much.”
I clear my throat, easing over the awkwardness. “Anyway, my Nana took me in and raised me. I’d just graduated high school when she passed from a bad heart. Sometimes I think she waited until I was old enough and then just let go.” I don’t know what it is about this guy, but suddenly I’m opening up to him.
He nods. “That must have been tough.”
I shrug, playing off my grief, but when I look back up, there’s this look on his face like he gets me…like he’s been there a million times before and—
God.
Stop, Delaney. Just stop. No more football players.
I recall the words Martha-Muffin just spoke to me: Athletes screw around—it’s what they do.
I clear my throat and move closer to my cart, wrapping my hands around the handle, anchoring myself, because Maverick makes me feel like I might toss aside everything I think about football players and give him a chance. “Look, you’re a great guy, and thank you for the offer of hanging out, but it’s best if we keep it simple.”
He studies me. “You’ll change your mind.”
My chest rises rapidly, and before I can formulate a snarky reply his sister’s voice drifts toward us from down the aisle, calling to him, and he waves back at her.
“Guess I have to run. Later,” he says, and then just like that, he’s walking off—and damn if his ass isn’t fine.
I let out a sigh and push my cart to the front to check out.