Page 28 of IOU

“You will never mention me or my favors, nor will you disclose what favors we trade. I am a ghost to you.”

Or a genie. I think a genie is way less scary.

“Do we have a deal?”

“Ainsley. My name is Ainsley James.”

I felt like it’s important he knows my name.

“Do we have a deal?”

It’s like he purposely didn’t use my name, so this deal sounded less personal. Whatever. I don’t need him to be a friend. I just need a favor.

“We have a deal.” I want to add devil at the end of my statement, but I’m not that crazy.

At my acceptance, Maverick steps back, his masculine scent of an expensive smelling cologne pulling away and dissipating into the new space around us.

“Come in,” he murmurs, holding the door open like a gentleman.

It’s not like I rush in. Maybe I hustle a bit, but I try to seem cool and not like his hard glare on the card in my hand concerns me. Surely he won’t change his mind before I can adequately grovel.

The door slams behind me and sue me, I jump. It’s a little freaking scary. Sure, Maverick’s apartment is light and airy with a touch of modern college decor—meaning he isn’t using storage containers as coffee tables, but he definitely doesn’t give a shit if he has fresh flowers on the table. He doesn’t even have a table. Well, he does, but it’s got a green felt top on it. He definitely doesn’t eat at it.

The couch looks comfy as I head to it for a test sit, that’s all that matters. I need something softer than Jane Honda’s back seat.

“Go ahead, make yourself at home.”

He pops the top off a bottle of beer, and I sink back into the cushions. “Oh, wow. This is a really nice sofa.” The back is made out of these big pillows that just swallow my body. “It’s like it’s giving me a hug.” And I really need a hug right now.

I’m basking in the snuggliest sofa ever—eyes closed and everything—when a low growling type noise has me popping one eye open. “Oh. My bad.” Seriously, I got lost for a second.

“Your favor,” he prods, rolling the bottom edge of his beer against the kitchen counter.

Dammit. Farewell, best sofa ever. I wonder if Maverick will let me come back to nap on it. Nah. It’ll probably cost me a favor. I shift, scooting onto the edge—which is soft too. Maybe a favor is worth it.

“Right,” I tell him, shaking off the haze of relaxation that came over me. Maverick’s modern college vibe works for me, I think. I haven’t felt this comfortable since living with Mom. “So, I’m looking for a roommate.”

Maverick—the dick—rolls his eyes. “I caught that much.”

“Well, isn’t that where you come in?” I mean, really? What good is a genie if you have to do all the work?

He snorts. “It’ll take some time. I don’t keep a running list of vacancies.”

My heart skips a beat. “I don’t have time. I need a place tonight.”

Maverick’s dark brows arch perfectly up his forehead. “Tonight?”

I bet he has that listening problem Tucker had. Mom says all men have it. Maybe she’s right.

“Yes, tonight. I told you I am desperate.”

His mouth goes tight. “Don’t tell people you’re desperate.”

“Whoa, okay. You don’t have to get all bossy. I’m just telling you the truth. I don’t have time to play games.”

His mouth relaxes a fraction. “Why can’t you stay with friends?”

Grr! “Do you ask everyone this many questions when they ask for a favor?” I think not.

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