Page 62 of IOU

I don’t care if she calls Taylor a cunt. She is.

“A little. Tucker stepped in a few times, so it hasn’t been too bad.”

“Don’t let that weasel make you think he’s helping you. He’s the reason you’re in this mess in the first place!”

My mom, the no bullshitter in my life. “I’m not, Mama. I’m just trying to get through the shift so I can pay Mav—Mavis some rent and save for this new house I could possibly be renting when she kicks me out.”

Don’t judge me. She did not need to hear I was living with another guy after just breaking up with a liar. Remember, she’s not a man’s biggest fan.

“How much is Mavis charging you? Maybe I can help.”

I slip off my pantyhose while cranking the car. “She won’t say. Every time I ask her, she just ignores me.”

“Maybe she’s just a really sweet girl.”

I smother a snort.

“Too bad you can’t stay with her through the rest of the semester.”

I nod, grinning big as my mom goes on about Maverick being a sweet girl. “She likes her space, Mama. You can understand that.” Seeing how she’s always lived alone.

My mama sighs a deep and disappointed sigh. “I suppose. Maybe give her what you can in rent, and perhaps she’ll change her mind and let you stay.”

Or she’ll throw a hellacious packing party so that I’m out in a matter of minutes.

“Maybe,” I agree. “Kiss Opie for me. I’ll call you later. Love you!”

“Love you too, sweetie. I’ll send you some author names of these books and you can look them up later.”

God, no. “It’s okay. I’m sure I can find something on my own.”

Find one I did. This two-hundred-and-ninety-five-page instructional manual on pleasuring my vajayjay embarrassed the utter shit out of me when I bought it. The dude behind the register said it was really informative, though, so I let the embarrassment go. I’m going to do me. Literally.

I knock on the door of our—Maverick’s apartment. He still hasn’t given me a key, and that’s fine. It’s a good reminder that our arrangement is temporary. Often, I find myself getting too comfortable with our shared space and his lips.

I bang again, placing my ear to the door like the first time I stood behind it. “Maverick! Open the door. I swear I won’t use your deodorant again. It was only one time!”

Gah, he’s such a sourpuss about his stuff.

A blaring alarm sounds just as I raise my hand to knock again.

Wait. I know that sound. It’s the smoke detector.

“Maverick!”

Oh shit. He’s going to burn to death.

I look around the hallway. Empty. “Help—”

My cry is cut off by a door opening and a hand covering my mouth. “Don’t you dare,” he says all breathily, pulling me in and locking the door behind us.

“What’s going on?”

I notice a pot on the stove—my precious macaroni noodles overflowing and burning on the stovetop. He was making it for me but why is—

“Help me shut this fucking thing up.” He shoves a towel in my hand. For a moment, I just stand there, taking in his wet shirt and pale skin, shaking as he fans the smoke with enough force to barely move a feather.

I tug on his shirt. “Let me fan. I have more experience with fires than you do.”

---