Page 59 of Wild Love
Before I leave, I find his crutches in the living room and hand them over. “Later, loser.”
At work, I spend the day running errands for Blythe with Quinn and Reese. There are a million things to do in preparation for camp, which starts next week. There are goody bags to put together, signage to hang, setting up rooms, and finalizing schedules. So many schedules.
By the time we’re finished, I am so ready for a chill night in, but I go home and get ready for my date with Marco. I text the girls to calm my nerves while I wait.
Ginny: What’s he look like? What’s he do?
Reagan: What are you wearing?
Sienna: Where’s he taking you?
Their rapid-fire questions make me even more nervous. Marco said he’d text after he got out of class and was on his way. We’re meeting at a bar not far from the apartment. I wanted to be close enough that I could walk or Uber home if it’s late but far enough away that I wouldn’t have to worry about Johnny and his teammates stopping in and embarrassing me with their ridiculousness.
Two nights ago, Marco and I were having our first phone conversation after exchanging a few texts. Jack and Declan stopped by the apartment to see Maverick—they’ve been checking in on him almost every day. Anyway, they must have read it on my face that I was talking to a boy because they proceeded to yell out things like, “Honey, come back to bed.” until I locked myself in my bedroom. I’m not sure what their plan was. They probably don’t know either. Ridiculousness.
Right now, I could use a dose of Maverick’s ridiculousness, though. He isn’t home, and, holy crap, I am so nervous I can’t stop the butterflies in my stomach. He always knows what to say to take my mind off things. I respond to the girls and then text Johnny to see how his appointment with the doctor went.
Maverick: Good. I’m at Wild’s. Come hang out?
I hold off another five minutes waiting for Marco, then say screw it, grab my purse and say goodbye to Charli. I can leave from Wild’s when Marco is close.
I find them on the far side of the bar, Jack and Johnny. Johnny swivels on the stool when he spots me and hops down. His big grin makes my insides mushy. He wraps me up in his arms and pulls me to his chest. “You made it! What are you having? I’m buying.”
I’m temporarily too distracted by him to speak. Listen, Johnny Maverick is a good-looking guy. My not wanting to hook up with him has absolutely nothing to do with how he looks. From his dark hair to his smile to the tattoos… oh the tattoos. He’s chef’s kiss perfection if we’re going just by the hot scale. I couldn’t build a better guy.
He’s fuck hot to steal his phrase, but he doesn’t take anything seriously. To him, sex is just an activity like watching TV or dancing—who he does it with doesn’t matter as much as the activity itself. I want more than that. I want the sex, but the who matters to me.
Tonight, though, sigh, tonight he is in dress pants and a black collared shirt. The sleeves squeeze his biceps and show off some of the ink, and his hair has gel in it. He’s dressed up and not in his usual jeans and a plain T-shirt, or honestly, more often than not, no shirt at all.
“I can’t stay,” I say when I find my voice.
“Woman, if you go back to that apartment, I will follow you and drag you out. We need a night out.”
It suddenly dawns on me. “Where are your crutches?”
He raises his arms to his side. “I’m good to go.” He rocks his head side to side. “Dr. Anderson says I’ll be ready for camp.”
“Mav, that’s great news.”
“I know. Now, what are you having? Champagne? I want to celebrate.”
“I really can’t.”
“What, do you have a hot date or something?” Jack asks.
“Actually, yes. I’m going out with Marco.”
“The guy you met on Hinge?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t like it,” Mav says.
“Well, too damn bad.” I laugh, nerves breaking.
“You don’t know anything about the guy. What if he’s a creep?”
“I can handle myself.”
