Page 13 of Ruse
Not to mention he smells fucking incredible. Whatever it is he wears, or whether it’s his natural scent, I’m bottling it up.
“It’s not,” I huff out, trying to push him off me. It’s a total fail. “What do you want, Maverick?”
“We’re back to Maverick,” he murmurs, leaning his head forward. “What happened toDaddy? I thought I was growing on you.”
Someone shouts,“Get a room!”from a distance and I quickly push him off me.
This time, he doesn’t push back. “If you want me to call you daddy, then we have bigger problems to discuss. I know why I have daddy issues. Why do you?” His scowl proves I’ve struck a nerve, but as easily as it comes, it goes, and back is the titillating asshole.
“I can show you, but then I’d have to kill you.” He's grinning, but for a second, I’m not sure whether he’s joking or not.
“Whatever, just leave me alone. Death would probably be easier than having to deal with you daily.”
“Cute, keep telling yourself you don’t enjoy my company, babe. I’m sure if I were to say,” he steps forward again, strong fingers wrapping around my hips, “Slip my fingers underneath this sorry excuse for shorts, I’d find you more than enjoying this moment.”
“Yeah,” I moan purposefully, “You’d also get a lot more than you bargained for when my knee meets your cock once again like it did last night. Need a refresher, babe?” I spit out, and that’s my cue to get the fuck out of dodge.
Without waiting for another snarky response, I bend over to pick up my keys, smiling triumphantly at the deep groan that leaves him as my ass rubs him on my way down, and unlock my door, opening it, and slipping inside. But before I can slam it shut, his hand moves to block the door.
My eyes drop to the ink along his knuckles, symbols I’m not familiar with stamped along each one. “Not so fast,” he growls, claiming my attention. The deep blue color of his eyes is mesmerizing, but the way his lip twitches as he stares down at me makes me press my knees together. The black leather of my seat, which has been sitting in the blistering sun for hours, burns the back of my thighs, but it’s still a less tantalizing sensation than the one between my legs.
Maverick notices, smirking, and biting his bottom lip teasingly. “Just wanted to give you props for that little show you put on. Ballsy once again, babe. You continue to surprise me.”
I don’t have the energy to continue this insidious back-and-forth banter, so I agree, brushing off his comment like it means nothing.
“Thanks for the compliment, but I’m not like the other brainless girls you’re accustomed to. I won’t drop to my knees and spread my legs for you because you call me pretty and praise me. I’ve dealt with my fair share of boys like you, and honestly, I’m sick of them. Go find someone else that would stoop down to fuck you. You’re not at my level, babe.”
Finding the bit of courage I have left, I pull the door shut, start up the engine, and swerve out of the school parking lot with no destination in mind. I need to get as far away from him and his captivating blue eyes.
* * *
Two months had comeand gone in no time. I still remember like it was yesterday, walking into my mother’s bedroom, the eerie silence and icy, ominous air that surrounded me as I stepped inside, foreshadowing what I was about to discover.
We’d never been really close. I mean, we were as close as once could be to their mother in our world. She knew I existed, spoke to me more often than not, even if it were to tell me what I was doing wrong or how I could improve myself, but she showed a fragment of concern for my well-being. I saw her for most holidays, received the annual birthday and Christmas cards, accompanied by either a thousand dollars shopping credit, or a brand-new designer handbag. I preferred the latter because it meant she had put some thought into it.
From my father it was always jewelry, but even that was picked out by his assistant and delivered to my bedroom door the night before. The note card always said the same thing. From Dad.
No signature, no endearing term, nothing. Simply seven letters typed on a single postcard.
However, early on, I learned never to expect anything from him.
On the odd occasion we were home, I’d join her for dinner in silence, or occasionally we’d go out to eat at either our favorite cafe or the country club she frequented. I hated it there, but she was a different woman when we’d go, so I would suck it up for the few hours we spent there. It was always about keeping up appearances. Ensuring you always looked your best, acted as if nothing and no one could hurt you, and like your life was perfect.
The moment you let the perfectly crafted disguise slip, and someone saw the first crack in the illusion, no matter how minuscule, you were done.
Reputation tarnished equals life over.
I still couldn't have faked the shrilling squeal that left my body when I saw her lying on the floor of her bedroom unconscious with the empty container of prescription sleeping pills resting in her hands. My life flashed before my eyes, and the saddest part was, not once did any of it warrant the tears that shed from them.
I didn’t call 911, I couldn’t. It was Brooklyn who dialed the number after he rushed to my mother’s bedroom after hearing my scream. He crouched down beside me and held me in his arms. He didn’t attempt to comfort my mom, didn’t check her vitals, or attempted to perform CPR. No, he just held me against his body and assumed my mother was dead.
She wasn’t, though if you ask her, she wishes she were. Because now not only was she the wife of an adulterous bastard who left her for his mistress, she was a weak, pathetic woman who attempted to kill herself, and failed.
I don’t know what it was about today that had me driving the ten miles to the rehab facility she was in.
Maybe it was the fact that I felt as weak and pathetic as she must have that day.
I pull into the parking lot of Cliffside Malibu: Luxury Rehab and Detox, which looks more like a five-star hotel than a rehab clinic. Of course, not only is it meant to hide the fact that the rich and famous are inside struggling with various addictions, but it also costs eighty-thousand dollars a month to be a patient. I would imagine the luxuries included are nothing shy of perfection.
