Part 22 (1/2)
Chicago, Illinois Ten months ago I call Maverick's cell again. After several rings, his voicemail picks up. I wait for the whole message to finish before I hang up. Thirty minutes late is fairly typical, but not two hours.
I flip through the TV channels. We don't have cable or satellite, so it doesn't take me long. I finally settle on a re-run of CSI. And even though it's on, I don't watch. Time couldn't move slower.
Forty-five more minutes pa.s.s before the front door opens, and Maverick shakes the rain off of his jacket. The irritation sizzling on my skin keeps me from getting up and greeting him. I cross my arms, staring at the television.
”I'm guessing you're upset,” he says, walking over to the sofa. He doesn't sit.
”Good guess.”
”I'm sorry, Jellysnack. We got a new case. A big one, and I couldn't get away sooner.”
”Did you pay your cell bill?”
His brows furrow. ”Yes.”
”Did you lose your cell?”
”No.”
”Does it work?”
Maverick sighs. ”I put it on silent so I wouldn't get distracted.”
”I'm distracting?”
He plops down beside me and pulls me against him. ”I'm sorry. I should have called.”
”Yes, you should have.”
”Have you eaten?”
”No, I was waiting for you.”
”Giordano's? Pepperoni, mushroom, and onion?”
I look at him. Dark, hopeful eyes meet mine, and my smile relents. ”Sucking up?”
”Only if it's working.”
”It's working.”
He kisses me. ”I'll order.”
”On your non-broken phone?”
”I promise to call next time.”
”Good. Otherwise we'll go bankrupt with all the orders you'll have to make for pizza.”
”It's what people do after they get married,” I say, rinsing off a plate and handing it to Maverick to put into the dishwasher. We've been back in Illinois for two months, and adulting sucks. But together, we decided, it sucks less.
”Is it?”
”Of course. Didn't you read the handbook?” I hand him another plate.
”I did. I must've missed the pets section.”
”That's because you only read the parts about s.e.x.”
Maverick tilts his head to the side. ”There were other parts besides the s.e.x ones?”
”Funny. Cat or dog?” I ask.
He closes the dishwasher and hits start. ”Are you sure about this? They p.o.o.p and eat ... and p.o.o.p.”
”How is that different from what you do?”
He saunters toward me until my back is pressed up against the counter. ”Do I need to show you how I'm different?”
”Oh, that thing that just happened on the sofa?”
Maverick slides two fingers down a lock of my hair. ”Yeah, that thing.”
”Hmmm. I liked that.”
He squeezes my b.o.o.bs. ”A pet can't do that for you.”
”I'm not replacing you. You realize that, right? It's just that I'm lonely and bored. You've been late every day for the last two weeks doing lawyer stuff.”
”You mean my job?”
”I need company, and Finley is two hours away.” I bat my eyes. s.e.x usually works better, so if this doesn't do the trick, that will.
Maverick kisses my neck, sliding my s.h.i.+rt down my shoulder. ”I think I need more convincing.” He unb.u.t.tons my shorts.
”How much convincing will you need?”
Maverick inches my shorts down my waist until they fall to my ankles. ”At least a year's worth. A couple times a day.”
Antic.i.p.ation warms me as he crouches down and kisses my underwear. ”I was uh-” I swallow ”-thinking we could go to the shelter in the morning.”
He slides them down my legs. I'm close to forgetting our conversation.
”That soon, huh?” he says, the tip of his tongue hitting me just right.
”Huh-huh,” I breathe out, grabbing the counter behind me for support.
He licks me again. ”Well, I do like p.u.s.s.y.” Then he lifts me by my hips and deposits me on the counter.