Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Any idea where is he now?”
“He’s a car salesman in New Jersey, last I heard. Beautiful wife and three kids. I hope he’s very happy. I hope she’s very happy, but that would have felt like a prison term for me.”
“Zere felt that way,” he says. “I mean, that she could change my mind. People ask me the secret to my success. I guess I could spout a bunch of bullshit, but I think the thing that stands out to me is that I’ve always been certain. Not about life, but about what I want from it. That has really focused me in a way that a lot of people early in life aren’t. I see that in you, too. I respect it.”
I’m not sure what to say to that, but don’t have to respond right away because the flight attendant walks through to prepare us for takeoff. She offers champagne and food, which we both pass on. Once she returns to the front of the plane, a tight silence gathers between Maverick and me. I try to ignore the heat coming off his body and the clean scent that tortures me if I breathe too deeply. I deliberately keep my eyes trained on the hand-tufted floor covering, ignoring the querying looks he keeps sending my way. He clears his throat and shifts in his seat.
“So how’re your mom and aunt?” he asks. “Things better when you left?”
“Yeah.” Ironically, the most difficult aspect of my life—my mother’s condition—offers a lifeline into safer conversational waters. “After that episode last week, she was better. She’ll go hours, even a few days, where things seem almost normal, and then she’ll just get out of step. Her mind is like this chain on a bike that slips when you least expect it, and you just land in a ditch. Forget riding until that chain is back on.”
“That’s a perfect way to describe it. Pop Pop would be talking over breakfast about seeing Wilt Chamberlain play in Philly, recalling the game in perfect detail, and a minute later didn’t even recognize me. Introduced himself to me at the table and asked if I liked pancakes.”
Sadness tightens the planes of Maverick’s face for a moment before smoothing out.
“By lunch, he was back to talking shit about Bill Russell and the Celtics. That chain you’re talking about popping back on.”
“I guess I’m getting more and more afraid of the time when that chain doesn’t pop back on,” I confess.
“I’m so sorry, Hendrix,” Maverick says, the words rough with emotion. “I hate you’re having to go through this, that your mother is going through this. It’s… it’s hell.”
The gentle rumble of his voice, the empathy in his eyes, make my vision swim with tears. I blink to keep them from falling, but one escapes, slicking my cheek. Before I can wipe it away, Maverick brushes his thumb under my eye. My breath catches and our gazes tangle. No, it’s more than our eyes connecting. It’s something deep inside me recognizing, drawn toward whatever he hides beneath his confident exterior. We’re both bold, presenting a tough exterior to the world, but it’s what’s soft and secret that keeps bringing us together.
His touch lingers and so does his gaze, slowly skimming my features. There’s growing heat in his eyes and an answering warmth in me that starts low in my belly and creeps up to my heart. I cannot do heart shit with him. I shift my chin so his hand falls from my face.
“My concentration’s shot,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m not sure I can get work done.”
“I had some stuff to do, too, but maybe I was being optimistic.” He runs his hands over his face and exhales. “I’ve been working nonstop on a deal, and my brain is more fried than I’d thought. This quick trip is not just for you ladies. I needed a break from all the shit I’ve had to focus on.”
I glance at him, seeing past the confident set of his shoulders and the tight fade of his hair and the perfectly groomed hands, the expensive casual clothing—looking past all of that, I see fatigue dragging at the handsome face.
“Does this giant ecological footprint plane have Wi-Fi?” I ask, gently bumping my shoulder into his.
“Yeah, of course. You want to work after all?”
“Nope.” I set up my iPad so the screen faces us. “Someone told me I should start Top Boy and I still haven’t made time for it. I got three hours to kill, right?”
His smile comes wide and quick, and I love how it lightens the weariness on his face right away.
“I mean,” I say, “I know you’ve seen it before, but—”
“Oh, no.” He taps the screen a few times, navigating to the streaming site for the show, then angles a look at me that has my toes curling in my sandals. “I’ll watch again… with you.”