Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Sophia raises one eyebrow at me. “Hi, Maverick Waters.”
Maverick’s grin widens as he passes her on the front steps, and he turns and walks backwards down the driveway. “You’re talking about me, huh? That’s good. I can work with that.”
“Have a good night, Maverick. Try to stay out of trouble.”
“I’ll do my best.” The monster truck parked in front of my house beeps, and he climbs into the cab, turns over the engine, and waves as he pulls away from the curb.
Sophia whistles. “What was that all about?”
“He was checking in on me after what happened the other day.”
She pats me on the shoulder. “It’s a good thing the semester is almost over.”
“Yes, it is.”
Three days later, I’m standing outside Pump It Up with ten minutes to spare before the self-defense class starts. When I talked to my mother earlier today on one of our biweekly chats, I mentioned I was thinking about taking the class. I didn’t tell her what happened with the drunk hecklers, and I was right not to, because just the mention of the classes put her on alert. I assured her everything was fine—even though that’s questionable—and used Maverick’s words, saying I thought it would be empowering, which seemed to appease her.
A familiar black F-150 pulls into the lot and parks beside my Prius. My heart rate picks up. It’s a reaction I’ve been fighting since Maverick showed up in my creative writing class. But the warm feeling in my chest is new, and I attribute it not only to the things I now know about him, but also to the way he came to my defense, and his continued concern for my well-being.
I stand in the shadows, against the side of the building as Maverick opens the driver’s side door and climbs out, hood pulled up over his head and the brim of a hat peeking out. I went back and forth about whether I should come to this class, all things considered, and decided it would go a long way toward making me feel more confident in my ability to defend myself.
He closes the door and tugs his hood down, then pushes the driver’s side mirror in and angles his body so he can maneuver around my car without grazing it.
He stops short when he reaches the front of the car and sees me standing there. “Professor?” His eyes light up. “I thought I recognized your car. I was hoping I’d see you tonight.”
My stomach flutters, and I internally roll my eyes at my body’s reaction to his admission. “Were you?”
“Yeah. When you didn’t show up for the Saturday class, I wasn’t sure if I’d pushed it when I stopped by to check on you. I worried I’d made you feel uncomfortable. But it’s good that you’re here. Hopefully you’ll learn some helpful stuff.” He gives me a hopeful smile. “I gotta get inside ’cause the class starts in less than ten. You wanna come with?”
“Sure. Yes. Okay.”
He motions for me to go first, since the sidewalk is narrow, but when it widens enough, he falls into step beside me. “How are you? How are your hands?”
“Mostly healed now. That liquid bandage is a miracle. And the bruise on my hip has faded a lot. It’s still a bit sore, but otherwise I’m fine.”
He nods. “I’ll keep that in mind when we’re practicing some of the moves tonight. How about emotionally? You feeling okay? How was movie night with your bestie?”
My cheeks flush at the memory—how suddenly the emotion had swept over me when he’d been about to leave the night of the attack. All the what-ifs creeping in and pushing me to the edge. How I’d accepted that hug from him and how easy it was to find comfort in it. “Movie night was good, and thank you for stopping by to check in.”
He opens the door, stepping aside to let me go first. “No problem. I just wanted to be helpful. We’re over there, in the room on the right.” His fingers graze my elbow as he guides me.
We pass everyone from college students to grandmothers sprinkled throughout the expansive space—running on treadmills and stair climbers, riding recumbent bikes and reading books, lifting weights in pairs.
I follow him into one of the fitness studios. Close to a dozen women are already standing around, chatting quietly with one another. There’s a woman instructor at the front of the room, and her face lights up as soon as she sees Maverick. “Ah, there you are! We’re almost ready to get started.”
There’s a mother with her daughter who looks to be in her late teens, a pair of women in their mid-thirties, a trio who look to be in their forties, and a pair of younger women who are closer to my age, or maybe a few years younger.