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)
“I turn thirty first. You should be dating girls your own age. Students your age.”
He rubs his jaw. “I’ve never dated girls my own age, and I’m sure not going to start now. They’re not who I want. They’re not you.”
“Maverick.” It’s just his name, but I feel the weight of it in my heart. Because it’s not a plea or an admonishment, it’s filled with longing and desire. With need. With defeat. It’s been more than three months since we were together, and the memory of that night is as clear as if it were yesterday.
“Sitting in your class has been a torture I willingly endured. I’m not imagining that there’s something here.” He motions between us. “You wouldn’t have let me in if we weren’t on the same page. You keep saying it’s because I’m a student, but you didn’t have a problem with this back in August.”
“I didn’t know there was eight years between us then, and we were acting on attraction. Things are different now,” I whisper.
This is what I’ve been telling myself this entire semester. My role made it easier, not wanting the power dynamic to be unbalanced.
He lets me voice my fears before he continues, “I get that you were worried about the risks, but now that I’m not your student, there aren’t any. I understand that it’s complicated for you, being in the position you are. But it’s temporary. You’re going to move on after this year, and I’m going to get called up to the NHL.” He bites the corner of his lip. “No one has to know. This can just be ours.” He runs his hands down his face and brings them palm to palm, his index fingers touching his lips. “I know my being a student is a sticking point for you, but I’m so fucking old inside, Clover. No one my age gets what this is like, how the things I’ve been through have changed me. But I feel like maybe you do.”
I will my body not to react, but no matter what, when Maverick is close, I warm to his proximity. My heart rate quickens, my palms grow damp. It’s so much easier to ignore when he’s dressed in jeans and hoodies, looking the part of the student—harder when he’s dressed for business and looks very much like the man I know him to be.
“Clover. Look at me.” His voice is a gritty whisper.
I swallow and lift my gaze.
“Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll leave.”
“It won’t work between us,” I whisper.
“That’s not what I asked. And I’m not asking you for long-term anyway. I’m asking you for now. Tonight. A week. A month. Until your contract is up, or you get tired of me, whichever comes first. I can be your rebound. I’ll be the in-between guy until someone you can get serious with comes along. But if this is too much for you, all you have to do is tell me I’m alone in this, that my feelings are misplaced. Doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. I’ll go. I’ll walk away. I don’t deserve you anyway.”
It’s that final sentence that crumbles what’s left of my defenses.
I put my hand over his to stop him when he reaches for his coat. My action speaks louder than any words, but I say them anyway. “You’re not alone.”
He exhales slowly and flips his hand over, bringing us palm to palm. His fingers curl gently around mine. “I’m losing my mind over you. This semester has been fucking torture.”
“I agree. But I still don’t think it’s a good idea for us to get involved.” For so many reasons. However, that doesn’t mean I have the willpower not to give in. My feelings have been building since he walked into my office, apologized, and handed over the key to the athletic facility. Probably even before that.
His eyes lift, grin rueful. “It feels a lot like we’re already involved.”
I lick my lips, my mouth dry. “I don’t want either of us to get hurt,” I admit.
With his eyes still on mine, he raises our clasped hands and drags my knuckles down his cheek. “I promise I will never do anything to intentionally cause you pain. So if you need me to leave, I’ll go.”
I close my eyes, warring with myself. I should tell him to go, but it doesn’t mean I want to or that I will.
Because he’s right. Despite all the reasons we shouldn’t be together, there’s something here. He’s an old soul, whether from experience and trauma or because he’s lived his entire life in everyone else’s shadow while still being forced into the limelight. He’s wise beyond his years.
“I don’t want you to go.” It’s more breath than words.
He squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry I’m making this so hard for you. I wanted to leave you alone, to step back and fuck off. But being close to you calms me in a way I can’t fully explain.”