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)
“I can’t believe I did that.” She laughs, shaking her head. “I’ve never had sex here.”
“You haven’t?”
“In my mama’s house? No way.” She looks horrified and gestures around her. “Not with the Lord’s Prayer on every wall.”
“So I’m your exception?” I tease.
“I guess you are.” She rolls her eyes and yields a small smile. She stands, folding her dress between her legs to catch the wetness. “What a mess. We don’t have this problem when we use condoms.”
“About that, I’ll show you my test, that I’m negative.” I pull my pants up and smile like a drunk still buzzing. “If we can keep doing it raw.”
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” She smiles, still adjusting the dress between her legs.
I stoop to grab her underwear from under the desk, stuffing them in my pocket.
“Seriously, Mav?” She wrinkles her nose.
“You’re not getting ’em back so don’t even ask.”
“I cannot believe I had sex in my mama’s house.”
“You’re just a church girl at heart, huh?”
“Not really, but my mother and my aunt definitely are.” She grimaces. “I need to get cleaned up.”
“I kind of like the idea of you just staying like that all day,” I say, only half joking.
“That’s nasty, Mav.”
Her mother’s voice singing a vaguely familiar tune seeps through the office door and walls.
“Shit!” Hendrix whisper-shouts, eyes panicked. “Mama!”
She points to me, her expression completely serious.
“Now listen here, Mav. I need to get to my room without Mama seeing me like this. You go out first and tell her you’re hungry. She had a really good day yesterday and cooked. I tasted it. There’s no sugar or baking soda in weird places. She’ll take you in the kitchen and feed you. Then I can run up the hall, shower, and change.”
“I actually am hungry.” I rest a hand on my stomach. “I missed breakfast.”
“See?” She fake smiles and shoves me toward the door. “It’s working already. Go.”
“You’re a bully,” I complain, but smile.
“You like this bully.”
No, I love this…
Shit.
I’m frozen for a second, the reality of what I’m thinking and still haven’t told her sinking in.
“Hey.” Hendrix snaps her fingers in my face. “I’m sticky. Go!”
I shake my head like I’m coming out of a trance and leave the room. Leaning against the door for a second, I try to gather my thoughts and slow my heartbeat.
“You okay, Maverick?” Mrs. Barry asks, walking up the hall with a concerned frown on her face.
“Um, yeah… I mean, yes, ma’am.” I glance back at the closed office door. “Just kind of, uh… hungry.”
“Come on to the kitchen and I’ll fix you a plate for lunch. And you don’t have to ‘ma’am’ me. I know Hendrix does, but that’s just because of how she was raised.”
“Thank you.” I frown. “How was Hendrix raised?”
Mrs. Barry looks over her shoulder and winks. “Right.”
It takes me a second to process it, but when I do, I can’t help but laugh. God, she’s just like Hendrix.
Guess I’ll have to love her, too.
CHAPTER 42
MAVERICK
What is this stuff you put on the greens?” I hold up a jar of what I can only assume is magic sauce.
“Chowchow.” Mrs. Barry rests one fist on her hip. “You never had chowchow?”
“Never even heard of it, but it’s really good.”
“It’s kind of like relish. You pickle some tomatoes, cabbage, onion, peppers. Stuff like that. Where’d you grow up?”
I take a gulp of sweet tea before answering, glad that Hendrix’s “diversion” resulted in one of the best meals I’ve had in long time. No disrespect to Laurenz, of course.
“When I was really young, we lived all over because my dad played ball, but mostly Vegas and California.”
“Guess chowchow didn’t make it that far.” She laughs and sits down at the kitchen table with her own plate. “You cook much?”
“No, I, um… Well, I have a chef who cooks for me.”
She stills, fork halfway to her mouth. “She lives with you?”
“His name is Laurenz. He doesn’t live with me, exactly, but he does travel with me a lot.”
“He’s just your chef? Don’t work for nobody else?”
“Just me.”
“You must pay him a pretty penny.”
I grin and stir the mashed potatoes on my plate. “I make it worth his while, yeah.”
“And you live in California?”
“Most of the time. Malibu.”
She lifts one brow and sets her fork down. “Well, where else?”
Is this where the interrogation really begins?
“I… um, I have an apartment in New York, a house in Miami, a… ranch in Texas.”
“Did you say a ranch? Like a real ranch with horses?”
“It’s not a very big one,” I assure her. “I’m rarely there. It’s an investment.”
“So you rich as snot?”
I choke on a laugh and maybe a piece of corn bread. “Yeah, I guess.”
“It’s all right.” She pats my hand consolingly. “Bible say the love of money is the root of all evil, not money itself. So just do the right things with what you got.”