The stranger laughs at my reaction. It aggravates me. I let out a sigh and turn around, walking back to the campus board. I try to think if I have anything in my bag that I can use to replace the flyer this guy decided to rip down. Just as I round one of the corners, I bump into a firm chest.
“Veronica?” a familiar voice says.
I look up to see the guy I hooked up with last weekend.
I think his name is Chad?
I can’t remember, but I do remember that Texas accent that drawls out of his mouth. If the accent alone didn’t speak of his hometown, the cowboy hat that sits on top of his head would give him away.
“Oh, hi,” I respond, looking over my shoulder to find demanding roommate guy standing directly behind me.
Why won’t he just take a hint already?
“I tried texting you a few times since we saw each other last,” maybe-Chad says.
Or is it Brad?
It doesn’t matter. I just really need to focus on not rolling my eyes.
Don’t guys know it isn’t cute when they’re clingy?
And now, there are two clingers surrounding me—one I don’t even know!
“Yeah, I got them,” I answer Chad-or-Brad, lazily twirling a piece of my long blonde hair around my finger.
His eyes widen a bit. He obviously isn’t used to being ignored.
Luckily, his phone rings from inside his jeans pocket. He gives me one last inquisitive look before pulling his phone out of his pocket, then shakes his head and walks away.
I look back to clinger number two to find that taunt of a smirk still on his face.
“That happen a lot?” he asks, with humor in his voice.
I shrug. It does, but I’m not one to tell that to a stranger.
He holds out his hand while I stare at it questioningly.
His long, tan fingers wiggle in waiting. “My name is Maverick, by the way.”
“Maverick,” I repeat, not moving.
He takes a deep breath. “This is where you shake my hand and not make it weird.”
For some odd reason—maybe manners, or the fact that he looks so desperate—I decide to take his hand. His large hand engulfs mine in a firm handshake, and I want to snatch mine back.
Instead, Maverick takes his back and proceeds to run it through the length of his dark brown hair. The items in his backpack move around as he shifts his weight. “So, back to our earlier conversation. Based on the awkward run-in you just had with our star pitcher Chad, and judging from almost every male’s eyes in this quad, I see you are used to guys wanting to be your bedmate, but believe me when I say, I’m not one of them.”
I finally roll my eyes, unable to hold it back any longer.
When I don’t say anything, he adds, “Look, you seem cool—”
“You don’t know me,” I snap. At the same time, I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket.
He’s still annoying me, so I pull my phone out of my pocket to see who keeps calling me. My mother’s name pops up on the touch screen. I swipe to ignore the call and toss my phone into my oversized bag.
He sighs as his fingers nervously tap against his thigh. The look on his face when his eyes rest back on me looks like he’s the annoyed one now. “Look, I’m not going to battle a stranger to move in with us. We need a roommate to help take over rent, that’s all. You’re looking for a place. So, it seemed like a good fit. If you want to say no, that’s fine. Or you can think on it. Maybe I’ll see you around if you change your mind. In the meantime, I really need a coffee.”
He begins to walk away, and just before he’s engulfed into the crowd, I remind myself I desperately need a place to live, and then I yell his name.
He turns around, obviously waiting for me to make the next move.
“Oh hell,” I mumble under my breath, just before I make my way to him. I wait to speak until I’m standing right in front of him. My head has to tilt up in order to look him directly in the eyes. “You have the time it takes me to drink one coffee to convince me that toying with the idea of moving in with you isn’t a complete waste of my time.”
His face is puzzled, like he isn’t sure if I’m messing with him or not. A few beats go by where he doesn’t say anything, but finally he gives one curt nod and politely says, “Follow me, Veronica.”
This time, I don’t have the same urge to strangle him when he says my name.
2
Veronica
“So, tell me about yourself, Veronica.” Maverick rests his strong chin in the palm of his hand while his elbows rest on the old hardwood table.
I try not to roll my eyes again when he bats his long, dark eyelashes at me. He’s obviously mocking this whole get to know each other situation. And it’s even more frustrating that he’s undeniably attractive and seems like he knows it.
I take a long pull of my iced coffee, letting the bitter caffeine hit my bloodstream before dealing with him. “I’d rather not,” I respond, the straw of my cup resting against my bottom lip as I look at him.
If my answer takes him by surprise, he doesn’t show it. He looks around the small campus coffee shop. I analyze him as his eyes track around the busy building. I have been to The Roast at many hours of the day, and no matter if it’s midnight or five in the morning, the place is always decently busy. It makes sense since it’s the only non-chain coffee place within walking distance from campus.
Maverick’s eyes narrow as he watches a guy put his arms around two girls. They giggle while the guy whispers something in both of their ears. Maverick is too busy staring down the guy trying to get laid to notice me. I fake a cough to bring his attention back to me.
His ocean-blue eyes land on me then, reminding me how much I hate the water. In fact, I loathe it. And I find it hard to look at him for that alone.
His narrow lips pucker together to blow on the coffee cup sitting in front of him. “I was waiting for you to tell me about yourself.” His one eyebrow raises at me as he takes a sip.
Hating small talk, I sigh.
Does he need to know about the silver spoon I grew up with, permanently attached to my mouth? Or that I barely talk to my parents at this point? He definitely doesn’t need to know that I can’t even stand to look at myself in the mirror. Or that I push people away and pretend I don’t care when I really do. Yeah, I’m not one for talking about myself.
I act like I’m thinking long and hard about my answer. Then, I make sure to look him in the eyes—the eyes that remind me of other things I don’t want to talk about. My body shifts closer to the table, like I’m about to tell him a huge secret. My gaze quickly flicks to the womanizer across the coffee shop—who is now talking to two new girls—before it rests back on Maverick. I take the most dramatic deep breath and say, “My name is Veronica. And I need a place to live.”
He laughs, but it isn’t one of those laughs people let out because they feel uncomfortable or because they want to fill a silence. No—this laugh seems genuine. His skin wrinkles at the sides of his eyes as he smiles. The smile shows off perfectly straight teeth that no doubt cost his parents thousands of dollars.
What a shame.
I collect other people’s imperfections. I cherish them when people have them.