Can't Get Enough (Skyland, #3)(76)
With his rugged masculine beauty, maybe only scripture could do him justice.
For a moment I’m deeply sorry for Zere, to have had and lost someone like Maverick and find herself sitting across from this guy; a shadow of the man she thought she’d spend forever with.
“He’s here!” Zere breathes so softly most probably don’t hear her, but I do. And I know exactly who “he” is. And the light in her eyes when she spots him at the entrance twists a knife deeper into my belly. You don’t light up that way when someone walks into a room if there aren’t still some feelings involved.
“You didn’t tell me Bell was coming,” Charles grumbles, his posture straightening.
“Because it’s not a big deal,” Zere purrs, squeezing Charles’s knee and leaning into his side. “There’s no need to be jealous. The media created this narrative that surely things were bad between Mav and me when we broke it off, but I told you we’re still friends.”
She kisses his cheek. “And only friends.”
He links their hands on his knee and nods his acceptance.
I catch most of the low-voiced exchange because I’m sitting beside her. I’m glad I overheard to assuage some of the guilt that’s been gnawing at me ever since Maverick left my apartment a week ago. I still don’t think it would be wise to get romantically involved with him, especially so soon after their breakup, but I can at least take solace in the fact that Zere does seem to have actually moved on with Charles.
I stare down into my drink, determined not to look at Maverick any sooner than necessary, but I feel the air charge the closer he gets. Whatever it is about him that shifts the gravitational center of every room he enters, I don’t think it’s merely physical. I think it’s as elemental as fire or water or air. Even with his kind of wealth, you can’t buy that. It predates currency and outweighs power. It’s… him. A confidence I think he’d carry no matter what he did, busting bricks or hauling trash. And when I finally look up from my drink to find him standing right in front of us, it pours off him and I’m soaked in it.
“Happy birthday, Zee,” he says, his voice deep and low and shiver-inducing.
She stands immediately and melts into his hug. The DJ is killing it, blasting pre–Sunken Place Kanye, but even as folks dance to Syleena Johnson belting out “All Falls Down,” most are undoubtedly tuned in to the byplay between Zere and her two beaus. One ex and one current. Charles, still seated, stares straight ahead with his fists balled on his knees, tension in his arms and his foot bouncing. Maverick and Zere seem to be the only ones oblivious to the tension, conversing and even laughing easily.
She settles back down on the couch between Charles and me, and he immediately lays a proprietary hand on her knee. Maverick steps in front of me, and the invisible thread that is his sheer force of will pulls my eyes up to meet his. Banked heat burns in his stare. I feel it like breath on my neck, like warm palms caressing my body.
“Hen,” he says, my name on his lips smooth as a pearl, but at odds with the barely checked emotion in his eyes. “Hi.”
“Mav, hey,” I reply as casually as I can manage, offering him a polite smile. “Nice to see you again.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Zere says, turning to Charles. “Mav’s helping out with Hendrix’s foundation. Isn’t that cool?”
“It’s actually a venture capital fund,” Maverick corrects, sliding his hands into the pockets of his navy-blue suit pants. Gucci, if I’m not mistaken. He wears it with an impeccably tailored jacket to match and an open-collar gray silk shirt. “It’s called Aspire.”
“Never heard of it,” Charles says. “What’s your focus?”
“We focus exclusively on Black women founders,” I tell him and leave it at that.
“They’re doing amazing work,” Maverick picks up where I deliberately left off, narrowing his eyes on Charles. “I’m investing, so you’ll definitely be hearing more from them. One company in particular has limitless potential. Ever heard of Hue?”
“Hue?” Zere turns a stunned look my way. “I love that line! I’ve never had a color match so perfect.”
“They’re doing some revolutionary stuff,” I say.
Maverick’s eyes are warm on my face, and I can’t make myself look away as the air between us heat-hazes. When I break our stare, I shoot a quick glance at Zere to see if she’s noticed. Fortunately, she’s distracted by someone waving at her from across the room.
“Excuse me, guys,” she says, rising. “My party planner apparently needs me. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as she steps away, two people approach Maverick. Just like at the All-White Party, a small amoeba of people take shape in his vicinity, eager to pitch him or take advantage of this rare proximity to the kind of power he yields.
This is my chance to break away. I’d thought I might last until they cut the cake, but I really don’t want to pretend right under Zere’s nose any longer than I have to. I feel like a fraud making polite conversation as if I don’t know how Maverick’s chiseled features slacken and tighten in passion; don’t know the raspy timbre his voice falls to when he’s turned on. While Zere’s away and Maverick is roped into another conversation, I stand and grab my clutch.