Maverick

Chapter 7

My job at the Beach shack was beginning to get slightly more bearable as the days went by. I was busy, and that was good; being busy stopped me thinking about all the things I didn't want to think about right now. It was early, approaching half past six. I had just come back from cleaning up the shop because it was messed up from customers, and all of a sudden, he was there.

Maverick was seated casually at the bench by the door, his long legs folded over each other in a cross-over position; his tattooed arms holding a guitar. His skinny fingers picked out a tune steadily, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. A part of me believed that he was waiting for someone, possibly me. It seemed wrong to disturb him, a sin. But magically, without me even having to interrupt his peace, he looked up at me.

"Reece."

Maverick's voice was neither happy, surprised, or even startled. I couldn't pick out the emotion, and that frustrated. All the boys I had ever known were so easy to read, and that was good, because that way I always knew what to expect.

"Maverick."

His thin lips pulled back into a brief, fleeting smile, exposing his pearly teeth. "You remembered."

"So did you."

For a moment I busied myself with cleaning the already pristine glasses, but soon enough I felt dark, penetrating eyes boring into me. "Why are you called Reece?"

My head shot up at his voice. It was such a straightforward question, so simple. But even so I stumbled over my words like an octopus on ice. "I... I don't know. I guess my Dad thought that it would make me sound cool."

"And are you?"

I looked at him, feeling my cheeks burning, hating how he made me feel yet loving him all at the same time. "Am I what?"

He grinned. "Cool?"

I laughed, and it sounded weird and eerie in my ears. "About as cool as a radiator on full blast."

"Fair enough."

Suddenly there was a loud, booming laugh coming from the store, and we both looked around. But there was nothing. Nothing, or no one, was between us. On the way back our eyes met and I quickly diverted my eyes to the instrument he was clutching like a newborn baby. "So what's with the guitar?"

Now it was Maverick's turn to look embarrassed. "Oh.. I'm..." He looked down for a moment and his soft curls gently brushed against his eyes, for a fleeting moment. "I'm part of a band."

I put the glass down and leant forward on my elbows, genuinely interested now. "A band?"

"Yeah." He strummed a chord quietly as if to show me proof. "But I think I want to do some solo stuff now. Just take a break, you know?"

"Not really," I sighed. "Actually, I'm trying to prove to my Dad that I can make something out of my summer. That's why I'm here."

"Nice." He raised a perfect eyebrow, the narrowed his eyes again as if he was trying to work something out. "But you're not happy."

Again, it wasn't a question. I took an inward breath, daring myself to look at him straight into his face. Maverick stared back. It was me who finally looked away first. "Yeah. I am." I heard his fingers delicately picking out a melody again. He spoke over the tune, his musical voice corresponding perfectly with the tune.

"I get it. It's been a rough couple of weeks."

We walked inside and I started re-folding some shorts on display, figuring that if Robert caught me now at least I'd be doing some work. "What happened?"

"Bad break up. Messy." Maverick fiddled with his shark tooth necklace awkwardly. I looked down at my shoes, who just stared helplessly back at me.

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't be. She was a bitch. Sleeping around with other guys for months. Caught an STD, and I knew for a fact she didn't get it from me." He paused for breath. I found myself staring at his face again, and he smiled sadly, apologetically. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

There was a silence. Then I spoke. "Don't worry. You're not the only one who's had it bad."

There must have been something in my expression that warned him not to ask what happened, as anyone else would have done. Surprisingly enough, Maverick didn't. But then his arm was at my elbow, and he was frowning down at me again. "I don't suppose..." He coughed. The voice that came after was slightly husky. "I don't suppose you'd like to talk some more?"

I lowered my gaze. Oscar and I had done a lot of talking. That was precisely the problem. We had talked so much that we had hardly made any time to listen.

Maverick slid a paper over the counter. On it, was his mobile number. "Are you free, tomorrow night?"

The voice that came out of my mouth was so quiet, so mouse-like, that I wasn't even sure that he had heard. "I don't date."

"I didn't ask you on one. I simply wondered if you wanted to talk somewhere that wasn't your workplace."

And then he was gone, out of the door, across the sea where the wind must have carried him.