Fly With Me | ✓

16

When Everleigh woke up—at the slightly more human hour of eleven o'clock—she half believed Maverick's visit had been a dream. If it hadn't been for the note left, Everleigh never would've known. Not because the note had something sweet written on it—more because a chicken could've written it and it would've been more legible. Absolutely Maverick's terrible handwriting.

Everleigh took that as a sign he'd left and headed back to his own hotel. Which was fair. Probably doing damage control for blatantly lying that he had a family emergency when he absolutely did not.

She walked to the bathroom with a fresh set of clothes in her arms. Plan of the day: clean up her room before she had to talk to clinics in London for her clinical trials. Everleigh had the sinking feeling she'd have general clinical and not leaves in maternity or geriatrics which meant she'd get sick within the week. Best of luck. Shower, first.

The steam from her shower enveloped the room in a thick air that felt like a warm hug after a long day. Yes, Everleigh knew what that felt like now. (She was going to vomit just having the thought.) Quickly throwing on her new shirt—maybe it was a MARS crop top she'd found at Hot Topic on a trip to Salt Lake City, maybe it wasn't—and a pair of looser gym shorts that Everleigh never used to workout, she stepped out of the bathroom, flicking the fan on as she left.

Drying her hair messily with a hotel towel, Everleigh rummaged through her suitcase until she found her headphones. Putting them in, she pressed play on her MARS and Maverick playlist. Still the perfect blend.

Everleigh quietly sung to herself as she dumped her suitcase out to refold clothes. She never understood how, after not buying a single thing, her suitcase never fit what she'd first packed. The only thing she found consistent was that packing was a pain in the ass.

It didn't take long for Everleigh to start swaying her hips as she folded. That turned to singing a little louder. Which turned to ignoring the pile of clothes entirely and dancing in the hotel room while singing her lungs out. Nothing felt more like a concert stage than an empty hotel room, Everleigh was sure.

"Back in New York / Late nights turned early mornings / Pop the champagne cork / Didn't heed your warnings / This was ending soon—"

As she turned, Everleigh saw something out of the corner of her eye that made her scream and swing a pillow in that direction.

"Ow, Everleigh!" Everleigh pulled a headphone out and winced. She knew that voice. "Jee-sus, dude."

"Kingston?"

Maverick held the side of his head. He'd changed clothes since the night before. Everleigh felt bad—she might've knocked one of his hearing aids out with the pillow. "Were you expecting dick me down Donny?"

"I'm so sorry—"

"Were you singing my song?"

Everleigh smacked him with the pillow again. In the torso, this time. Fair game. "Why are you sneaking up on me?"

"I was enjoying the concert."

Everleigh's face heated up. "How long were you standing there?"

"Long enough to know that song was not on the album you showed me you bought." Maverick grinned.

"I'm not above hitting you again."

Maverick held his hands up in surrender. "I left you a note that said I'd be back soon, Everleigh."

"Is that what that said?" Everleigh eyed the note on the dresser again. No way in hell...