Maverick

Chapter 11

The wind had picked up again by the time we had turned onto the highway, the forests of trees swaying savagely in the moonlight, the faint outline of the sea just beginning to be covered by the grey clouds that loomed above us in the sky. I turned to look at Maverick, his face still darkened from the incident with Oscar, his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel too hard. The only sound was Maverick's car turning up the puddles on the side road. "I didn't know you drove," I said, breaking the silence.

"Well if you told me you didn't," Maverick said, his teeth clenched, "I could have picked you up this evening instead of you walking."

I looked at him. "That's not what I meant."

"I know." Maverick sighed. "I'm sorry."

I let my hair fall over my face and I watched the raindrops glide slowly down the tinted window. "I don't even know how old you are," I breathed, tracing the windowpane with my finger.

"Seventeen," said Maverick. He sounded calmer now, more able to talk perhaps. "And you're sixteen."

His habit of asking questions without the correct tone was beginning to get slightly unnerving. "How did you guess?"

I heard Maverick's light chuckle, muffled by the gentle tapping of rain on the car's roof. "Number one, you can't drive."

"Fair enough."

"And number two," he continued, "your ex-boyfriend's a total jerk."

I frowned indignantly. "And how does that prove that I'm sixteen?"

Maverick laid a gentle hand on my shoulder for a brief moment, and waves of electricity swept through my body like a tide rip. Then, just as quickly, he took it away again. "Most guys are jerks to sixteen year old girls. First boyfriends and all that."

I fought the urge to laugh, despite the seriousness of the conversation. "And you know this because, doctor Maverick?"

He shrugged, coolness radiating off him like a dodgy inferno. "Experience I guess."

I shook my head, smirking ever so slightly as we turned off the main road onto a bumpy lane. "Go on then, show off," I jeered. "Tell all."

He looked sideways at me, his long slender fingers tapping the steering wheel to a silent rhythm. "I'm not giving away anything, Reece," he murmured, "until you tell me what's gone on with you and Mr. Jerk."

I slumped lower in my seat as the mood deflated like a lead balloon. I tried to fight the tears pulsing at the back of my eyes, and turned my head to face the misty window. Maverick looked down to my balled fists, scrunched into my grey sweater, and let out a dismayed sigh. "Reece, if I have to apologise to you again tonight I fully give you my permission to thump me."

Suddenly I noticed that the car was no longer moving. I bolted up in my seat. "For God's sake, Maverick, you can't just stop in the middle of the..."

"Relax, Reece." Maverick rolled down the window, and was rewarded with a sudden gust of wind that ruffled his already disheveled hair. "We're at your house."

"Oh." I surveyed the house in front of me. Our porch light was still flickering tirelessly; Dad was obviously waiting up for me. I turned back around, and found Maverick looking at me again with a slightly amused expression in his eyes. "I'd like to er... thank you."

He raised a bemused eyebrow. "For what? Delivering you home semi-safe?"

"No." I sighed, shaking my head. "Not just for the movie either," I added hastily, recollecting his bad taste, "but for being there. When Oscar turned up." My voice had lowered embarrassingly, and my hair had fallen over my eyes again. Maverick lifted a strand delicately with his finger. "Are you going to tell me," he murmured gently, his gaze fixed on mine, "or am I going to have to ask you?"