Once everything was collected, they stood up. Ella adjusted her blouse, and he realized another reason she’d escaped his notice was her wardrobe. It was way too conservative and nondescript for a high school girl. A lot of the girls in their class went out of their way to push the envelope on the school’s dress code in an attempt to catch the attention of guys. And it worked, because damn if Maverick wasn’t a sucker for a girl in tight jeans or one willing to offer an eyeful of cleavage.
Ella hid all her girlie bits inside oversized pants that shielded all the curves and shirts that covered every inch of skin from the neck down. Which was a pity, because now that he was looking, he could tell she had a nice figure. She was on the tall-ish size, only a few inches shorter than his six-one frame.
Maverick reached out to hand her books back, his own brushing hers as she took them.
“Thanks,” she said.
Maverick didn’t reply. He couldn’t.
Because…
What the fuck was that?
His heart was suddenly racing, his chest tight, his palms sweaty.
Honest to God, it felt as if he’d been struck by lightning. His skin was actually tingling. And suddenly he was suffering from tunnel vision, everything around the edges gray.
All he could see was Ella as everything else around them vanished completely.
Though suffering felt like the wrong word.
Because no part of him was hurting.
Instead, everything felt right. Good. Perfect.
Maverick had intended to hand over her books, but that plan changed. He took the ones he’d just given her, as well as the ones she’d picked up herself, out of her hands.
“Maverick,” she said, intent on taking them back.
He turned away so that she couldn’t reach them, secretly savoring the way she said his name. “I’ll carry them.”
She gave him a funny look, frowning. “We’re not going to the same place.”
“I’ll walk you to your class.”
“You don’t have to,” she said, somewhat insistently.
Maverick, headstrong to a fault, merely smiled, turning in the direction Ella had been headed before the collision with Jeff. He was going to be late to his own class, but he didn’t give a shit. He’d serve a million detentions for tardies if it meant he could spend ten more seconds with Ella.
“Maverick,” she called out, when he started walking.
He twisted, aware she was still standing there. “Come on, Ella. You don’t want to be late for class.”
A rule follower from the word go, she started walking, just as he knew she would. Once she was next to him, he shifted her books to his right arm, reaching out with his left hand to claim hers.
Ella tried to pull it away, clearly startled, but he was ready for that. He held on tight.
“What are you doing?” she murmured.
“Walking my girl to class,” he announced, though he didn’t know what possessed him to make such a pronouncement. Maverick had kissed plenty of girls, starting with Tami Grove in sixth grade. He liked kissing, and he’d never struggled to findgirls willing to kiss him back. Not that Tami or any of the other girls had been his girlfriends.
Apparently, his comment was shocking or confusing or alarming enough that Ella stopped trying to reclaim her hand, letting him guide her to class.
“What’s your next class?” he asked, when he realized he didn’t have a clue where they were headed. The only classes the two of them shared were English and Algebra II.
“Chemistry,” she replied.
Maverick nodded, walking to the science hall, neither of them speaking. When they reached the door to her classroom—far too quickly—he released her hand and gave her back her books. “Wait here for me after class and I’ll walk with you again.”