Fly With Me | ✓

47.2

The trouble with the fact Maverick was dead serious about putting the Grammys on for the dog to watch was that Everleigh left the hotel room first. Which only meant that when Maverick walked out, having slid his jacket on inside, she got the first look at what he looked like with his outfit pulled together. And suddenly leaving the hotel seemed like a terrible idea—more than it already did as a couple debuting on the carpet—and while the outfit looked phenomenal on him, it would also look incredible on the floor. Yikes.

Maverick waved his hand in front of her face.

God, Everleigh hoped that he hadn't been talking to her, not a single word had been heard. She blinked. "Hmm?"

"Do I have something on my face?"

"Uh. No."

"Staring pretty hard." Maverick looked down. "Did I spill something—"

"No."

"Rosé?"

"God, Kingston, no."

Maverick stayed quiet for a moment. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth when it finally dawned on him. God almighty. "Oh. Are you—"

"Cut it out."

"What if I said Scream 2—"

"You're going to the ceremony."

"—or Billy Loomis."

"Kingston Maverick."

"I don't know if saying my name is helping or hurting you right now."

"It's..." Everleigh swatted him in the side with the lint roller, only there to get anything Dewey might've added while Maverick tried to leave the room, but clearly needed to stop the waterfall of words from his mouth. (Stop thinking about his mouth.) An eruption of giggles bubbled out of Maverick. "Shut up."

"Look, everyone is shocked I'm ready," Maverick said, taking it from her hand gently. He opened the hotel room again, quickly tossing it after he checked that he wouldn't hit Dewey. "It wouldn't be a shock if we were late anyway."

"We're not going to be late."

"At least it would be enjoyable," Maverick said, taking a small step toward her, about to take her hand in his.

Everleigh took a step backward purely for her own sanity. Tucked her hands into her pockets for good measure. Squeezed the living hell out of the contents of said pockets—maybe she should've packed a stress ball. Roman had given her one once upon a time.

Maverick snorted out a laugh. "You're really not going to let me hold your hand?"

Everleigh stood a little straighter. "Not right now."

"Really?"

"We're going to the cars—" Everleigh said, "on time. And you are standing far enough away from me that I don't have to think about—" She waved her hand at his torso. A loss for words.

"You're going to the red carpet as my date—"

Everleigh was going to pass away. She'd leave Stevie everything. Fuck everyone else. Fuck Maverick. No, wait—Stop. Not like that. Maverick was slowly getting closer and Everleigh backed into the wall across the hall from their room.

"—for me—"

"Maybe I'm going for Stevie—" Everleigh quirked an eyebrow.