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“Waitress,” he purrs. His voice has this melody of a luring song—one meant to pull you in and destroy your heart in a matter of seconds.

It doesn’t affect me, though.

“Dick at table forty-three, the princess who needed his steak warmed.”

Slap me with a stupid sticker because I have lost my damn mind. Why did I just say that? Yes, he was the rude-ass who insisted I warm his food up, and yes, he’s the one I dumped said food on, but that was yesterday, and I have moved on. Hopefully, so has he.

“Dick, huh?” He drops one of his massive arms and rubs a spot just above—ah damn, his nipple is pierced.

Not to mention the whole right side of his ribs are covered in a massive tribal tattoo.

Even on his left, a smaller tattoo wraps from his back and ends on his stomach, teasing me to gaze longingly at the ridiculous set of six-pack abs between them.

Why is life not fair?

I drag in a deep breath and try to let any animosity of yesterday go. “Can we start over?”

That lazy grin of his falls in an instant. “No.”

No. Okay. Well, that’s not good.

Sighing, I watch as his body goes rigid, and his arm goes back to the top of the doorframe, blocking any view behind him. His icy blue eyes stare back at me unyielding and hard, not the same guy who grinned when he first saw me. “I’m sorry about last night.” Hopefully, my sincerity will soften him.

“What can I do for you?”

Okay, so we’re going with a hard no on being softened.

With no hint of emotion, other than the apparent tone of boredom, one can surmise that Maverick will not be bought with sweetness and apologies. I’m going with plan B, which I’m making up as I go .

“Are you Maverick?” I could have said that a little stronger and without the slight tremor.

He drops his hands and reaches into his back pocket, producing a handful of playing cards. Oh no. I’m not prepared for it to get real this fast. What if those two idiots in class were right? What if I’m never the same after this?

“How much is it worth to you?” He drawls, producing a marker.

I swallow and straighten, plastering a snide grin on my face. “Nothing. Just producing the cards tells me I have the right person.”

He nods, seemingly pleased with my answer. “I would say you’re a smart girl, but the fact you’re standing at my door speaks otherwise.”

This ass.

“I need a favor.”

Yes, girl. Be bold. Don’t let him intimidate you.

His brows arch and the smirk he flashes pisses me off.

“You do grant favors, don’t you? Or are they just rumors to get you laid?”

My snippy words only add to his amusement as his lazy gaze moves from my flip-flop covered feet to my tank top.

“I don’t think you have anything I want, waitress.”

Oh no, he did not just refer to me as the waitress again.

“I’m sure you can find something you can take.”

He makes an amused humming noise in his throat as he shuffles the playing cards in between his fingers, never meeting my gaze. “What is it that you think you need?”

The menace in his condescending words knots my hands together. What do I think I need? I think I need a new job and a new parking lot—one that Bostic won’t find.

“I-I-I need a place to stay”—okay, so the stutter is new—“and I heard you were looking for a roommate.”

The laugh that erupts from his chest is enough to send a lesser woman home with broken confidence. But not me. I stand tall, waiting for him to wipe the smile off his face as if my being here has been the highlight of his day .

“Tell you what, the rumors never disappoint me.” He shakes his head and steps back, about to shut the door in my face.

“Wait!”

I shove through the small space, wedging my body between the door and throwing away my last shred of dignity. “Look, even if you aren’t looking for a roommate, maybe you know someone who is. Please.” My eyes plead with everything I am. “Please help me. I’m begging you. You’re my last hope.”

Too much to disclose? Probably. But again, I’m that desperate.

Desperate enough not to comment on the substantial annoying sigh he lets out as if giving me two more seconds of his time is painful.

“Fine,” he clips just before bringing the marker to his mouth and biting the cap off. He spits it out at my feet, and I refrain from staring at his tongue snaking out and wetting the spot the cap just left. “Hold your hand out,” he demands.

His voice might be a little scary, and I might be a little scared, but I hold my hand out, as crazy as that is. I wonder if Bostic would be proud or if he would be tempted to kick my ass? I guess we’ll find out eventually—like later tonight at dinner.

Slowly, I stretch my hand out in the small space between us. If Maverick notices the trembling, he doesn’t comment. Instead, he presses the playing card into my palm with his left hand, holding the card flush as his other fingers wrap around me as if he’s making sure I don’t move.

“I assume you know the rules,” he drawls quietly.

I nod and then decide to be honest. “Sort of.”

He scoffs. “You sort of found me, came all the way here to ask for a favor that you don’t know the price of?”

Well, now that he says it like that, it seems as if I was a little hasty.

“I know enough.” I lift my chin just in time to see him smirk.

“Doubtful.”

But he begins scribbling out the first letter—I—on the card. “You will give me your phone and I will write down your number. ”

Oh. Well, that’s totally fine.

He rounds out the O on the card. “When I cash in my favor, I will call you and give you a time and a place with instructions. You will not ask questions, and you will do as I ask. There are no refunds for my favors.”

I swallow. That sounds a little dramatic and mob-like.

I nod my consent slowly as he finishes writing the U on the card.

“You will never mention me or my favors, nor will you disclose what favors we trade. I am a ghost to you.”

Or a genie. I think a genie is way less scary.

“Do we have a deal?”

“Ainsley. My name is Ainsley James.”

I felt like it’s important he knows my name.

“Do we have a deal?”

It’s like he purposely didn’t use my name, so this deal sounded less personal. Whatever. I don’t need him to be a friend. I just need a favor.

“We have a deal.” I want to add devil at the end of my statement, but I’m not that crazy.

At my acceptance, Maverick steps back, his masculine scent of an expensive smelling cologne pulling away and dissipating into the new space around us.

“Come in,” he murmurs, holding the door open like a gentleman.

It’s not like I rush in. Maybe I hustle a bit, but I try to seem cool and not like his hard glare on the card in my hand concerns me. Surely he won’t change his mind before I can adequately grovel.

The door slams behind me and sue me, I jump.

It’s a little freaking scary. Sure, Maverick’s apartment is light and airy with a touch of modern college decor—meaning he isn’t using storage containers as coffee tables, but he definitely doesn’t give a shit if he has fresh flowers on the table.

He doesn’t even have a table. Well, he does, but it’s got a green felt top on it. He definitely doesn’t eat at it.

The couch looks comfy as I head to it for a test sit, that’s all that matters. I need something softer than Jane Honda’s back seat .

“Go ahead, make yourself at home.”

He pops the top off a bottle of beer, and I sink back into the cushions. “Oh, wow. This is a really nice sofa.” The back is made out of these big pillows that just swallow my body. “It’s like it’s giving me a hug.” And I really need a hug right now.

I’m basking in the snuggliest sofa ever—eyes closed and everything—when a low growling type noise has me popping one eye open. “Oh. My bad.” Seriously, I got lost for a second.

“Your favor,” he prods, rolling the bottom edge of his beer against the kitchen counter.

Dammit. Farewell, best sofa ever. I wonder if Maverick will let me come back to nap on it. Nah. It’ll probably cost me a favor. I shift, scooting onto the edge—which is soft too. Maybe a favor is worth it.

“Right,” I tell him, shaking off the haze of relaxation that came over me. Maverick’s modern college vibe works for me, I think. I haven’t felt this comfortable since living with Mom. “So, I’m looking for a roommate.”

Maverick—the dick—rolls his eyes. “I caught that much.”

“Well, isn’t that where you come in?” I mean, really? What good is a genie if you have to do all the work?

He snorts. “It’ll take some time. I don’t keep a running list of vacancies.”

My heart skips a beat. “I don’t have time. I need a place tonight.”

Maverick’s dark brows arch perfectly up his forehead. “Tonight?”

I bet he has that listening problem Tucker had. Mom says all men have it. Maybe she’s right.

“Yes, tonight. I told you I am desperate.”

His mouth goes tight. “Don’t tell people you’re desperate.”

“Whoa, okay. You don’t have to get all bossy. I’m just telling you the truth. I don’t have time to play games.”

His mouth relaxes a fraction. “Why can’t you stay with friends?”

Grr! “Do you ask everyone this many questions when they ask for a favor?” I think not .

Before I can even apologize for my outburst, he slams his beer down and has the door opened. “Out.”

Pleadingly, I hold out my palms. “I got thrown out of my apartment! I’m sorry!” I can see the flinch in his cheek. “Please help me. I don’t have any friends who will let me room with them. Trust me. I’ve tried.”

He pushes the door closed slowly like he’s trying to convince himself not to drag me out. “Why won’t they let you stay with them?”

I shrug. “I might have started a small fire in my apartment.”

Dammit, I’ve scared him. His eyes have gone from narrowed suspicion to holy-shit-I’ve-let-in-a-psycho wide.

“What’s a small fire?” His words are smooth and unhurried, like I didn’t just make him nervous.

“Like a small curtain fire that ended with the fire department and a ban from the complex owner.”

Yeah, that did it. Now he’s scared.