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He didn’t even want her to linger around long enough to cook for him. He’d rather eat a fucking salami sandwich than deal with her nagging him.
Savage!
And not to mention, his milky, caramel-colored skin—thanks to his great-grandfather— was gorgeous. Maverick’s father was a full-blooded Italian, and their genes were strong.
“Look, you’ll never know if I’m the right one for you if you never let me spend time with you both. I know her approval means a lot to you.” He told her.
“I’ve had it all. Bitches, money, cars, and clothes. A lot of shit that’s supposed to make a person happy, but none of that shit compares to how happy I feel when I’m with you.” He confessed, putting himself out there.
