I put on red lipstick and added a smidge of powder to my nose. Not only was I sporting full-on evening makeup, but I’d even taken the time to put curls in my stick-straight hair. And the best thing—it was an unusually chilly night, which meant it was okay to pair my black dress with a fuzzy black cardigan, tights, and boots.
Because everyone knows if it’s under seventy, sweaters and boots are acceptable, right?
I turned off the bathroom light and couldn’t believe I was finally going to be meeting Mr. Wrong Number. I felt like I was going to puke. I was so nervous and excited, and I had to keep reminding myself that serious concerns existed about the dude.
He’d ghosted me multiple times, so he probably had weird things going on in his personal life like buried bodies, dolls made out of human hair, and a plethora of hidden wives. Hell, I was pretty convinced he would for sure ghost me tonight. That was obviously his thing.
I reminded myself of that as butterflies destroyed my stomach on the walk to the coffee shop. He wasn’t going to show, so no reason to be nervous. I took a deep breath when I got there, grabbed the handle, and opened the door.
I’d barely taken a step inside when I heard from behind me in a deep voice, “Misdial?”
I swallowed, and things went movie slo-mo as I turned around, the world turning with me as I looked to see my Wrong Number. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the guy standing there was my height, with a bushy beard and a big smile. He looked like he was ready for a frat-boy golf outing as he grinned at me.
“Wrong Number?”
He nodded and smiled and then we shared an awkward half hug. He said, “I grabbed us a table by the window.”
“Oh, awesome.” I followed him and wasn’t disappointed, per se, because he was a handsome-enough guy. But I think I’d expected to feel some sort of awareness or familiarity with him, like a major connection, and it didn’t seem like that was happening.
I slid into his booth and we shared a nervous smile. I said, “I can’t believe we’re finally meeting.”
“Right?” He nodded and smiled.
“The whole thing is just so bizarre. I mean, you were there, so you know, but still.”
He said, “Right?”
Hmmm . . . two rights in one minute didn’t make a wrong, but three probably would.
“I texted and asked what you were wearing, and you said my mom’s wedding dress.” He gave a laugh and said, “The rest is history.”
“Yep. That’s how I remember it, too.”
“And remember that time you pissed off that guy about Hooters?”
“I do.” I waved to the waitress. “So, what is your name, Wrong Number? We can say it now, right?”
He smiled. “I guess we can. I’m Nick DeVry.”
I nodded; Wrong Number had an actual name. Nick. “I’m Olivia Marshall. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Two nervous smiles at one tiny table.
I cleared my throat. “So, what do you do, Nick?”
“I’m in finance. Snore, right?”
I smiled, irritated that the word finance instantly put the image of Colin in my head. “Good paying snore, though.”
“It is. And you . . . ?”
“I’m a writer.” Please don’t ask where I work.
The waitress came over and took my order, and then my phone buzzed. While Nick was ordering a piece of cake, I looked at the message.
Sara: So . . . ?
Me: Seems nice.
Sara: Uh-oh. Not a love connection? Sorry, kitten.
Me: Thanks.
I put my phone in the pocket of my sweater. “So what part of town do you live in, Nick? Did you grow up here? What’s your story?”
He leaned back and stroked his chin, or where I assumed his chin was under the brush. “Grew up in KC, and I live out in Millard.”
“So you’re a suburb guy.”
“That’s me.” He stopped stroking. “I’ve got hella street cred, though.”
“Oh, sure.”
His eyes twinkled. “Don’t make me prove it.”
I smiled. “Um, how would you be doing that . . . ?”
“Break dancing. Duh.”
“Um, I’m afraid I’m definitely going to have to make you prove it.”
And Nick, bless his heart, flashed me a grin, stood, and started moonwalking in the middle of the packed coffeehouse.
“I HAD A really great time talking to you, Olivia.”
“Same.”
We stopped in front of my building, and I was so ready to be done with the date. Nick was great, but in person we had none of the crackling electricity that’d existed in our texts. Like, not an ounce. Honestly, I couldn’t even imagine Nick thinking dirty thoughts, much less sending them in a text. Or teasing me. He was just . . . nice.
I swallowed and looked at his face—really looked. And he was definitely cute. I hated the stupid ick factor, because it had arrived, and all I felt in my stomach was ick for Nick.
So disappointing.
Dammit—NO. I stepped forward and put my mouth on his. A test kiss. Maybe we’d share a kiss for the record books and it’d change everything. I wasn’t above forcing things at this point—I needed a win.
Nick made a breathing whistle sound through his nose, and then he turned his head and just let go with his everything.
He kissed the shit out of me.
I didn’t know if he had a grotesquely oversized tongue or if he was just trying to see if he could fit the entire thing in my mouth, but kissing him messed with my breathing. There was so much happening in my mouth that I couldn’t get enough air. It was full of intended passion and an ample amount of saliva, but it just didn’t work.
And it felt like I might have collected a beard hair in my mouth.
I pulled back and smiled. “Thanks again for the coffee. Have a good night, Nick.”
Colin
Nick texted me after the date. She seemed nice and I think it went well.
Perfect.
I kept watching for Liv to text something to Wrong Number, but she was unusually quiet. I went upstairs to the gym and lifted, and when I got home, there was a message.
Miss Misdial: Thanks again for tonight—it was fun.
I wanted to keep it brief, so I responded with: Agreed.
Miss Misdial: About the kiss, by the way.
I read it twice, then read it again. The kiss? They kissed? Nick fucking kissed Olivia?
I texted: Yeah, let’s talk about the kiss.
I waited. I paced and guzzled water while I waited. Then I fired off a text to that motherfucker.
You KISSED her? Why the fuck did you kiss Olivia?
When my phone finally vibrated, it was both of them checking in at the same time.
Nick: She kissed me, dude—swear to God.
Olivia: It was a bad idea; let’s just forget I did it, okay?
I started to respond to Liv, but Nick texted again.
Nick: Why? What’d she say?
“Dammit.” I texted Olivia first, as Wrong Number.
Me: Do YOU want to forget it?
The second I hit send, Nick was texting again.
Nick: Because I don’t want to piss you off, but I actually thought she was really cool.
Me: NO. Off limits.
I barely hit send when Olivia responded.
Olivia: I do. I cherish our texting friendship and don’t want it to change.
Nick: Can we talk about this?
Dear God, I was about to lose my shit.
I sent Nick one last text: We’ll talk tomorrow, but she’s batshit crazy with a truckload of issues; you don’t want any of that. Trust me. I ordered your scotch, btw.
Olivia
As soon as Nick was out of sight, I went back outside and headed for the Old Market; I just didn’t feel like going home yet. Meeting Wrong Number had been my grand solution to all the meh that my life had become, but after that disappointing reveal, I really just needed comfort food.
Because the meh was bigger than ever.
Thankfully there wasn’t a line out the door when I got to Ted and Wally’s Ice Cream, which was usually the case after dark—it was a hot post-date spot. I walked up to the counter, pressed my nose against the glass, and wanted it all.
“Could I please get a chocolate malt?” It was a total cliché, but I just wanted to sad eat until I either puked or fell asleep with a chocolate mustache. I moved down the line, swiped my card, and took my malt from the smiley kid with huge gauges in his ears. “Thanks.”
I turned to exit the shop and almost ran—literally—into Glenda. I muttered something akin to ohmigodsorryexcuseme just before we both awkwardly looked at each other and quickly transitioned through the hey-I-know-you-wait-something-bad-happened-with-us-oh-this-is-uncomfortable steps.
“Hi, Olivia.” She was better than me at recovering. She smiled and said, “This is my husband, Ben. Ben, this is Olivia Marshall.”
I hadn’t even noticed the guy beside her. I tried for a smile and said, “Um, it’s nice to meet you.” I cleared my throat. “Good seeing you, Glenda.”
She looked so nice as she said, “You, too.”
I turned and started for the door, wanting to cry because—what the hell—I missed her. But just as I grabbed the handle I turned back around and said, “Hey, Glenda?”
She’d been talking to her husband, surely about me, but she lifted her head and said, “Yeah?”
I went back over to where she was standing in line and said, “I just want to apologize. I, um, I really like you and feel terrible for lying.” I knew the other ice cream customers were getting an earful, but I didn’t care. “I never meant to, it just . . . I wanted the job badly enough to let you misunderstand.”
Glenda gave me one of her super-nice, motherly smiles and said, “It’s okay, Olivia.”
“That’s really nice of you to say.” I swallowed. “I can’t imagine what you thought when you heard. I only told one person, but he was apparently the wrong person. Regardless, it was a terrible thing to do and I’m really sorry.”
“Oh. Um.” She cocked an eyebrow and said, “That person might’ve blabbed, but it was Andrea who told me.”
“Andrea?” I had no idea who she was talking about. Her husband had moved away from us and was pretending to peruse the homemade ice cream selections.
“Andrea Swirtz. My ex-intern?” She pushed up her glasses and said, “We saw her when we had lunch at Zio’s, remember?”
That girl? “How did she know?”
“She said that she overheard us talking about the column, and her ‘conscience’ compelled her to call me.” She rolled her eyes and said, “Apparently she went to high school with you. We all know how that goes.”
I didn’t remember any Andrea Swirtz, but I was going to look her up the second I got home. What a bitch.
“I need to get going, Olivia,” Glenda said, gesturing toward her husband, “but I have no hard feelings. Take this as a learning lesson and move on, okay?”
I wanted to cry again because she was being so nice. I nodded and managed to croak out something like sorryagainandhaveagoodnight before taking my malt and disappearing out into the night.
I walked a block and then sat down on a bench as it hit me, the awful truth of it all.
Holy shit.
Colin hadn’t told anyone.
I felt sick as I thought of his face when I’d been an absolute witch to him. Compared him to his dad—ugh. I pulled out my phone and texted him.
Me: Colin, I am SO sorry. I know it wasn’t you who told and I am SO sorry I was such a bitch, especially after Sex Night.
I stood and walked down another block before checking my phone.
Nothing.
I sent another text.
Me: I know you’re probably mad at me but please know that I greatly regret the way I treated you. You didn’t deserve it and I am the world’s biggest asshole.
I walked the rest of the way home, and when I got to the lobby I sent another message.
Me: Okay. So you’re ignoring me. I deserve it, but please forgive me. I know we’re dicks to each other all the time, but I went beyond our usual banter and I couldn’t be more sorry. If you want to come down and talk, my door will be unlocked and I’ll be guilt-eating ramen.
I hit send, but as soon as I got in the elevator, I pushed the button for Colin’s floor.
I had to make him listen.
I took a deep breath before knocking at his door. Please don’t let Jack be home, and please don’t let some woman be there. I was reaching into my skirt pocket to check my phone, when the door opened.
There he was.
“Hey.” His face showed nothing, all business as if I were at his door selling vacuum cleaners. He looked impatient, like he wanted me to hurry.
And so detached that it hurt to breathe.
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Your brother—”
I grabbed the front of his hoodie and dragged him out into the hallway. “I just need a second. Please?”
He pulled the door closed behind him and I felt something skip through my middle as his Adam’s apple bobbed around a swallow. I let go of his shirt but my hand immediately missed the solid breadth of his chest.
I raised my eyes from his throat and said, “Did you get my texts?”
His jaw flexed. “My phone’s charging in the office. What’s up?”
I swallowed. It was harder to say in person. “Listen, Colin. About the other day—”
“Forget it.” His jaw clenched again and he said, “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. I was wrong—”
“Forget it, Liv. We’ve covered that it was a mistake and—”
“Quit interrupting. I’m not talking about the sex, okay?”
Cue my brother, opening the door and looking back and forth between the two of us. “What’re you guys doing out here?”
Colin said, “Nothing,” as I said, “Talking.”
But God—had Jack heard me yelling about sex?
He raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Lemme guess. Livvie wants to move back in with us now that she’s jobless.”
“Screw you.” I was relieved he hadn’t heard, but his blasé attitude about my life pissed me off. I rolled my eyes and pleaded with emotionless Colin, “Please just read my texts.”
Colin
I watched her walk away, feeling gut punched. What had that been about?
“Dude, why don’t you stop looking at my sister’s ass?” Jack was giving me a weird look that I wasn’t in the mood for.
“Yeah. Okay.” I went back inside and he followed.
“What the hell would Livvie be texting you about?”
I feigned ignorance. “Who knows?”
“No, seriously. It makes no sense that Olivia would text you.”
I ignored him, went into the office, and unplugged my old phone from the charger. “Dunno.”
“Well, why don’t you check?” He stood in the doorway, scowling at me. “Then you’ll know, dipshit.”
I let my arm fall to my side. “I’m good, but thanks.”
“What the fuck?” He took a step into the office and said, “I’m good? The right answer is ‘I have no fucking idea why your little sister would ever be texting me. I better check because that’s weird.’ That would be a solid response.”
I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know what the fuck to even say.
“Is something going on with you two?”
I breathed in through my nose and apparently took too long to answer because Jack’s mouth dropped open. “My sister—are you kidding me?”
“Listen, Jack—”
“No, you listen.” He grabbed the phone from my hand—that was the fastest I’d ever seen the guy move—and looked down at the messages, holding out a stiff arm to keep me back. I wanted to tackle him and take back the phone, but I was screwed at this point.
Regardless of whatever Liv had just texted, it was all in his face. Jack knew.
His eyes moved over the screen before he said, “Gah!”
He dropped the phone like it’d burned him.
“Sex Night? What the fuck is that? Please tell me you didn’t sleep with Olivia.” He glared at me for a solid second before charging forward and pushing me. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He pushed me again, his face red as he spit out, “My sister?”
And then it was on. He pushed me again, then rushed forward and totally put his shoulder into it and laid me out. We both hit the wall before landing on the ground—fuck, my head—and he was muttering a whole lot of fuckery (disgusting son of a bitch taking advantage of Liv) as he tried to pin me down so he could hit me.
“Knock it off, Jack.” I grunted and got my legs under me, flipping so he wasn’t on top of me anymore, pinning him just to keep his fucking flailing limbs from knocking me the hell out.
“Will you fucking relax?” I hollered the words as I tried keeping him down, but he had a good fifty pounds on me. His knee connected with my gut, and I groaned and rolled over onto my back, giving him the total perfect angle to beat the shit out of me.
He glared down at me and pulled back his fist, and I just waited for him to hit me. Maybe the physical pain would relieve some of the guilt that’d been eating away at me since the night I’d kissed her. I braced myself, but instead of feeling his knuckles on my eye, Jack lowered his arm and panted, “What the hell, Beck?”
I shook my head. “I know, man.”
“You really aren’t going to fight back?” Jack looked both disappointed and disgusted as he waited for my answer, like he’d been looking forward to a fight. “You’re seriously going to let me hit you?”
I just shook my head again and said, “You should hit me.”
He swallowed and sat back on his heels. “So you and Olivia . . . ?”
I nodded, hating myself.
Jack touched the front of his tousled hair. “Dammit, Beck, I think you fucked up my hair.”
“I think your barber fucked up your hair.”
He smiled for a second but it didn’t last.
“So, what? Are you going to dump her?” He sounded jaded, because he knew me well enough to know relationships were not my thing. He’d been there for every single fling I’d ever had. “I mean, of course you are. Did you already?”
“No.” That made a bitter laugh rise in my throat as I remembered her telling me to leave. “Your sister beat me to it.”
He looked a little less angry. “No shit?”
I nodded again. “She dumped me the morning after.”
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. He ran a hand over his chin and climbed to his feet. He held out a hand for me and said, “Is that why you’ve been an asshole for the past week?”
I grabbed it and stood. “Have I?”
“You pulled out the entire kitchen faucet because of a drip.” He coughed out a laugh and added, “Like a total psychopath.”
I cleared my throat. “I like the new one, though.”
“Same.” Jack scratched his forehead and said, “So, like . . . what? You’re pissed because she was the one to end things instead of you?”
I sighed, looked at my best friend, and decided to stop lying. “I’m pissed because I kind of, I don’t know, I actually really like her. Maybe.”
He shook his head. “But . . . it’s Livvie.”
“I know.” We’d been a team as long as I’d known him, a team in agreement of the fact that Olivia was a little pain-in-the-ass nutjob. “I can’t believe it myself.”
“Good God.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Well, you better pick up the phone and read her goddamned messages, then. She’s really sorry about something and wants you to go talk to her.”
I leaned down and grabbed the phone with the freshly cracked screen, my eyes staying on Jack. “What are you saying—you’re cool with this?”
“Gross. Fuck. I don’t know.” He made a face like something smelled bad and said, “I know you’re a good guy, so if you really like her and don’t plan on screwing her over, I’m not going to end our friendship over this.”
I was honestly shocked to hear that.
“But I’m gonna need a brain scrub after what I read. Like, the sight of you two together is probably going to make me projectile vomit. Take this as a warning.”
That made me laugh, which made him laugh, too.
“Noted,” I said, feeling so damned relieved that I kind of wanted to hug Jack.
“Vomit fucking everywhere.” He walked out to the living room but kept talking. “A bloodbath, only it’s puke instead of blood.”
“Got it.”
“The Exorcist level of split pea ralphing.”
“It’s puke.” I followed him out of the office and said, “I get it.”
“Did you ever see that scene in Carrie, with the bucket of pig’s blood? It’ll be like that, only instead of pig’s blood—”
“Holy shit, Jack,” I said, laughing. “Will you shut up about the puke already?”
Olivia
My heart was in my throat when I heard the knock. I’d never been intimidated by Colin, but for some reason I was super nervous to apologize.
Probably because he’d waited an hour to respond, and then all he’d texted was K.
I cleared my throat and pulled open the door.
And there he was. His face was serious, hard, unreadable, and so handsome that I was torn between fear and excitement. His hair was kind of a mess, though, and he had a couple red marks on his face.
I said, “Hey. Come on in.”
He walked right at me, making me shuffle backward. He let the door slam behind us as he towered just over me and said, “I’ve got good news and bad news.”
I opened my mouth—what were words?—and closed it again. I hadn’t expected him to say that.
Or to be right up in my personal space.
I managed, “Um. What’s the good news?”
His face softened a little and he gave me a smirk before he said, “I’ve decided to forgive you.”
“Oh. Good.” His smile went hot—and dirty—and made me nervous again but in a different way. I cleared my throat and asked, “Well, what’s the bad news?”
His smile slipped and his blue eyes moved all over my face before he said, “Your brother knows about us.”
“What? Oh, my God!” My mouth dropped open and I couldn’t stop it. “How? How do you know? What did he say?”
He turned away from me and went into my kitchen. “So what’d you do tonight, Marshall? You look nice.”
What?
“Um, thank you. Went on a date.” I stared at his back and begged, “For the love of God, tell me about my brother.”
He grabbed two beers from the fridge and passed one to me, giving me a half smile. “Relax. Tell me about your date first.”
I took the beer but instead of responding, I rolled my eyes and left the kitchen.
“I’m going outside,” I said, going through the living room and out onto the dark deck, needing a little space for a split second. I had no idea what was happening, and I didn’t like it.
He didn’t seem fazed at all by Jack’s knowledge of what happened between us, which was bizarre. And not only that, but he was seemingly not upset with me at all over my bitchery.
It felt like he was messing with me. Like the old-school Colin of my childhood, the one who toyed with me but ultimately made me feel like shit.
I turned around and waited for him so my backside was resting against the railing, and when he came through the sliding door I said, “It was just a blind date.”
“And . . . ?” He dropped into my deck chair, stretching out his legs while opening his beer.
“And . . . nice guy but no chemistry.” I cracked open my own can and said, “Now tell me what the hell happened with Jack.”
“Well,” he said, looking at me like I was some sort of a rambunctious child, “after you dragged me out into the hallway, yelled at us and then just took off, your brother beat me to my phone and read your text messages.”
“Seriously?” I knew I’d texted the words Sex Night, so it wouldn’t have been hard for him to do the math. And Jack had always been an overprotective brother, so his reaction wasn’t a surprise, either. “Oh, my God, I am so sorry. What did you do? What did you say? Did you tell him it was just a onetime mistake?”
“Well, after we wrestled, because, yes, your brother wanted to kick my ass, we came to an agreement.”
I looked at his calm, cool, amused face, lightly illuminated by the downtown lights, and I didn’t know why he wasn’t freaking out. He and my brother had gotten into a fight about this and he thought it was funny? “What do you mean, an agreement?”
He stared straight at his beer when he said, “As long as I’m not trying to screw you over—his words—he’s kind of okay with this.”
“Wait, what?” I didn’t know what that meant. “He’s okay with what, exactly?”
“You and me.” He raised his eyes and was watching me really closely, while I tried my hardest to make my face absolutely unreadable.
Because inside I was absolutely freaking out. Like—what in the hell was happening? You and me? Did Colin want something with me, is that what that meant? There was a part of me that was excitedly jumping up and down at the thought of Colin wanting something with me.
He was funny, confident, beautiful, and downright masterful in the sack, but we’d never called “us” anything other than a onetime mistake. He was perfect and I was a shitshow. He was an Audi and I was a Corolla. Like, Colin and I made zero sense.
That couldn’t be what he meant.
I looked down at my can of beer, started wiggling the pop top, and said, “He’s okay with the fact that we accidentally slept together?”
“He’s okay with that.” He picked up his beer and raised it to his mouth. “And whatever we want to do now.”
“ ‘Whatever we want to do now’?” I stopped trying to hide my emotions and looked at Colin with every bit of the what the hell that was pinging through my mind. “What does that even mean?”
“It means,” he said, climbing out of the chair with a lazy, sexy smile on his lips, “that he’s going to be cool should we decide that maybe it wasn’t a mistake.”
I blinked and found myself at a total loss for words. I stumbled over “But, um, it was a mistake.”
He stepped so close that I had to look up at him. His voice was quiet and deep in the darkness when he murmured, “Was it?”
I swallowed and I could feel my heart beating in all ten of my fingertips. A motor revved somewhere down below, and I said, “I mean, I think—”
“Can you honestly tell me you haven’t lain in bed, replaying that night over and over in your mind, ever since it happened?” He lifted a hand, tucked my hair behind my ear, and said, “I’ve thought about it nonstop. I’ve become obsessed with the memory of the noises you made in the back of your throat and the way your face looked when you told me to show you my skills.”
I was melting, but I still had no idea if he was just talking about sex or something more. “Colin—”
“Why not follow this for a while?” His teasing slipped a little, and his voice was sweet when he said, “Where’s the harm in seeing where it goes?”
I was teetering, hovering this close to the edge. He had me hypnotized, mesmerized, at the thought of a full-on entanglement with him. The idea of Colin directing 100 percent of his attention in my direction was a little intoxicating and completely overwhelming.
But it was easy for him. Colin could “follow” this in a total no-harm/no-foul way because he didn’t have anything to lose. Colin Beck, mathematical genius with old money and a model’s good looks, could just shrug and walk away when he got bored.
I had a feeling, though, that if—no, when—he left, he’d have the power to destroy me.
“Doesn’t it seem like a bad idea to you?” I looked up at him, wondering why my voice was so breathy and lacking in conviction when I knew the words to be true. “We don’t even really get along when we’re not having sex.”
“Oh, come on, Marshall,” he said, his mouth lowering so it was just above mine. “We do, too.”
“Dammit,” I whispered just before his lips landed on mine and made me forget my common sense. His mouth was as hot as I remembered, as perfectly perfect, and it absolutely devoured mine.
Oh, Gawwwd.
Colin kissed me like he was the hero in an action movie and our world was about to end. He kissed me like I was his greatest obsession and he couldn’t believe he finally had me.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and did my best to return his favor, throwing my all into the kiss. His growl made me smile against his lips, which quickly turned into a whimper as he nipped at my bottom lip and picked me up.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” I said into his mouth as I wrapped my legs around him.
“Sure it doesn’t,” he said, just before he lowered his mouth and scraped his teeth over my neck. He took me inside and up the stairs to the loft, his grip tightening as the kissing kicked up to an even hotter level.
I swear to everything holy that Colin Beck’s intense kissing could bring a woman to orgasm.
When we got up to the loft, he set me down next to the bed. I could barely open my eyes—too, too heavy—but I saw his red-hot gaze and my pulse picked up.
“Lose the shirt, Beck,” I said, and his T-shirt was gone in a second. He pulled it over his head—all half naked and beautiful—and looked down at me, and I set both my hands on his warm chest.
Oh, holy Greek gods. It wasn’t just that he was chiseled and tan and had that delicious tattoo that started on his shoulder and wound down his ropy arm. Those things made him ridiculously hot, but it was the faint appendectomy scar and the dusting of hair leading from his navel down south that made him deathly sexy, because it was intimate.
Up close and personal in my bedroom.
Mine.
“Any way you can remove that dress but leave on the boots, honey?” He looked at me with heavy-lidded hot eyes, like I was the sexiest being he’d ever seen, which made me feel like the sexiest being on the planet. His deep voice rumbled out, “I love those boots.”
“Can you unzip me?” I turned and lifted my hair, giving him my back, happy that (a) I was wearing a dress with a perfect escape zipper, and (b) I was wearing one of my nicer undies and thigh-high tights.
Side note: I always wore thigh highs because I hated the sagging crotches that inevitably occurred with tights, but on the rare occasions I’d undressed in front of a male while wearing them, they made me feel like a damned seductress.
When I felt his breath on the back of my neck and his fingers started dragging down the zipper, I was shaking in anticipation. He barely touched the dress and it fell from my shoulders and pooled around my feet.
I gnawed on the inside of my cheek and turned around, but I shouldn’t have wasted that second on nerves. The intensity in his face as his eyes burned all over my body relieved any concern I had that I didn’t measure up.
“Damn, Marshall,” he whispered, saying it in a way that made me shiver. “You’re a fucking fantasy.”
I set my hands back on his chest, needing him closer, but as he started kissing me long and deep and sliding his hands all over my body, an uneasy feeling skittered down my spine.
Because he’d ignored what I’d said.
So had I. We were both so lusty for each other that we were “following” this thing whether we wanted to or not.
And it wasn’t that I didn’t want to.
It was that I couldn’t.
I could not do this.
Colin
I was losing her.
She was still kissing me back, but for some reason I could just tell when Olivia was freaking out. Her muscles were tighter, her hands were still, and she was just less present.
She was freaking out in that overactive brain of hers, slipping away from this.
From me.
I still didn’t know if it was because of that fuckwit Eli or someone else, but she was skittish. I hadn’t meant to be reverent and slow with her—I knew better—but I’d damn near collapsed when I saw her in stiletto boots, stockings, and black lace.
I’d felt like dropping to my knees and worshipping at the altar of Olivia’s gorgeousness, but for some reason that kind of slow attentiveness messed with Liv.
So I changed the kiss, going faster, rougher, and more urgent. Eating that luscious mouth like I was a starved beast.
And I was. I was a starved beast in that moment.
Instead of moving to the bed, where I wanted to spread her out and kiss every square inch of her, I fed her desperate kisses while divesting her of lace and leading her over to the loft’s half wall.
And thank you, God, she was coming back to me with a vengeance. She bit down hard on my bottom lip and I grunted and wondered when I’d become so in tune with Olivia. And not just in tune, but obsessed with her responses.
I pulled my mouth away and turned her around, wrapping her fingers around the railing that ran across the half wall before putting my hands right beside hers.
“Better?” I murmured into her ear, biting the soft skin on the side of her pretty neck while inhaling her scent and moving my body closer to hers.
“Yes,” she breathed, leaning down a little and pushing back against me, shattering my mind into a million pieces.
After that we both forgot to think as we went fucking wild together.
“COLIN, STOP COOKING and sit down.”
I turned away from the stove, and Olivia looked at me from her spot on the stool, eyebrows furrowed while she chewed a mouthful of pancakes. Her face had always been expressive. Even as a kid, I’d been able to tell by the chin raise when she was lying, by the crinkled eyebrows when she was confused and her mind was whirling a mile a minute, and by the eye roll if she was irritated.
Nothing about that had changed, but all of a sudden I found it charming. Her crinkled eyebrows as she waited for me to sit down so she could talk to me “about all of this” was kind of adorable.
“I’m not done.” I flipped over my spinach egg-white omelet with the spatula and said, “Gimme two more minutes and then you can talk.”
After the insane night together, I’d found myself wide-awake at five a.m. I lay there under hot-pink, threadbare sheets—they were horrible—for a solid twenty minutes before finally deciding to get up and make her breakfast. I knew she wouldn’t appreciate a romantic gesture like breakfast in bed, but if I made her a pile of pancakes in the kitchen when she woke up, surely she’d appreciate that.
I had to sneak to my place for the food (Jack wasn’t home, thank God) and then back up again a second time for pans and cooking utensils, but I’d managed to finish before she woke up.
The minute she’d walked into the kitchen, she’d blinked her wide eyes and said, “Listen, Colin, we need to talk about all of this. This is really sweet, but last night was a terrible idea and—”
“Are you kidding me right now?” I’d given her the head shake like she was ridiculous, and said, “I was starving because some sex fiend made me work up an appetite all night long. This is just food. Don’t read anything romantic into it, Miss Big Head.”
She’d done her whole fast-blink thing before I shoved a stack of pancakes into her hand, and said, “Eat first. Then talk.”
I don’t know how it’d happened, but just like that I had an entirely different viewpoint on “all of this.” We seemed like a terrible match, Olivia and I, but I’d woken up that morning thinking, Why not just go for the ride and enjoy it while it lasted? I’d been having one hell of a good time, and being with her was fun, so where was the problem in seeing where it could lead?
Maybe it was the relief of having Jack be okay with it. Knowing he was okay with us possibly dating made it seem like an actual possibility. And when I pictured it—us together—I didn’t hate how it looked.
I slid the omelet onto one of the two plates Livvie owned and carried it over to the island. Pulled up the other stool and said, “Okay. Now talk.”
Olivia
I looked across the island at Colin, and my mind went blank.
He was good at that, making me lose focus. I still had no idea how we’d ended up spending another night together. One minute I’d been saying it was a terrible idea, and the next I’d been waking up to the smell of his cologne on my pillow after a night of screamingly good sex.
“I think you’re overthinking this.” He set down his glass after taking a drink and said, “Haven’t you ever had a fun fling? A relationship that you know probably won’t lead to something concrete, but it’s a damned good time while it lasts?”
“No.” The thought of him having a fun fling with anyone made me insanely jealous, which pissed me off. I crossed my arms and said, “Are you talking, like, friends with benefits?”
“God, no. Your brother would actually kill me.” He cut off another piece of egg. “Friends with benefits is just platonic friendship with secret sex every once in a while that no one knows about.”
“And your fun fling thing is different how, exactly?” I was impressed by how cool and unaffected I sounded, when in reality I was freaking out and needed some space to work through all of this. Because I still couldn’t quite comprehend the idea that Colin wanted to have anything with me other than sex.
“For starters, it’s not a secret.” He slid his fork between his teeth, and my stomach dipped as I remembered his teeth scraping over the tattoo on my back. He chewed and swallowed before continuing. “It’s just like a regular relationship—I take you out, give you multiples, beg you to send pics—only we’re both in agreement that once it isn’t fun anymore, we walk away with no hard feelings.”
My throat was dry as I swallowed. How in the hell would that ever work? It’s not like we’d both find it “not fun anymore” at the same exact time, shake hands, and happily walk away. This was a recipe for an Olivia disaster.
But even as I knew that, the thought of more with Colin—going out to dinner and holding his hand and getting flirty sexts from him—was so damned intriguing that I was tempted. “That sounds preposterously simple, Colin.”
He tilted his head. “Scared, Livvie?”
“Of what?”
He just raised an eyebrow.
“Now who has the big head?”
I was torn between giggling hysterically and crying a little as I watched him put in his AirPods, fiddle with his running watch, and then leave the apartment like it was normal and he’d be returning later.
Had we really just decided to do the thing?
What the hell?
Five minutes later, as I was still freaking out, Colin texted me.
Colin: Three things: 1. Don’t freak out. 2. Send me a pic. 3. Can I take you to dinner tonight?
I smiled in spite of myself and texted: 1. I’m not 2. Perhaps later 3. Depends. Where are you going to take me?
His response was immediate. Name the place, Marshall.
I’d barely gone out at all since moving back, so I had no idea what a good dinner-date restaurant would be. I remembered Dana telling me that she and Will got a $150 gift card to Fleming’s and it didn’t even cover their dinner, so I shot for the moon.
Me: Fleming’s.
I expected him to balk or redirect me to the bar and grill down the block from our building, but he just responded with:
Oh, I see—it’s like that. I’ll pick you up at 6.
I laughed at his response and set my phone down on the counter. That seemed a little early for someone like Colin; he seemed like a dinner-at-eight kind of guy.
Just as I thought that, my phone buzzed again.
Colin: You still eat early, right?
I set my phone down again and gnawed on the inside of my lip. He remembered from when I lived with him that I ate early? Perhaps I’d underestimated him.
