by Emilia Finn
“Sorry,” Olivia pants. She fucking pants for me, and I swear, looks down at my crotch for just a second. “Um…”
“William?” Lindsi whips out. “Do you actively try to stalk and startle my daughter, or is it pure coincidence that you’re always around?”
“It’s like, eighty–twenty,” I grin. “Eighty percent stalk, twenty percent dumb luck.” I look to Olivia. “Hey. You look pretty today.”
She blows out an explosive breath and turns to her mother. “I’m heading out to grab some lunch. I’ll be back later.”
“Not coming to the kitchen? You know they’ll have made something good in there.”
“No.” Olivia presses a hand to her stomach and turns paler the longer I stare. “I don’t feel great, so I’m gonna go home and rest for a minute. I’ll be back for the three o’clock class, then I’m done for the day.” She looks to me. “Then I have a date.”
“Lucky guy.” I smile and savor the way her eyes track to my lips. “Maybe we could try the date thing sometime. Is there a waitlist I could put my name on, or…?”
“No.” Olivia brushes past me with a huff of exasperation and a dignified toss of her hair that makes me think of Giselle and her royal ways. She swings into the locker room just a few feet away from where I stand, and a minute later, she comes out again with a bag and keys in her hands.
I probably should look away. I really need to find my game face when it comes to her, but still, I watch her walk, and press a hand to my chest like her existence alone makes my blood flow in the opposite direction.
“What are your intentions, William Quinn?”
I lift a brow, and look back to the woman who looks eerily like Olivia, only twenty years older. It’s kind of tragic that if Olivia didn’t exist, but I met Lindsi, I wouldn’t be able to look away from her without a little extra effort on my part. “My intentions?”
“Mm. My daughter is pretty cruisy. She reads books, she works hard, she gets dinner with me or her brother five nights out of seven. She’s a DIY kinda girl, so she has all of these cool craft projects in her apartment, and one time when she was feeling extra frisky, she started writing her own book.”
“She wrote a book?”
Lindsi shakes her head. “She started, but like I said, she’s cruisy. It wasn’t working for her, so she tossed it in a drawer and walked away. My daughter is smart, Will, she’ll call bullshit without a second of hesitation, but she’ll do it in a really kind way so you have no clue you’ve been called out. She babysits any kid that needs it, and she does it for free, even if she already had plans. She’s searching for her higher purpose, because maybe she loves working here, and she especially loves teaching women how to look after themselves, but still, she’s searching for something more.”
“I guess I can relate in some ways.”
“Right,” she agrees. “Except you’re single, unattached, have one living relative – whom I adore, by the way – but you have no history in this town, nor do you have a reason to stay once you get bored. You like what you see when you look at my daughter, and you don’t much care if people like you; hence, kissing Livi, and still coming back to this gym once everyone knew about it.”
“I’m not afraid of a few overprotective family members,” I tell her. “I was one of those too. I have a sister, which means I’m not even mad at Ben for being a dick.”
“You’ve been besotted with Olivia since before you knew her, William. Which means you want her body, and nothing more. That doesn’t sit well with me or anyone else that loves her.”
It’s like we’re dueling – or, since we’re in a fight gym, sparring might be the appropriate metaphor.
“Maybe I like her body, Mrs. Franks. Maybe that’s what caught my attention back when we first met, but I know her better than people think. Olivia’s personality takes three-point-two seconds to shine through. She shuts me down, but she does it in a way I have no clue I’ve been shit on until after the fact. She’s a badass in those classes you teach, which means she’s tough and smart. She started writing a book, which means she’s adventurous and not afraid to fail. She was raised under the rule of big-brother-Ben and that cop husband of yours that we won’t even talk about, because he gets off on arresting me, which means she knows how to be a diva when it suits her. She knows how to wear heels and fits in at a dance club, just as seamlessly as she knows how to look good in yoga pants and run a class. And every single time I hit on her, she shows no fear in telling me to screw off.”
“So if she’s telling you to screw off, then perhaps you should listen, and leave her alone.”
“Perhaps,” I concede. “But there are other factors in play. So if you don’t mind, maybe you could trust her to have her own shit under control. She’s a grown woman, and she was raised by a man-killer.”
I smile when Lindsi’s brows wing up high. “I say that with love, Mrs. Franks. I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it. And honestly, I love that you had those cajones when you needed them. In a sick way, you and I have something totally gruesome and horrible in common.”
“Yeah,” she places a hand on her popped hip. “We do. We’ve both killed someone. That’s not something I’m proud of, so why are you?”
“Didn’t say I was. Just that we had it in common.”
“What makes you think I’m going to agree to my daughter dating a killer, Will? I know everyone gives Brenten Pierce shit because he’s not quite as outgoing or sporty as the men we’re so accustomed to around here, but that doesn’t mean he’s not good for her. It doesn’t mean that he’s not the safe option.”
“Your first husband, Mrs. Franks… what was he like? What was his job?”
She swallows, and lets her eyes swing between mine.
Check. Fucking. Mate.
“He was a college professor,” she admits hesitantly. “He was quiet, unassuming,” then she clears her throat, “abusive behind closed doors.”
I nod and take a step back. “The quiet guys aren’t always the better guys. And the smaller guy isn’t always the safest option. Sometimes, the admin guy with narrow shoulders and fidgety eyes is the true monster, so please don’t write me off just because I’m big. If you’ll excuse me.” I tip my chin, and leave the woman standing in the hallway with something to think about, then I move through the gym and into the sunlit parking lot outside.
Olivia says she has a date tonight… but last night, she gave me her all.
Either tonight is purely about appearances and how she feels guilty – thus, a pot roast and red wine – or tonight will be about payback, a statement, and fucking a scrawny prick just so she can say she’s with him.
The first, I’ll tolerate if it makes her feel better and eases the guilt that sits in her heart because, for the first time in her life, she broke the rules. But the second; unacceptable. I’ll be dead before she gives herself to another man to spite me.
I grab the keys from my pocket and slide into my truck without so much as a goodbye for Jamie, who’s training me today, or Evie, who said she wanted to spar to see how I do under pressure.
Good thing I’m not looking to become a pro fighter.
Pulling out of the parking lot in shorts, sneakers, and a shirt that already has a sheen of sweat caught between the fabric and my skin, I amble onto the road and head in the direction I may or may not have stalked my way to gathering information on.
This town is so small that it’s almost possible to know where everyone lives, even for a new guy like me. There are exceptions to the rule, of course. Separate high schools, the affluent side of town versus the… not. There are cliques between the administrative folks, and the fighters, the cops, and the dentists. Everyone has their own little corner, but for the most part, everyone has heard of everyone, and with that, they tend to know where everyone lives.
There are only so many multi-story apartment complexes in this town, and since I live in one, and I know Mac and his leggy dancer live in another, it’s easy for me to deduce that Olivia
lives in a third, over by the police station.
Plus, I asked Evie.
I head in the direction of the light brown apartment building made of brick, overgrowing with a type of climbing vine – ivy, perhaps – and pulling into the parking lot out front, I slide out of my truck and cast a glance across the façade of the building.
Each apartment has a jutting balcony that spans maybe twenty feet long by six feet wide. Not enough space for a party, or even an outdoor seating space, but plenty of room for a single woman to hang her laundry, or sit outside at night and sip a beer while stargazing.
No one is on their balcony right now – it’s a building for middle-class folks, which means day jobs – but Olivia’s car is in the lot just a couple down from the slot I pulled into, so I close the truck door and pocket my keys, then I head inside and sigh at the cool air conditioning that makes it easier to breathe through the humidity in the air.
I make my way to the mailboxes and read names – Smith, Guest, Lewis, Grace. I don’t see any Conners, nor Franks. But it would be a rookie thought to expect her to be so naïve, so I scan the mailboxes until I find the one that doesn’t fit.
Phoebe Buffay is in 3B.
Sounds about right.
Shaking my head, and hoping Olivia doesn’t glance out the window and spot my truck, therefore locking me out before I get a chance to barge in, I make my way up one flight of stairs, then another, and another. I slow my walk when I reach the third floor, and pushing a hand into my pocket, I use the other to knock on 3B. I press the palm of my hand over the peephole and wait her out.
“Hello?” she calls through the door.
“Package,” I call back with as much bullshit in my voice I can muster. “Need you to sign.”
“Oh! Cool. It must be my—” She wrenches the door open with a smile, only to stop and growl when our eyes meet.
“Must be your what?” I ask. “What are you waiting for?”
“My swing.” She releases the door so it swings back and bounces off my shoulder as she crosses her small living space and walks away. “Leave, William. You can’t be here.”
I step into the apartment and close the door with a soft snick. Locking up, I add the chain – because it would be awkward if she already gave Brenten a key – then I follow her through her home and into the living room to find fabric, heavy-duty screws, and a power drill laid out on the floor.
“Er…” The screws are a half-inch thick and come with hoops on the end. “Whatcha doin’?”
“I’m making bread. What are you doing here?”
“I thought you weren’t feeling well?” I step into the messy space, and kneel down by the drill that comes with a cord rather than a battery pack. “Why’d you buy one with a cord?”
“Because I don’t use a drill often enough to have it on battery. Every time I’d need it, it wouldn’t be charged, and if I leave it on charge year-round, the battery would wear away and break. Thus, cord. Why are you here?”
“Because you’re pretty?” I shrug and sit back on my ass when Olivia bundles the heavy fabric in her arms and goes to stand. “Why’d you run out of the gym?”
“Because I have a life outside of that place, unlike most everyone else that goes there. I also have things to do, and only a couple hours to do it before I have to go back for the afternoon class. Bring that drill with you, please.”
“Um… sure.” I stand again, grab the green drill and the yard of extension cord, and, following her across the living room, I walk through an external door and step onto the balcony I saw from outside.
The view is… unexceptional. Parking lot, streetlamp, dumpster, and to fill out the cliché, a stray dog taking a piss against my tire. But if you look far enough into the distance, trees can be seen, a water tower, a phone tower built high on the hill that locals call The Lookout.
Olivia drops her bunched fabric on the hardwood floor without another word, and bustling back inside, she comes out again with a chair from the dining table, and the O-ring screws I was studying a moment ago. She places the O-rings just in the waistband of her pants, since she doesn’t have pockets, and setting the chair down, she spends a minute positioning it with consistent, minor tweaks so that the narrow feet don’t slip into the gaps between the timber.
“What are you doing, Olivia?”
“Working. And I really don’t want to talk about last night, so if you could just go to my kitchen, fill a cup with sugar, and then leave, that would be super.”
“Sugar?”
“Mm.” She reaches out and takes the drill, and without a single second of hesitation, begins drilling into one of the support beams holding the balcony above. “You’re here to borrow sugar,” she says loud enough to be heard over her structural destruction. “That’s the only reason you’re here, so if you could just get that and move along, that would be great.”
The chair wobbles while she works on pushing the thick pilot hole through the beam, so I step around behind her – never mind the fact I get a perfect view of her ass – and grabbing her hips, I hold on and keep her from falling to her death.
Falling off the chair would be bad. Falling off the chair and over the railing of the balcony would be worse. It’s my civic duty to hold on and keep her safe.
“I don’t need sugar,” I finally answer her. And I guess, since I lack all morals and respect for personal space, I bring my lips to her shoulder blade and nibble. “Unless, of course, your new nickname is Sugar. In which case, I could get on board.”
“Stop licking me,” she grunts out in monotone. “Stop coming near me. Stop talking to me, and staring at me, and making my stomach twist every time we’re in the same space.”
“Your stomach twists because you like me staring at you.” I slide my hand around her hipbone and tease the waistband of her pants with my fingertips. “And you don’t want me to go away. Not really…” And then I add, “Sugar.”
“Yesterday was a mistake.” She stops drilling for a moment, drops her hands, and looks to the ground to stretch her neck forward. After a minute, she looks up again and keeps going. “What we did was inappropriate—”
“Delicious.”
“Unacceptable.”
I grin. “Tight.”
“Absolutely unforgivable.”
“Repeatable. Please, God, let us repeat it over and over and over again.”
“I have a boyfriend, William. Dammit.” She pushes hard on the drill until the steel bit breaks through the timber and emerges out the other side. Pulling it out again, she lets her arm drop with a grunt and shakes her head. “It’s so easy for you to be carefree about all this. You’re single, you’re horny, and you don’t even try to hide your attraction to the general female population.”
“Just you, Olivia. My attraction is only for you.”
“I don’t have the same luxuries as you, William. I can’t be attracted to you, I can’t sleep with you, I can’t pine for you. I can’t do any of this, because if I do, there will be consequences.”
When she makes a move to climb down, I reaffirm my hands on her hips and help her step so it’s more of a glide down, than a step and thump. When she’s securely on her own two feet, I take the drill and set it on the chair. Then I go ahead and break a few more rules by pulling her in so our hips touch. Reaching up, I push hair out of her eyes.
“You say you can’t be attracted to me… but you are. You say you can’t sleep with me, but I’m saying that you managed just fucking fine last night. You’re not allowed to pine for me? Fine.” I bend my neck and press a gentle kiss to her plump lips. “You don’t have to pine. I’m right here.”
“William…”
“You were mine first, Olivia. And you can’t fucking deny it. Now, you’re so set on following the rules, that you’re blind to the fact you have free will. You can do whatever the fuck you want. You are a grown-ass woman, you’re not married, you have no children or responsibilities that rely on your stable relationship with Pierce.”
&nb
sp; “That’s what you think,” she whimpers. “I can’t do this. I just…” She drops her gaze and looks down between us. “I made a promise to a man, and unlike you, I take promises seriously. They’re not just words to me. They’re not fake platitudes or suggestions. Promises, to me, are sacred. Which means today, I’m dealing with the guilt for what I did last night – the guilt I feel for betraying Brenten – but worse, so much worse, is the guilt I feel for who I allowed myself to become.” She brings her gaze up and meets my eyes. “I broke a promise to myself… which means I’m disappointed in myself.”
When I say nothing – because what is there to say? – Olivia shakes her head and turns out of my hands to grab the fabric pooled on the timber deck. Searching through the pile, she finds the ends, bunched white rope, and lays the end on her chair. Then she climbs up again and works one of the O-rings through the pilot hole she just drilled.
“You can leave, William. We’ve already established that you have no reason to worry or be sorry for what we did. You’re just a guy who hooked up with a girl. Congratulations, job well done, and… whatever else one says after a one-night stand. You can go, and you don’t ever have to feel bad for what happened. I, on the other hand,” she pushes the long screw through the hole, and secures the nut on the other side. “I have to work through my own stuff, starting and ending with why I felt the need to cheat – on my boyfriend, and on myself. That’s a flaw that I need to work through, then I need to ask Brenten for his forgiveness, because he didn’t deserve that betrayal.”
“You understand Brenten is a fucking sissy, right? If he loved you, he would take care of you. if he wanted you the way you’re trying to convince me you want him, there’s no chance in hell you’d, one, be able to kiss a guy at a club when Pierce was just thirty feet away, and two, fuck that same guy and get away without him realizing. Add in the fact that I’m here again, in your fucking apartment, and he’s none the wiser – despite the fact I didn’t hide coming in here – tells me your man thinks of you as a pretty ornament and nothing more.”