Spring Romance: NINE Happily Ever Afters

by Tessa Bailey

  Olive was rubbing at the ever-present tightness in her throat when her cell phone rang in her pocket. Just like every other time it had rung for the last two weeks, her heart shot up into her mouth. It wasn’t him, though. Thank God.

  Right?

  “Hey, Leanne,” she answered, twisting the straw of her drink. A line formed between her eyes when laughing male voices could be heard on the other end. “What’s up?”

  “We’re going out tonight,” Leanne squealed back. “You know that sophomore in our Intro to Psych class? I ran into her while getting takeout tacos and she invited me to hang out—she has a place off campus—and all these freaking senior guys are here. Athletes, Olive.”

  “What kind?”

  “The athletic kind.”

  Olive giggled into the back of her wrist. “Continue.”

  “They invited us out tonight. We’re going out. To bars.”

  “We are?”

  “Yes. I’m playing the buddy system card.”

  She’d only known Leanne since the first day of class, but they’d bonded over a love of Pavlov and made each other laugh. It had been a while since Olive had clicked with another girl who hadn’t known her as a YouTube personality first and Olive second. It was refreshing and comfortable and Olive didn’t want Leanne going out with near-strangers alone, whether they went to Stony Brook or not. Especially since they were both lacking in the adult party experience department. Just the idea of dressing up and making small talk exhausted her, though. Not to mention, going out with boys…just the idea of it made her feel unfaithful to Rory. Which was ridiculous. And stupid.

  Nonetheless, Olive’s knee jiggled under the window bar as she tried to come up with an excuse to not go. She was disappointing herself, but so be it. Two weeks hadn’t been long enough to get the green-eyed lifeguard out of her head and—

  A motorcycle rumbled to a stop at the light, across the street from the coffee shop. The rider’s fingers stretched on the handlebars in a way she recognized, along with the tense shoulders, the rangy build. No, it couldn’t be him. Could it?

  He took off the helmet and shoved a hand through his hair, making some adjustment to the face shield before replacing the protective gear on his head.

  Olive almost dropped the phone. It was him.

  Without realizing it, she’d slid off her stool and hidden her body partially behind a pillar. The hair on her skin stood straight up, her pulse in a permanent spike. How dare he look even more gorgeous and masculine than she remembered? She’d never seen him on the bike before and something about the scene excited Olive despite her best efforts. Her palms started to sweat and she dragged her free one down the leg of her shorts, his voice drifting into her head from out of nowhere.

  Been dreaming about those legs snapping together around my hips. Just like that.

  What would it be like to ride behind him on that bike?

  “Olive?”

  Leanne’s prompt brought her back to the present. “Oh I’m, yeah. I’m here.”

  As if he’d heard her voice, Rory’s head whipped in direction, but Olive drew back behind the pillar just in time, attempting to draw in a calming measure of oxygen through her nose.

  “What is going on?” Leanne asked. “Are you okay?”

  I don’t know.

  But as the engine of Rory’s motorcycle revved, the purr moving farther and farther into the distance, Olive got good and irritated. Look at me. Hiding from a guy. Avoiding the beach. Crying at Allstate commercials. Rory Prince should be changing his routine to avoid her. She’d opened herself up to him and he’d rejected the offering. That didn’t mean she should mope around and forget why she moved to Long Beach. This was the summer she embraced new beginnings and prepared to start her college career. Leanne and her other classmates were living their lives and there was no reason she shouldn’t do the same.

  “Leanne,” Olive said, her spine snapped straight. “What time are we going out tonight?”

  * * *

  Wow. Underage drinking wasn’t even a challenge. Were the police aware of this?

  A senior lacrosse player named Zed passed Olive a foaming second beer in as many bars and she thanked him, saluting as he watched and taking a small sip. He put up his arms in exaggerated victory and she made herself laugh through the bitter taste.

  Leanne nudged her in the ribs as Zed joined a rowdy conversation with the four other senior guys and girls along for the night. “He likes you.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Olive assessed Zed, powerless to do anything but compare his Captain America good looks to Rory’s villainous ones—and annoyingly preferring the latter. “Cool. Want to share this beer with me?”

  “That’s all you have to say?” Leanne rolled her eyes and took the beer, drinking deeply. “God, that’s gross.”

  “I know. I wish he’d stop buying them for me.”

  “Because you’re not interested in him? Or the beer?”

  Both. Instead of voicing that opinion out loud, however, she forced herself to remember her resolve from earlier that day. She had to stop looking for Rory Prince around every corner and start enjoying herself. Zed was a decent sort, if a little boisterous. They’d started on one end of West Beech Street, grabbing food truck empanadas and piling into KJ’s Saloon. After that, they’d taken their beer buzz to the boardwalk, Olive and Leanne hanging back and watching the guys’ antics. Zed had started a bench hopping competition between the guys that had earned them exasperated looks from passersby. Olive could relate, finding Zed a tad on the immature side. Although, maybe she wasn’t in the best frame of mind for exploring new horizons and she should reserve judgment.

  Leanne leaned in and tapped her arm. “You’re thinking about the guy from the milkshake shop, aren’t you?” Olive’s surprise turned Leanne’s features smug. “The guy who asked for your numbah.”

  She started to deny the claim but gave in almost immediately. “How do you know? I purposely haven’t said a word about him.”

  “Are you forgetting we’re psych majors? Not mentioning him was the dead giveaway.”

  “Bravo.” Olive nodded, impressed. “You might as well skip right to graduation.”

  Leanne considered. “But then I’d miss gross beer and dick jokes.”

  “You’re not into these dudes, either, are you?”

  “God no. And I had such high hopes.” She sighed. “Thanks a lot, Hollywood.”

  They laughed so loud the group of seniors sent them suspicious looks. “Do we just leave? What is the protocol here?”

  Two hands slapped down on their table. “Drink up, ladies. We’re heading to the next place.” Leanne handed Zed the beer and they watched as he made quick work of the remaining golden liquid, before plunking it onto the table. “Are you not entertained, freshman?”

  Olive tried not to groan as they followed the noisy group from the bar. She and Leanne walked arm in arm on the boardwalk, pointing out places they wanted to try next time—preferably alone. The guys resumed their bench hopping competition and even though they were twice as drunk and ungainly this time, Olive decided she was having a good time. So two nerds hadn’t meshed well with some senior jocks. So what? It wasn’t exactly surprising.

  Plus, the awkwardness of the night had allowed her to bond with Leanne. Having been homeschooled, Olive hadn’t grown up with a lot of close friends. Mostly just acquaintances from the neighborhood and church. Her mutual interests with Leanne made it easy to open up, though, and as they walked and Leanne shared details about her upbringing, Olive found herself doing the same, even confiding how YouTube had divided her family. Olive knew talking about it would help. Hello psychology. She just wondered when the memories would loosen their grip on the present. Tonight was about relaxing. A new start. So she set aside the past and tried to enjoy.

  The wind blew in off the Atlantic and Olive closed her eyes as it rushed over her bare shoulders and legs, lifting the fall of blonde hair off her neck. A new calm encompassed her in a wave as they w
aded through a crowd of outdoor smokers into a new bar—and that’s where her calm shattered into a thousand pieces. Because there was Rory behind the bar, pulling a pint of beer from a white-handled tap. Just like earlier when she’d seen him through the coffee shop window, his head turned in her direction like she’d called his name.

  They locked eyes and she sucked in a breath, no way to brace for the impact of having the man’s attention on her again. But it didn’t take any time at all for that attention to drift to Zed who’d thrown an arm around her shoulders to guide her through the crowd…

  Chapter Eight

  One second he’d been in the zone. The rhythm bartenders fall into on a busy night like tonight. Pour drink, take cash, ring it up, drop off the change, move on to the next customer. All while clearing empty glasses, getting them washed and ready to use again. Fast, fast, fast. No time to notice anything but the immediate mob of thirsty patrons crowding the bar. On top of his usual bartending routine, he noticed new things now.

  Over the last couple of weeks, ordering supplies had been on Rory’s shoulders, so he noticed when the foam heads on his Sam Adams pours started to get smaller and made a notation to order another keg tomorrow from the supplier. The ice machine had started to hum louder, so he scheduled the repair man. He sent the staff on their breaks and took phone calls for larger groups that wanted reserved seating. Having more weight on his shoulders was nice. Not only did it seem to motivate him, increase his focus…these new things helped distract him from the utter fucking agony of not being with Olive Cunningham for fourteen days.

  Nothing looked the same anymore. The world had changed now that he knew she lived inside of it, the knowledge of her existence carved into every cell of his being.

  And so he felt Olive the moment she crossed the threshold of the Castle Gate. Felt a twist in his gut, causing his rhythm to hitch.

  Jesus. Christ.

  She looked incredible, all drowsy smiles and a silk tank top tucked into her white mini skirt. Her glasses sat perched on her nose, making her adorable on top of sexy. Every man repositioned themselves to watch her enter. As if that didn’t wreak immediate havoc on his sanity, some guy put an arm around her—and Rory saw fucking stars. Bright, blinding, sharp-cornered pings of torture in his direct vision, as if his brain was trying to block out the offensive sight in the name of self-preservation.

  Beer coasted down over his knuckles and he dropped the glass onto the copper drain with a loud rattle that was immediately absorbed by the pumping music. People waved money in his face and shouted drink orders, but he couldn’t hear any of it. He could only watch in horror as some sweaty, Ralph Lauren polo shirt-wearing asshole leaned down and said something way too close to Olive’s face.

  Rory growled, his right hand gripping the bar so tight, the wood grains made impressions on his palm. Was that her boyfriend? Did she have a boyfriend?

  “Hey.” Jamie came up beside Rory and handed him a towel. “You all right?”

  Olive’s face came into view again as she passed through the crowd and Rory made a choked sound, barely stopping himself from vaulting over the bar to drag her away from another man. He couldn’t even describe how she was looking at him? Half-indignant, half…apologetic? Rory didn’t like it. Was he just supposed to stand there and watch someone paw her? Jesus, he couldn’t do it. He’d lose his mind.

  “That’s Olive, isn’t it?” Jamie muttered. “Fuck, man.”

  “I have to go get her…” Rory muttered, lunging for the hatch that would let him out from behind the bar. Jamie blocked him, however, before he could reach it. Anyone else would have regretted that move, but Rory would rather lose his limbs than lay a finger on his middle brother, and Jamie knew it. “Get out of the way. He’s touching her.”

  “Listen to me, Rory. She’s not your property.” Jamie laid his hands on Rory’s shoulders. “You’re not even dating her.”

  Yet every second that passed was strangling him, making it harder and harder to breathe. “Olive…she’s…I’m not good enough for her,” he managed. “Neither is anyone else. Neither is that guy.”

  “Not your call.”

  “Move, Jamie.”

  “Uh-uh.”

  There was a shout from somewhere deep in the crowded bar. And Rory’s world started to move in slow motion. The customers closest to the bar turned to face the commotion and there was a break in the mass of bodies. The guy who’d had his arm around Olive was now facing off with a Castle Gate regular Rory recognized. Polo Shirt shoved the regular and shouted something Rory couldn’t hear over the music, but it made the regular shove him back. And then the fists started flying.

  “Olive,” Rory breathed, rattling the shelves of bottles as he dodged Jamie, attempting to reach her before one of those fists came within two feet of her. Before he could lift the hatch, though, he could only watch in horror as Polo Shirt swung on the regular, got blocked and stumbled backwards, running into Olive hard and sending her stumbling. She went down, knocking her head on the side of a table as she went—and a bomb detonated inside Rory.

  He was only vaguely aware that his angry bellow brought the bar—and the fight—to a standstill, because he could only see her. The way she grimaced and pressed a hand to her head. Hurt. She’s hurt.

  This time, he didn’t bother using the fucking hatch. He launched himself over the bar, upsetting bottles and spilling drinks, red bleeding into the edges of his vision. People darted out of his way as he stalked toward the man who’d knocked Olive over. His fists were two rocks, shaking at his sides, lifting, ready to do some serious damage and God, it was going to feel so good. He might have cleaned this fucker’s clock just for walking in with Olive. For thinking he could breathe the same air as her. You made some mistakes tonight, asshole. Huge ones.

  Rory didn’t know what made him glance down at Olive where she sat on the floor, being comforted by her friend, but her expression caused a pause in his stride.

  Her eyes were wide, her hands curled up under her chin. She looked…scared.

  What did she have to be scared about? He was here. He was going to take care of everything. Take care of the idiot who’d put her in a position where she could get hurt. Rory tried to tell her that without words, but she only shook her head, fear becoming more prominent on her beautiful, but paling, face.

  Olive’s friend tried to block her view of Rory. And that’s when Rory realized Olive was scared…of him. She was scared of him.

  His heart plummeted to his boots so rapidly, he wondered how he remained standing. The rage drained in one fell swoop and all that remained was denial. Shame. He’d felt that combination before but never with enough force to knock the wind out of his lungs.

  “Sunbeam,” he mouthed, halting his progress in the direction of Polo Shirt. He forced his fists to unfold and held up both hands, approaching her slowly. “I’m sorry. I’m not going to do nothin’,” he rasped, forgetting to phrase his words the right way. “Look, baby.”

  She sniffed hard and nodded.

  Rory approached her slowly, swallowing a lump when her friend seemed reluctant to let him touch her. But Olive patted her friend’s hand, never breaking eye contact once as he crouched down and replaced the glasses that had been knocked off her face. Then he scooped her up and cradled her against his chest. Bliss cascaded downward from the top of his head, traveling to his feet as he carried Olive back through the silent crowd toward the bar. Andrew passed him with a shocked expression on the way, finally shaking himself and using his authority to toss out the would-be brawlers and restore order.

  Christ, it felt so good to hold her. To have her close. His need to punish the ones who’d put her in harm’s way was almost squashed until he noticed the bleeding cut at her hairline. His footsteps faltered on the way into the back office. “Jamie,” he said thickly. “I need the first-aid kit.”

  Rory barely registered his middle’s brother’s bewilderment before he and Olive were inside the dark office. After setting her carefully d
own on the edge of the desk, he used his elbow to flip on the light switch—and with Olive’s beauty illuminated, he could only stare, his tongue weighted and useless in his mouth.

  “You’re so fucking pretty.”

  She gasped and sat up straighter, her chin wobbling. “Oh…shut up.”

  How many times could his heart hit the deck in one night? “Shut up?”

  “That’s right. Don’t bring your romantic lines around here. I’m not buying them.”

  “I’m not being romantic.” Rory stepped closer, every cell in his body buzzing louder with every inch he traveled in her proximity. “I’m telling you what I see.”

  “Well, I haven’t seen you in two weeks.” She crossed her arms over her middle, but not before he saw her shudder. “I mean it, Rory. Don’t act like you missed me when you could stay away so easily. Actually, I-I kind of hate you right now.”

  Feeling like he’d been sucker punched in the gut, he gripped the desk on either side of her thighs and leaned in as close as she would allow, smelling the air above her collarbone. “Easily?” He lifted his head and met her eyes. “You stayed late yesterday morning after class and missed your bus back to Long Beach. The one I follow to make sure it arrives safely?” He shook his head. “I was two seconds from heading into the Burnbaum building and finding you. You never stay late.”

  Her expression slowly cleared of frustration, making way for disbelief. “You’ve been following me?”

  “Only when you travel to Stony Brook,” he said, bringing their lips an inch apart, letting his thumbs graze the outside of her thighs. “I get nervous when you leave town.”

  “I knew it. I felt you,” she whispered, eyelids fluttering. “Don’t you dare kiss me, Rory Prince. I’m really mad.”