“Nothing,” I whisper.
“Nothing?” I close my eyes at the challenge in his voice, knowing I should have just ignored the question altogether. “It doesn’t make you wish we were alone somewhere?”
“Why would I wish that?” I ask, hoping my voice sounds steadier than it feels.
“Because if we were, I’d slip my hand under your dress . . .” he pauses and drops his voice even lower. “Into your panties.”
“Who says I’m wearing any?” I ask in a breath.
“Are you not wearing panties, naughty Elle?” The smile in his voice makes a blush creep over my face.
“Maybe.”
“If I slip my hand under your dress and find that you’re not, I wouldn’t be able to resist. I’d have to pull the dress over your head and find out if you’re completely naked beneath it.”
“And what if I am?” I ask quietly. Why am I playing this game? Why, why, why am I entertaining this? Why am I enjoying it?
“You’d be in a lot of trouble,” he says with a rough growl that makes my heart skip.
“Oh yeah? What kind of trouble?” I tease.
“First I’d want to taste you,” he starts.
“No kissing on friend dates,” I taunt with a smile.
“I wouldn’t be kissing your mouth,” he says in a voice that makes my heart lurch, before he continues, “I’d take my time, kissing my way down your body until I reach your ankles, and then I’d move back up slowly, my tongue tracing the inside of your thighs . . . tasting every inch of you . . .” His words are a purr, and I’m panting at the vivid picture he’s painting for me as if I can feel his hot tongue on my sensitive skin. “I’ll savor you until you beg for my lips and mouth to fuck that—”
“Oliver!” I snap, a moan escaping my lips. I totally asked for that—I know I did—but hearing the actual words from him make me feel too hot, too bothered, too . . . much. I take a breath and manage to squeak out, “Don’t you have lives to save?”
“I’m on break,” he responds nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just said all those things to me. “I do eat lunch, you know.”
“You’re phone-sexing on your lunch break?” My eyes pop open and blink rapidly to adjust to the light in my studio.
He chuckles. “I’m skilled like that.”
“Okay . . . I’m going to let you go now so you can finish enjoying your lunch break.”
“You don’t have to. I have a raging hard-on right now, and I have to hide in this dark closet until I figure out what to do about it before I can go about my day.”
I sigh, sagging down to the seat behind me. Images of him flirting with all the nurses flash through my mind before I can stop them. “I’m sure there are many willing nurses . . . and hospital execs willing to help you out with that.”
Silence again, followed by a harsh exhale. “I wish you wouldn’t think so poorly of me.”
“I wish you wouldn’t have put those thoughts there to begin with, but that’s life, Bean.”
“I hate it when you call me Bean,” he whispers, his voice suddenly morphing into something deeper, something sadder.
“Why?” I whisper back, even though I’m completely alone.
“I have my reasons,” he says, before clearing his throat. “Anyway, the problem is gone, so no need to call for backup. Not that I would have.”
“Okay, well . . . have a good day,” I say, not knowing what else to say.
“You too.”
I put the phone down, and as I’m about to pick up a piece of broken glass to start on my sculpture, it vibrates again.
Next rule: no “Bean” on our friend date.
Okay.
No Chicken, either. Only Estelle and Oliver.
Winged creatures flutter inside me.
E & O
Thank u. It’s been a rough week. I needed that smile today.
When he says things like this, he makes me want to cry. I know his job is hard, and the fact that he wants to continue with pediatrics once he finishes his residency is something I can’t fathom. Seeing him looking so defeated the other day was so unlike him. And now this message? It breaks my heart.
::curtsies:: I’ll be here all day.
In your dress?
LOL. In my dress!
Neither of us responds after that and, as I continue to make my usual shattered, kaleidoscope heart, I smile. He’s the reason I started making these in the first place, even though Wyatt was the one who taught me how to perfect them so that the heart wouldn’t fall apart. I can’t help but wonder if that was a sign somehow, but I don’t let that idea hang around for too long. There’s no point in believing in destiny if you’re too stubborn to give in to it.
MY FRIEND DATE with Oliver ends up falling on a Saturday. We’ve only seen each other in passing since our last text message-slash-phone conversation, and I’ve mainly been focusing on painting the rooms with Micah and Dallas.
Oliver gave me three rules for our date: no short dresses, wear comfortable shoes, and no lipstick. I had to outright laugh at the last rule, and of course, I didn’t abide by it. I dressed in jeans, low black boots, and a frilly, white tank top with a dark green jacket over it in case it gets cold later. I left my hair down and straightened it, and put on my make-up—dark red lipstick included. As I looked in the mirror, I smiled at my reflection. Before I met Wyatt, I never wore lipstick. He was the one who suggested it, along with more grown-up clothing. I liked the change. He was older than me and more knowledgeable. He’d lived a fuller life, so any time he made a suggestion, I took it to heart.
Before Wyatt, I dressed however I wanted—short dresses, tight skirts, big heels, you name it. He slowly got me away from those things and into more, what he would call “adult clothes.” Mia thought I was an idiot. She said that, because we were only twenty-one, we could (and should) show off our assets.
“Especially you, with your dancer’s body,” she’d say.
I still wore Chucks and Doc Martens, and I got my nose pierced once. I just no longer walked around showing off too much leg or too much cleavage, and there was nothing wrong with that. I’m thankful for Wyatt and everything he gave me, but I decided I wouldn’t change who I was for anybody again—especially a man.
I stomp down the stairs and grab a water bottle, drinking it as I flitter around looking for a snack.
“You look nice,” Vic says as he opens the fridge.
I turn around and smile. “Thanks.”
“Going on a date this early?”
I look at the time, it’s ten, and Oliver should be here any minute now. And suddenly I start getting nervous. The whole reality of it slowly begins to sink in—Oliver will be picking me up for a friend date at my brother’s house—his best friend’s house. Clearly, we hadn’t thought this through as much as we should have. I’m twenty-five. I’m not a child anymore, but to Victor, this is the ultimate no-no. I know because I’ve heard it time and time again. I know it because as much as he loves Oliver, and even goes as far as introducing him as his brother whenever they’re together, he wouldn’t like the idea of him dating me.
“Not really a date,” I say. “I’m going out with Bean for a little while.”
Victor frowns as he searches my face but nods slowly. “You guys seem to be bonding over the hospital thing?” He poses it as a question. A very curious question. Too curious coming from my attorney brother. I give him a tight smile and nod in response. The doorbell rings before he gets a chance to say anything else, and I practically sprint toward it.
“See you later,” I call out over my shoulder as I grab my purse and open the door. I step outside without even looking up at Oliver, who’s standing so close, the smell of his cologne hits me like a wall. I need to lock the door before I acknowledge him though. We need to get far away from here before Victor comes out and says something that would make us forget about this friend thing, forever.
“In a rush?” Oliver says with a chuckle as I sort through the million keys on my ring
. My eyes snap to his dark jeans and trail up slowly to his narrow waist and to the burgundy polo clinging to his lean body. I glance at his face, flitting across the scruff that sort of hides his dimples, and the way his long hair brushes his high cheekbones. Those amazing green eyes are lit up in amusement. Fuck. He looks too good for a friend date. His eyes stay glued to my lips when I part them to respond, and he opens his mouth to say something at the same time, but before either of us can speak, the door opens and Victor peeks out.
“Huh. I thought you were kidding,” he says, looking at Oliver.
“About?” I ask.
“What’s up, man?” Oliver says at the same time, bumping his fist with Vic’s.
“She said she was going out with you, but she was acting like she was hiding something from me, so I assumed she was lying.”
My heart threatens to jump out of my chest, so I look away, focusing on the mountains in the distance.
“I’m not a child, Victor,” I snap, as Oliver makes his own response.
“Why would she be hiding something?” Oliver says, his voice full of confusion. “Are you hiding something from us, Elle?”
My head jerks up to glare at him. “Are we going somewhere, or are you guys going to start grilling me? This is beyond ridiculous.” I turn my glare to Vic, who laughs, shakes his head, and steps back inside the house.
“Have fun with Miss Grouchy Pants,” he shoots over his shoulder.
I flash him my middle finger, which makes him laugh harder, and I stomp down the steps and head to Oliver’s black Cadillac. I pull on the handle when I hear his footsteps approach, but the door remains locked. He stops beside me, and I see the keys in his hand, a thumb hovering over the unlock button.
“I’m not really into starting dates—friend or otherwise—on a bad foot,” he says, beckoning me to look at his handsome, serious face.
“I’m not really into starting friend dates by getting grilled by both my brother and the dater.”
His lips twitch. “The dater?”
“You know what I mean,” I mutter.
Oliver smiles, a full-on devastating event. “I don’t. I’d rather you clarify, so I don’t get any funny ideas.”
“Oliver.”
“Estelle.”
“You know the rules—no kissing, no touching, no funny business.”
“And you know mine. No short dresses, no lipstick . . . yet here you are wearing red lipstick. Red. Total date color, by the way.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, but fail. “Red is a date color?”
“On those lips it is.”
He holds my eyes for a moment—a really electrifying moment, where a current zips along my pulse—before he unlocks the car and reaches to open my door. I slip inside and wait for him to go around.
“Nice car,” I say when he gets in and revs it up.
“Thanks. It was a med school graduation present from my dad.”
I nod. “How is he?”
I only met his dad once, in passing, but have heard enough about him to know he’s still feeling the effects of the strokes he’d had.
“He’s . . . fine. Remarried. He seems happy, and his wife is nice, too. She stays on top of his health, so that’s good.”
“How are your mom and Sophie?”
He flashes me a quick smile before turning his attention to the road ahead. “They’re doing really well. Sophie’s pregnant again, and Sander is getting bigger by the minute. Mom’s good too, she’s so over the moon with them, that she cut back on work and stays home to help Soph.”
“Wow. I’m impressed. I guess people do change.”
“You’d be surprised at how much,” he says in a low voice that resonates deliciously through me.
“So,” I say, slapping my hands over my thighs. “Where are we going?”
“First, breakfast. Then a vineyard.”
I turn my face to look at him. “You’re trying to get me drunk on a friend date?”
I can tell he’s trying really hard not to smile, or laugh. “You wore red lipstick on this friend date.”
I laugh, sigh, and groan all in a matter of three seconds. “You’re impossible.”
“You make me this way.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” I say, looking out the window. “Does this car have Bluetooth?”
Oliver chuckles. “Yes, Princess Estelle, is it up to par with your inspection?”
I stop moving my hand over the dash and set it back on my lap, feeling a blush creep into my face.
“I liked your old car better,” I say.
Oliver’s eyebrows hike up and he turns to gape at me. “You like my beat-up Maxima better than this?”
I shrug. “It was more cozy. This reminds me of the Batmobile, and there’s nothing wrong with the Batmobile, but I like cozy.”
He shakes his head and mutters something under his breath, but starts to look for my phone to hook up to Bluetooth. He already knows it’s because I want to play my own music—I don’t even have to explain. I used to bring my own CD whenever I was in the car with him. Oliver listens to two things: heavy rock and rap, and while I’m okay with both, I prefer the classics. The Steve Miller Band hasn’t even gotten to the hook before they’re interrupted by a call from Mia.
Oliver looks at me with a question in his eyes.
“If you don’t mind,” I say. He presses the button, and before I say hello, Mia’s frantic voice comes through.
“What underwear are you wearing?” she asks.
My face goes hot for the second time this morning. From the corner of my eye, I see Oliver bite down on his lip.
“What?” I ask. “Mia, you’re on speaker phone!”
“I don’t care. This is an emergency. Do you not hear the shrill tone in my voice? What are you wearing under your clothes?”
My eyes snap to the side of Oliver’s face, then out the front window, and finally, I pull my shirt slightly and look down, because I completely forgot what underwear I have on.
“Can you disconnect the phone?” I say to Oliver, who shakes his head in refusal. “Please. This is like . . . monumentally embarrassing.”
“Just answer,” he whispers.
“Who’s that?” Mia asks.
“Oliver. We’re in his car, and you’re on the fucking Bluetooth.”
She laughs. “Oh my God! I am so sorry, Bean!”
“What?” I shout. “He’s not the one being harassed!”
“Oh, but now he is. So tell me—underwear?”
“White lace bra and matching boy shorts,” I say, almost through my teeth, not missing the way Oliver’s eyes snap to me with an approving look. I want to slap him for it, but I know nothing good would come of that, so I just cross my arms over my chest like a petulant child.
“Well, you know that favor you owe me,” she begins. “The male model can only come at noon. Will you be available at that time?”
I look back at Oliver, who shakes his head. “Can we do it later? Like at. . . . six?” I say, asking him more than her.
“Elle! This is huge. I’ll have to make more calls, and nobody can do quick shoots because they’re all in LA for some sort of fashion thing!”
I huff out a breath and close my eyes, leaning on the headrest. “Let me call you back.”
“Please let me know within the hour. Please.”
“I will.”
Oliver disconnects the call as we park in front of a little shack by the water.
“What was that about?” he asks, turning the car off and turning to face me.
“She has this photo shoot that has gone wrong in every way imaginable, and she asked me to do it for her, but apparently can’t find a guy to shoot with me on such short notice.”
“Do you want to do it? I mean, we can eat and go there instead . . .”
I sigh, looking out the window. “I know this isn’t what you had planned for our friend date.”
“But you want to be there for your frien
d. I get it, Elle. We can go over there after.”
I turn back to him with a smile. “Thank you.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
We head inside and sit down in the balcony, where we’re steps away from the water. There is a group of surfers out there tending their boards, while others are in the water waiting for better waves.
“This okay?” Oliver asks, nodding to the surfers.
I smile. “It’s perfect.”
“Okay. I wasn’t sure.” Realization dawns on me when his eyes move back toward the beach full of surfers.
“We can talk about it, you know? I’m really okay.”
He smiles softly. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m fine.”
He nods. “Have you gone back after it happened?”
“To the beach?” I ask, frowning. “Of course. I was there recently . . . a couple of days after the anniversary.”
Surprise flashes in his green eyes. “I wanted to reach out to you after it happened. I’m sorry I didn’t. I kept tabs through Vic, but I should have been there. Every time I thought about showing up at the gallery or seeking you out, I . . .” He sighs and turns his face away, his gaze back on the water. “I kind of panicked.”
When the waitress comes, and we order our drinks and some food, I know I can just drop what he said. It’s an out for both of us to go back to treading on more comfortable ground, but his words keep playing in my head.
“Panicked why?” I ask quietly, breaking a piece of bread and lathering it with strawberry jam, as he does. I feel his eyes on me and I look up to see him shrug.
“Because of the last time I saw you.”
“At my parents’ house,” I say, nodding in understanding.
When the waiter comes back with our drinks, we drop the subject, because that one is too much for a friends-only date.
“So, Doctor Hart, how are you doing in your residency so far? Do you get quizzed? How does that work?” I ask, smiling. Oliver chuckles, as his eyes light up and those dimples flash in amusement.
“I’m proud to say all of my quizzes are behind me, but they do stay on my ass enough to know if I mess up . . . which I don’t,” he adds with a wink.
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