“Mom only has healthy grain cereals in here,” I call out. “What the hell!” I say when the pantry slams shut in front of me, and I find Oliver glaring at me. I frown. “What?”
“Who’s on the list?” he asks, and it takes me a couple of seconds to realize what list he’s referring to. I laugh.
“What does it matter?”
“It matters,” he presses.
I raise an eyebrow. “How was ‘Grace night?’”
Oliver’s eyes widen in shock. “What?”
I open the pantry again, effectively making him move out of my way.
“There is no Grace night,” he whispers loudly. I feel his eyes burning the side of my face as he glares at me over the pantry door. “There is only Mae night, Danny night, Patrick night, Justin night . . . do you want me to continue? Because I spend most of my nights doing rounds in a hospital, unless I get really lucky, and then it’s Estelle night.” His words make my heart quicken, but I refuse to look at him. “Now tell me, who’s on the list of contenders?”
“You really want to know?” I ask in a quiet voice, closing the pantry.
He crosses his arms over his chest. He’s not wearing his scrubs today, but instead, a navy t-shirt that hugs his frame, and jeans that cling to his hips as if they were tailored. His hair is wet and brushed back, and his stubble looks cleaned up. He looks like a goddamn model, and I hate it. Stupid boy. Stupid cute boy.
“I’m asking.”
“Go ask my brother,” I say, nodding in that direction.
“I’m asking you.”
I cross my arms over my chest and stand in front of him. “And I’m telling you to go ask him, because I don’t know who is on the approved list. Is there a reason for you shutting the pantry in my face, or are you just here to annoy, Bean?”
He opens his mouth and closes it, then opens it again. “I want your list. I don’t care about Victor’s list. I know I’ll never make it on his. I want your approved list.”
I can’t come up with a comeback for that, so I’m glad when my dad walks in clearing his throat, and I have to drag my eyes away from the intensity in Oliver’s. Dad’s brown eyes bounce between us, and his brows raise in question.
“Interrupting something?”
“No,” Oliver and I say at the same time.
“I heard this is your last week at the hospital,” my dad says, using his enthusiastic voice, as he rounds the corner and opens his arms to hug Oliver. “Congratulations, my boy. I knew you had it in you, despite those late nights out.”
I groan and fake gag. Can the people in this house not stop talking about this guy’s past? Jesus.
“Thank you,” Oliver says, laughing. “Now it’s time for the real world.”
“Do you know where you’ll be working?” my dad asks as he opens the fridge. Oliver turns his body to face me as he answers.
“I’ve gotten some calls, but I’m holding off for the right one,” he says. I scoff like a bratty schoolgirl and turn around.
“Dad, what’s up with the Lucky Charms?”
“Your mom won’t buy them anymore.”
“What? Why?” I ask, opening the freezer. “You guys have nothing to eat!”
My mom’s laugh rings throughout the house. “We have nothing you like to eat, but we have plenty to eat. Sit down, I’ll make you some eggs.”
“I hate eggs,” I mutter under my breath. As I stand with my back against the counter, Oliver’s fingers brush mine, and I feel a jolt that makes my eyes snap to his.
“You like eggs,” he says.
I shake my head. “I really don’t.”
“With goat cheese?” he asks, his fingers now intertwining with mine.
“I like them a little bit if they have goat cheese,” I whisper, trying to untangle my hand from his, but he makes it an impossible feat. “What are you doing?”
“I want to be on that list,” he says quietly so only I can hear, but my eyes automatically pop around the room, making sure nobody is paying attention.
“Then get on it.”
“Your list or his?” he asks, throwing a nod in the general direction of where Victor is.
“Whichever one matters most to you.”
I reach up to push his hair out of his face, threading my fingers through it so that it stays back. His eyes close at the movement, and my heart spikes at the intimacy of it all. My dad clears his throat again, and I push away from Oliver, giving us enough distance to look like nothing is going on. Because nothing is going on. At all.
“Do you want coffee, Oliver?” my dad asks.
“Yes, please.”
As I walk past, Dad twists his lips into a smile. “Your brother would kill him. You know that, right?”
I grab on to the edge of the counter. “He has no reason to.”
He laughs. “You sure about that?”
And with that, I scurry over to the table and sit in front of my brother, as usual. Oliver sits beside me, as usual, and my mom and dad sit in their seats as she places the food in the middle of the table—scrambled eggs, sunny side up eggs, poached eggs, toast, jelly, and butter. I go for the toast. Oliver takes it upon himself to serve me some scrambled eggs, because they have goat cheese and bacon. I thank him and eat with one hand while I fidget with the napkin on my lap with the other. My dad is looking at us like we’re about to announce my pregnancy, and the entire breakfast feels awkward.
“I like that dress on you,” Oliver whispers, and my face flames.
“Oliver, Tom says you’ll be finished with your residency soon. Will you stick to pediatrics?” my mom asks.
“Definitely. I love working with kids, so I’m trying to find a small practice to join.”
“You must see so much in the hospital though,” my mom says sadly.
“It’s not easy,” Oliver says, his hand reaching for mine under the table. “It really makes you realize what you have and how lucky we are to be healthy.”
“I bet. I’m sure it sheds a different light on your life,” my dad comments.
“It does,” Oliver responds, squeezing my hand. I feel like he’s squeezing my heart. “It’s made me see a lot of things clearly.”
“I think this year has opened our eyes to a lot of things,” my mom starts, until Victor interrupts.
“Did I miss the memo about this being a Thanksgiving breakfast?”
I bite my lip, trying not to laugh, and glance up at Oliver, who’s apparently doing the same. Our hands squeeze tighter together.
“It doesn’t have to be Thanksgiving for you to be grateful,” my mom says.
“Vic is just upset because that girl he’s been seeing hasn’t come around in a couple of days,” I say, sticking my tongue out at him when he makes a face.
“Whatever. At least my mom doesn’t have to play matchmaker for me.”
“She doesn’t have to for me either!” I say, shooting a glare at my mom.
“Prove it,” Vic says. “Prove it. Go out tonight and get yourself a date the old fashioned way.”
I laugh. “By go out, I’m assuming you mean to a club, and that is the last place I want to get a date. Besides, since when do you want me to date?”
“Since you started pointing out my dating life when you have none.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m happily single, thank you very much.”
“I’m just saying—I have no issues finding women who want to date me.”
“I have no issues finding guys who want to date me either.”
He raises an eyebrow, but makes no further comment.
“I’m serious, Victor.”
He raises his hands up. “I’m dropping it, Elle. Are we still going out to celebrate me closing this case?”
“I guess we are, right?” I say with a shrug.
“Maybe you’ll find a date there.”
“You are so infuriating.”
“You never know. Maybe you’ll find love in a hopeless place,” he says and laughs.
“Mom, you’re
not going to say anything to your idiot son?”
“Estelle!”
“Estelle, what? He’s being a moron!”
“I think your brother just wants you to move on with your life,” my dad chimes in. “He just has a weird way of showing his feelings. Besides, who’s to say she isn’t moving on with someone right under our noses?”
Victor scoffs. “One, we would have noticed. Two, we don’t know anybody she would date.”
“This is not happening,” I say, muffled into my hands, while Oliver laughs beside me.
Victor calls Jenson, who seems to be in town every weekend, to join us. His invitees end up being: Mia, Jenson, Victor, Oliver, Bobby and me. Oh, and whoever Oliver and Jenson decide to bring along, because God knows they don’t travel without a date unless they’re going to find one there.
“Why the hell would he want to go to a club?” Mia asks, as we sort through her closet.
“Because obviously Victor has no life outside of his workplace, which, may I remind you, consists of divorcees trying to screw each other over.”
“Ugh. Why is Jenson even here again? It’s getting annoying. I like it better when he stays on the east coast,” she says, and suddenly stops looking through clothes, to sit on her bed. I face her and take in the sad look that invades her face any time Jenson is mentioned.
“You don’t have to go,” I say. “Just sit this one out.”
Mia brings her gaze to me. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll have three body guards, and I can’t blame you for not wanting to see Jenson.”
She sighs. “I’m just not ready.”
I take a seat beside her and hold her hands in mine. “I know.” I don’t mention how Jenson seems upset every time Mia’s name is brought up, because there’s no point. “I hate that he makes you so sad.”
Mia smiles. “Me too, but that’s life.”
The conversation shifts to my outfit and hair as I start getting ready, and for a while, we both let go of the ghosts of our pasts.
WHEN I GET to the club, I’m escorted to the VIP area, where Victor, Bobby, Jenson and Oliver are talking to some women at the table beside them. I watch for a couple of beats, but the loud house music and dim lights make it impossible for me to understand what they’re saying. The fact that none of them feel my eyes on them enough to look up is telling though—they’re all completely lost in conversation. Oliver throws his head back in laughter, and I swear I can feel it rumble from his chest to mine. Or maybe it’s the speaker I’m leaning against. Either way, it’s enough for me to finally shuffle my feet in the opposite direction and head to the bar. I’ll go back over there after I’ve supplied my body with the liquid courage it needs to sit next to them . . . next to him.
As soon as my ass touches the stool, I ask for a drink and start looking around, watching the bodies move and the women strut across the dance floor in search of their next victim. Two drinks later, I get up and walk back to the VIP area, giving a wave to the girl who walked me in before. She smiles and escorts me back to where Vic is, and I stand directly in front of them so they’ll hear me over the music.
“Hey.”
Victor looks away from the woman practically sitting on his lap, but then, it seems like all of the women are sitting on the men’s laps right now. I try to avoid getting in a twist by not letting my eyes drift to Oliver.
“Finally! You made it,” my brother says, looking genuinely happy as he stands to pull me into a hug. “This is my sister Estelle. She can vouch for us and tell you that we’re all single.”
I must be making a face, because the one clinging on to him laughs loudly. “Hi, Estelle. I’m Marie.” Then all four women introduce themselves to me.
“So they are single,” a brunette says. She looks a little drunk, with her way too-wide smile and her grubby hands on Oliver’s lap. Still, I smile, though it feels tight on my face.
“Sure. Some come with more baggage than others do. Take your pick.” I shoot Jenson a pointed look, and he shakes his head at me in disbelief. I guess it was a bitchy thing to say. I groan. “I’m just kidding. I’ll see you guys later.” I give them a small wave and one last smile before heading to the same bar I was at earlier. I feel somebody take a seat beside me, but don’t acknowledge him. I keep sipping on my drink and tapping the counter with my fingernails as I debate whether I should stay a little longer, or leave and call Mia so we can go somewhere.
“What’s a beautiful woman like you doing here alone?” he asks, and my eyes practically jump out of their sockets, because he has the sexiest British accent I’ve ever heard. Not that I’ve heard many, movies aside. I pivot in the seat and find a good looking, older man. He looks like a businessman, which has more to do with the suit he’s wearing than anything else.
“Not alone. I just needed a little space from the people I’m supposed to be here with.”
His lips twitch. “That bad?”
My eyes trail over his features, and notice thin lips, dark eyes, short, light curls on his head, and the lack of hair on his face. I wonder if it feels as smooth as it looks. His smile broadens, as mine does.
“I’m here with my brother and his friends. Celebrating some big work thing. It’s pretty bad.”
“In that case, would you like another?” he asks, looking at my now almost-empty glass of vodka tonic.
“Sure,” I say, smiling. “Are you here alone?”
“With a couple of blokes from work.” He points over to a table close to where Vic and the guys are sitting.
“You’re sitting in VIP and came all the way out here to refill your drink?”
He leans forward so that his mouth is beside my face. “I saw you and thought I should come introduce myself before someone else got a chance to.”
I smile and focus my attention on the drink the bartender places in front of me.
“Miles,” he says, offering his hand.
“Estelle.”
“Beautiful name. What do you do for fun, Estelle? Other than avoid boring celebrations with your brother.”
My eyes find his, and I flash him a smile. “I dance.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Show me.”
I stand, gulping down the drink in a less-than-ladylike manner, and grab his hand, pulling him to the dance floor with me. I glance over my shoulder to where the guys are, and see they’re still talking, save for Victor, who’s now dancing with one of the girls. The only one who takes notice of me is Oliver, and the look he’s giving me is enough to set my insides on fire. Miles grabs my hips, and we begin to sway to the music. Finally, I close my eyes and ignore Oliver’s gaze, along with everything else. I let the music travel through me, and I let my body take over to the point of forgetting where I am and who I’m with.
“You’re really good at this,” Miles says into my ear. “What else are you good at?”
I can’t keep the smile off my face, but I keep dancing and ignore his question. We stay on the dance floor and, as the songs get more provocative, so do my moves and Miles’ hands on my body. Where they were once on my waist, they’ve gravitated down to my ass. I turn around in his hold and pull his hands higher so they’re at my waist, and as I do, I spot a tall figure walking toward us. Normally it wouldn’t be weird, since we’re in the middle of a crowded club, but I’d know that strut anywhere. My heart picks up a little as my gaze finds Oliver’s. I look past him and notice Vic and Bobby are both wrapped up in the ladies beside them. If they notice Oliver is gone, they don’t show it. He doesn’t stop until he reaches me.
“I need to speak to you,” he says, leaning his face between my dance partner and me.
“We’re dancing,” Miles says, frowning, but he stops moving so the three of us are standing.
“And now you’re not,” Oliver says in a voice that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
Miles takes it as a challenge and cocks his eyebrow at me, saying can you believe this guy? And honestly, no, I cannot
believe this guy.
“Oliver, what do you want?” I ask. He doesn’t even look at me. He continues to glare at Miles.
“I’d like to leave my days of fighting back in middle school, so if you could just do me a favor and take your hands off of her ass and step away, we’ll be okay,” Oliver says.
Anger simmers in the pit of my stomach as I watch the exchange. The only thing I can think about is “Grace’s night.” The words repeat themselves inside my head. “Grace’s night” followed by Bobby’s amused chuckle, and suddenly I’m livid, just like that.
I take a step back and shoot him a murderous glare. “What is your problem?”
“I take it you know each other,” Miles says, shaking his head. He looks at me one last time. “When you’re finished playing whatever game it is he wants you to play, you’re welcome to join us at our table.” Then he turns around and disappears into the crowd, leaving me gaping at the empty spot where he was standing.
“Elle,” Oliver says, but I put my hand up to stop him and turn around, walking to the back of the club.
The line for the women’s bathroom is insane, as usual, so I look both ways and figure out my next plan. When I see a figure coming up behind me, I bolt to the nearest exit, shivering at the wall of cold air that hits me.
“Estelle!” he shouts as the door closes behind him, the noise of the club fading along with it.
“What do you want?” I say. What could he possibly want? I’m holding my arms together as the residual alcohol travels through my system, warming me against the outside air. Suddenly I am so upset with everything—with everyone. This was supposed to be a night out. Maybe even a night where I could show Vic that I can get a guy by myself, without Mom’s help, without school, without art, just me. And it’s stupid. It’s stupid because I’m at a dance club trying to prove things I didn’t realize I needed to. What was I going to do, anyway? Have a one night stand with some random guy? Find a real chance of starting over at a place where conversation is completely optional, and dry sex is the norm? A laugh escapes my lips at my stupid, idiotic thoughts. And another one follows when I remember who’s behind me—the only guy I want, but shouldn’t. The one I don’t want to want. The one I’m terrified to want.
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