The Thirteenth Chance

by Amy Matayo

  That last one was from me. And I meant every word.

  Olivia sways, catching herself on a seat back. Instead of sitting down like a person with common sense, she starts walking toward the exit without even glancing back. I dart over three seats and up two steps to stand in front of her, blocking her path.

  “You’re not leaving,” I say.

  “Will, get out of my way. I’m tired and I’m going home.”

  “You’re not leaving unless I come with you.” This time I put a little more force behind my words. But that’s the thing about Olivia—she’s not impressed by my fame or clout or attempts to intimidate.

  “Whatever. Now move.”

  Man, this chick is stubborn. Then again, so am I. “So do you want to go to a movie or a bar or just for a walk? It’s your lucky day because you get to choose. It’s not something I offer to all the ladies.”

  “Oh for the love of—you should try out that line on someone who might actually be impressed. I, for one, am not. It’s eleven o’clock at night, I’m tired and not about to stay awake for another four hours, and the only place I want to go is home.”

  I wink at Kimberly, who is standing over Olivia’s shoulder. “Home it is.”

  Without giving myself time to think about it, I scoop Olivia up in my arms and head up the stairs. “Blake, grab my hat and the rest of my crap, please,” I yell over my shoulder, smiling when he responds, “Got you covered.”

  As for Olivia, she yells like I’m trying to kill her—after this, maybe I will—but I don’t set her down until we reach my car. I deposit her inside and shut the door, then walk around the front of the car and slide in. Olivia’s car can stay put for the night. She won’t be needing it anyway.

  “Don’t you have a team meeting or something to go to?” She shoves against me and backs herself against the passenger door, sending a glare across the seat that might burn a hole through a lesser man. But me . . . I’m just trying not to laugh and tick her off even more.

  “As a matter of fact, I do. One that’s taking place between you and me until at least three a.m.” I shove the gearshift in reverse. “Now since we probably shouldn’t go mountain climbing or bowling, considering the size of that knot on your head—”

  “I hate bowling.”

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that even though my opinion of you just took a nosedive.”

  “As if it were ever that high in the first place.”

  I ignore that remark. “So since we’ll be spending the next four hours together, tell me, Olivia, your place or mine?”

  When the only response I get is a bunch of hostile sighs, I decide for myself.

  Olivia’s place it is.

  Chapter 27

  Olivia

  “Validify isn’t a word.” This is so elementary it’s absurd. Why does everyone get the most basic words wrong?

  “Yes, it is. As in, ‘Please validify that information for me.’ Everyone uses it, so it counts.”

  “No, it doesn’t. The correct term in that situation would be verify or validate, not validify. I win.”

  “Oh no you don’t,” he says, snatching up his tiles and placing them back on the holder. He studies them for a long moment, his frown deepening a bit more for every second he knows he’s been beaten. We’re sitting cross-legged on my living room floor, facing each other, and I’m trying not to smile. This is why I love Scrabble, because the rules are strict and there’s always someone dumber than me playing along. Not that Will is dumb, but I’m a teacher and therefore much better at grammar. I could have bent the rules for validify, except it would have garnered him fifty-two points, and I’m not about to let him win. He might be the gamer in this relationship, but I’m just as competitive. Not that we’re in a relationship. Even though we are—a fake one. I blush at my train of thought and focus on Will.

  With a scowl, he grabs one tile and places it on the board in front of us. I bite the inside of my cheek.

  “Hi? That’s the word you came up with?” I can’t help the laugh. He adds another four points to his losing total and gives me a look.

  “I didn’t have enough tiles for suck it, Olivia, which would have been my first choice.”

  “You’re a sore loser,” I say, smiling around a yawn. “I would think an athlete like yourself could handle a loss better than that by now.”

  “You might think, but you haven’t yet seen my temper in a game. That”—he gestures toward the board—“was nothing.”

  “Sorry I’ve missed it.”

  Folding the board in half, I slide all the tiles into the box, replace the lid, and carry the game to a closet across the hall. Behind me, Will stands and makes his way to the sofa, then lowers himself with a sigh. He looks as tired as I feel, and I didn’t have to play four hours of baseball earlier tonight.

  It’s two a.m. and we’ve been at this for three hours now. One more to go, and I’m home free. But that means Will won’t have a reason to stay here any longer, a fact that has me praying for time to slow down over the next hour. I walk toward the sofa and sit down, making sure to leave plenty of room between us.

  “What now?” He says it in such a way that I think I hear regret. Or boredom. Or a mix of both. Either way, I feel bad for being an imposition.

  “Will, you don’t have to stay here. I’m sure three hours is long enough and I’m so tired and—”

  “I’m staying. Now, what do you want to do? Sleeping is out of the question.”

  “Will,” I don’t mean to say his name like a curse, but . . . “so far we’ve made brownies, played Monopoly, and you’ve painted my toenails—nice color, by the way.” I wiggle my toes in front of me. Orange. It isn’t something that I would normally wear, but he found it at the bottom of my nail-care bag, a color my mother gave me forever ago that I deposited in the bathroom and promptly forgot about. I nearly came undone with embarrassment at the thought of his touching my feet, but by the second toe I decided the pampering was worth it, leaned my head back in my chair, and let him do his work. Turns out orange toenails are now very much my thing.

  “You really don’t have to entertain me anymore.”

  He sits forward and places his hands on his knees. “Name something, Olivia, or I’ll start naming things myself.”

  I yawn. “I don’t know . . . maybe . . .” My mind is a blank slate of tiredness.

  “We make out right here, right now, on the sofa.”

  My gaze snaps to his. “What are you—?”

  “I could use a shower. You? Because your shower is huge, and we could save money on the water bill if—”

  Now I’m awake. Every part of me. “You have no idea how big my shower is!”

  He shrugs. “Same size as mine, I assume.” He scratches his chin. “Since we’re both fans of games, we could play a quick round of strip—”

  “A movie!” I blurt, mortified but trying not to laugh. “Let’s watch a movie.” My skin is on fire, and not just my face. He’s ridiculous and knows how to humiliate me, but darn if I’m not burning up in all the wrong places just thinking about his suggestions. And the fact that he suggested doing all of them with me makes me more than a little happy. It’s not something I’m proud of.

  Okay, maybe a little proud.

  “A movie it is,” he says under his breath. “But it doesn’t sound like nearly as much fun as the ideas I came up with.” He eyes the DVDs in front of us and stands up.

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” I quip.

  It was the wrong thing to say. Will stops in the middle of the living room floor and turns around. He deliberately walks toward me and leans forward, bracing both hands on the sofa on either side of my shoulders. My heart takes off inside my chest; our faces are inches apart. My breath hitches and my stomach clenches when his gaze drops to my lips. Everything aches and I want so badly to kiss him. For him to kiss me. I’ll take either.

  “Let’s get something straight, Olivia,” he says slowly. “If I ever decide to kiss you, or make out
with you, or—heaven forbid—shower with you, it won’t be a matter of opinion.” His eyes fall to my chin, my neck, my chest in a long linger, and I notice his lungs are suddenly pulling in air with as much effort as mine. His eyes meet mine again. “It’ll be the best day of your life.” He doesn’t move away and I don’t know what he’s doing, but my eyes grow heavy with anticipation. So heavy they almost close. I move forward and let my eyes fall and . . .

  “So, what are we going to watch?” he says.

  I touch nothing but air.

  My eyes fly open and he’s standing straight up, looking down at me with a triumphant gaze that deserves to be slapped right off his face. What kind of man does that? Gets a woman worked up and then acts like it’s no big deal? I’m mad and embarrassed and wishing for a redo, and—dang it—my lips are tingling.

  I can’t believe I allowed myself to go there.

  I can’t believe how much I wanted him to kiss me.

  I really wanted him to kiss me, and now he’s across the room thumbing through DVDs. With disappointment rolling through me, I sink into the sofa and reach for a blanket, watching with no small amount of resentment while he pops in a movie and walks back over to join me. While I try to rein in my emotions, he tugs on my blanket.

  “Get your own blanket.” The words come out on a bite, but I don’t care.

  Will stands to retrieve one from the chair next to us and sits back down, but I see the way he smiles. I see it. It’s all I can do to swallow a growl.

  “Someone’s awfully tense,” he says. “You know, they say one of the best ways to relieve tension is—”

  “Shut up, Will. Just shut up.”

  When he laughs, I bury my mouth underneath the blanket. It’s the only way I can think of to hide my smile.

  Will

  What the heck is going on?

  I hear myself cursing and I feel myself touching something and I catch myself in the middle of a panicked state, but I can’t remember why I’m panicked or who I’m touching or why I’m cursing. I’m in a box, or a cloud, or a haze. And none of it adds up because I’m just so tired.

  My eyes fly open. I’m under a blanket with a ball cap covering half my face. Not in a box, not in a haze. Under a blanket on a sofa I don’t recognize, and Olivia is lying on top of me. I grab the cap and throw it on the floor.

  Olivia.

  She’s asleep.

  She’s not supposed to be asleep.

  And I just found the reason for my panic.

  “Olivia, wake up!” I try to sit up, but she’s deadweight and won’t budge. My pulse trips in my neck, and I shake her shoulders. “Olivia. Olivia! Wake up, wake up, wake up! Good lord, will you wake up!”

  Finally I feel her body move, and I lie back with a relieved sigh. I didn’t know I was clutching her hair until I release it from my fist. “Are you awake?”

  She moans from on top of me, one hand instinctively reaching for her head. It hurts. I saw the way she fell, the way she hit. It has to hurt. Keeping one arm protectively around her shoulder, I brush her hair out of her eyes and gingerly touch the spot with my free hand.

  “It hurts, Will.” Her voice is drugged, groggy.

  “Does it hurt when I touch it?”

  She nods on top of me. “Yes, but in a good way. Keep doing it.”

  I smile at her soft command and trace circles on her forehead with my fingertips, listening as her breathing gradually grows steady and even. She’s asleep again. This time it’s fine.

  I wasn’t lying earlier.

  If I had kissed Olivia earlier it would have been the best day of her life. If I’m being honest, it might have been the best day of mine too. It’s all I’ve thought about since I saw her fall at the stadium. The way her head slammed against the seat . . . the way she bounced and fell . . . it would have reduced many people to tears. But Olivia . . . she has strength. Guts. An ability to pick herself up and shake things off. To take care of herself and keep moving ahead. That trait definitely has appeal, especially for someone who travels as much as I do, and something tells me self-preservation is Olivia’s way of life.

  It makes me wonder if anyone has ever taken care of her.

  I move my hand to her cheek, run my thumb over her jaw, slide my fingertips down her neck. She shifts when I reach her shoulder and I hold my breath, but then she settles again and I let the air go, careful not to wake her up. I gently massage a spot right above her collarbone. Her skin is soft to the touch, softer than I imagined it would be. Maybe it takes a soft shell to protect a strong woman. Either way, I like the way her skin feels underneath my palm—like butter or satin—smooth to the touch with a little give, a little take.

  My hands find her hair—the hair that’s driven me crazy since the first day—and I allow myself to touch it. To feel it. To thread my fingers through it like I’ve wanted to every day since I met her. The strands glide through my hands, and it’s the softest hair I’ve ever felt, as rich as I imagined it would be. It smells like honey, warm and liquid. I continue to run my fingers through the strands. This might be my only chance, and I don’t want to miss it.

  Don’t ask me how I know, but all at once I’m certain she’s awake. It might be the way her breathing is no longer steady or the way her heart is pounding against my own or the way her thumb is tracing the tiniest of circles just above my rib cage, but Olivia is awake. I’m certain of it. I feel it everywhere.

  “I guess I should go.” I force myself to say the quiet words, even though I don’t want to end the night by leaving. I want to prolong it, let it stretch until morning to see how the story unfolds.

  “I guess you should.” She doesn’t sound convinced. She also doesn’t move.

  I don’t move either.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Olivia’s voice is so soft I almost don’t hear it.

  “Yes,” I whisper. My hands stay on her because she hasn’t yet told me to move them.

  “Why do you like my hair so much?”

  The question is so unexpected I’m not sure I heard it right. I’ve never mentioned my fascination with her hair, or any part of her appearance really. All along, I’ve thought I was good at covering my thoughts; as far as emotions go, the expert at camouflage. I guess I’m not.

  “Because it’s beautiful. At first I thought it was odd; a woman like you being blessed with a head full of incredible hair that she always hid inside a knot or ponytail. The first time I saw it down around your shoulders, I was stunned at how different you looked. I’ve always thought you were beautiful, even when you try not to be. But with that hair . . .”

  I let my words trail off to a place where she can find and translate the meaning. I’m not sure how she’ll take what I just said. Olivia is hardly her hair; she would be just as beautiful without it. Without it she would be like a queen without a crown. Still regal, still powerful, still a sight to look at. But the crown makes it official. Olivia with her hair . . . it’s hard to tear my eyes away.

  I run my hand back down her shoulder and wait for her to speak. When her head comes up to look at me, there’s a sheen of moisture in her eyes.

  “No one’s ever said anything that nice to me before.” Her voice breaks a bit on the last word, and that’s when I know.

  No one has ever taken care of Olivia. Not in the way she deserves to be taken care of.

  Maybe I shouldn’t, and maybe my idea of taking care of someone isn’t the same as what she has in mind, but I pull myself up and bring her with me. We’re half sitting, half lying down, but all of me is focused on this moment. She looks at me with wide eyes as my hand traces her cheek, but she doesn’t look away. My hand moves to her hair and the back of her neck and then my mouth is on hers, like I couldn’t wait another minute or take one more breath without her. Maybe I couldn’t. She gasps into my mouth and fists my shirt, and then we fall into each other like we’re afraid to let go.

  It’s been a while since I’ve kissed someone.

  Something tells me that for Olivia,
it’s been a lot longer.

  She’s hesitant when I’m bold, slow when I want to speed up, pulling back when I’m pushing forward. It’s almost like she doesn’t know what to do, so I break away to ask her.

  “Is this okay? Are you alright with me . . . with this? Because I can go . . .”

  She shakes her head quickly and then turns it into a nod. I smile and lean back in, forcing myself to take it slow. If Olivia needs time . . . if she needs patience . . . if she needs someone to guide her . . . I’ll be that person. And I won’t be a jerk about it.

  I feel her lips part beneath mine and take that as permission, and the second my tongue grazes hers I’m struck. She’s a feeling of awareness. She’s mesmerizing. She’s too much. Not enough. Soft in all the right places. Warm in the better ones. I’m in trouble and I don’t even care.

  I press in harder, closer, chest to chest, skin on skin . . . until she whimpers next to me.

  Olivia is innocent.

  Olivia is smart.

  Olivia is everything.

  And I need to slow down so I don’t mess it up.

  Even though it physically hurts, I unlace my fingers from her bare back and carefully lower the shirt I don’t remember raising, keeping my mouth on hers. I might be slowing it down, but that doesn’t mean I have to stop it completely. My hands are on her face again. Her hands are on my neck. Her touch feels like fire. I’m glad she keeps going, because it turns out I love getting burned.

  When she breaks away to kiss the side of my neck, that’s when I exhale a pent-up breath. The last thing I want to do is leave, the only thing I want to do is stay, but I force myself to sit up and face her. My forehead presses against hers. I’m not able to speak yet, so I just breathe. In and out, in and out, listening as she does the same.

  “You should probably go.” Her words are raspy, and it makes me smile. I like the way my kiss has affected her voice, like it got lost somewhere down my throat. Nice to know I’m not alone.

  “You’re probably right.” I slowly stand on shaking legs and bring her with me. It isn’t fair to have to leave, but it wouldn’t be fair to her if I stayed. I know exactly where I would try to take things, and Olivia deserves more than that.