Dirty Jock

by Sienna Valentine

  I turned and walked over to my desk, intent on blocking her out with my laptop until she left. I had forgotten it now lay on the floor, probably broken.

  Fuck.

  Instead I went to the bookcase in the corner and grabbed out one of my legal tomes. “Get out,” I commanded. “I’m done with you.”

  “Oliver…?” Her voice was barely a whisper. Why couldn’t she just be angry with me like she was supposed to be? Why was she making this so goddamn hard?

  “Don’t fucking call me that,” I snapped, glaring over at her. “Your insubordination is part of the reason you’re being fired. It’s Mr. Bentley.”

  She took a step toward me, hesitant. I tried not to notice the tears welling in her eyes. I failed.

  “I…” She trailed off. “What did I do?”

  She sounded so heartbroken. So beaten. It made me want to hold her tight and tell her everything would be okay. I wanted to be the one to comfort her, not be the one to break her. But I had to.

  I had to.

  “Ms. Paulson, since you seem determined to prove to me just how thick-headed you can be, let me spell this out for you.” I snapped the book closed and walked over to my desk, slamming it down. We were a mere foot apart. Getting this close to her was dangerous.

  Desperate times. Desperate measures.

  “You don’t work for me anymore,” I said. “I’m done with you. If you don’t get the fuck out of my house, I will have you removed by force.”

  She quivered, causing me to clench my fist to my side just to keep from reaching for her. I couldn’t keep this up. It was now or never.

  “GO!” I bellowed.

  Elizabeth jumped back. The thought that she believed I would hurt her made me want to throw up, but it had achieved the desired effect. Her face contorted. No longer just sad and hurt, Elizabeth accepted what was happening and was ready to do what she did best: fight.

  “You’re a disgrace,” she seethed. “After everything we went through with this project. After everything you put me through!” Her voice was thick with rage but wavered with grief. “I expected better from you. I actually thought there might be a human being under there, but I was wrong. So fucking wrong about you. You’re just a twisted masochist who will never be worthy of anybody’s love!”

  Fuck. When she wanted to throw a verbal, punch, Elizabeth didn’t hold back.

  “Are you done?” I asked.

  She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Oh, I’m done.”

  She slammed the door so hard behind her that the paintings clattered against the walls. Again, I found myself impressed.

  And completely shattered.

  Chapter 26

  Elizabeth

  “Liz.”

  “Go away.”

  “Liz!”

  “Go away!”

  There was silence from the other side of my bedroom door. Finally, a little peace.

  Then the knocking started again. “Liz.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Cress,” I insisted. “Can’t you just go get me some cannolis or something?”

  Her chuckle rolled through the wood. “We’re beyond the help of food now, my dear,” Cressida said. “Now we have to talk.”

  I sighed and turned over to face the wall, pulling the blanket up around my ears. She’d given me five days of rest. Five, glorious days. I had moped, watched two seasons of Grey’s Anatomy, and effectively played three lifetimes of The Sims.

  But Cressida didn’t believe that things got better on their own. That would be way too easy.

  “I’m coming in,” she said. “I’m not going to pretend like this door is an actual barrier anymore.”

  Dammit.

  The door cracked open and my best friend entered. I didn’t turn around to greet her.

  Maybe if I stay really still, she’ll think I climbed out the window.

  “Five days ago you were an interior designer,” she declared, shuffling through the detritus on my floor. The bed sank down on one side as she sat. “Now you’re a burrito.”

  “I’m still an interior designer,” I grumbled. “I’m just moonlighting as a burrito until my heart stops hurting.”

  Admittedly, I was hoping she’d feel a little guilty for encouraging me to pursue Oliver. It had blown up in my face spectacularly—just as I knew it would.

  “Babe,” Cress cooed, patting my back. “You’ve got to get out of this funk. It’s not doing you any favors.”

  “I’m not sure what the alternative would be,” I said. “I feel like I could be worse. At least I haven’t gotten shitfaced every night.”

  “Only because there’s no wine in the house and you haven’t left the apartment in five days,” Cressida pointed out.

  “Let me have this one.”

  She sighed. “Fine. I suppose you could be handling it worse.”

  I rolled over and peered out at her from my hidey-hole. “I really liked him, Cressida. Not just romantically, either. I liked him as a person. I really thought he was different. Until he threw me out like a piece of trash.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “He did do that. And it sucks. But you’re not going to get over it by actually turning yourself into a piece of trash.”

  “Rude.”

  “Your floor is covered in snack wrappers. I didn’t even realize they made Fruit by the Foot anymore.”

  “Of course they do,” I grumbled. “Kids think they’re delicious and they help you measure distances.”

  Cressida leaned over and rested her head on my shoulder, staring down at me. “I have an idea.”

  “I only want to hear it if it involves chemically induced amnesia,” I replied, “I hear they’ve yet to test it on humans but it is possible.”

  She chuckled and flicked my nose.

  Against my will, a smile flickered on my lips.

  “This is how I know you’re going to be okay,” she said.

  “Because I’m resourceful and will find a way to permanently blot him from my memory?”

  “Because you’re being dramatic.”

  I raised a quizzical brow. “I’m not sure we’re on the same page.”

  Cressida curled her legs up onto the bed and poked at my side. At least I’m sure she thought it was my side. It was my boob.

  “You’ve got stages of grief, just like everyone else,” she said. “You sink into yourself and disappear when things are really bad. But when you’re on the way out, you just get really whiny and dramatic.”

  “How nice of you to trivialize my pain,” I said dryly.

  “That’s the spirit!” She patted my rump and struggled into a seated position. “It’s time to get out of bed. We’re going shopping.”

  Her big idea was to go shopping? I glowered up at her, refusing to move an inch. “I’m not sure you got the part where I’m moping for the next unknown amount of time,” I told her. “That doesn’t involve shopping.”

  “And I’m not sure you got the part where it wasn’t a question.” She grabbed for the blanket and yanked it back with a swiftness that surprised me. I desperately scrabbled for it, but the duvet slipped through my groping fingers.

  “No!” I cried.

  My roommate tossed the blanket to the other side of the room, staring down at me triumphantly. Then she took in my appearance and wrinkled her nose.

  “Shower first, then we shop,” she amended.

  “You can’t make me get up.”

  A wicked grin flitted over Cressida’s lips. “Oh, can’t I?” she asked. “I’ve got about three inches and twenty to thirty pounds on you, woman. Neither of us will enjoy it very much, but I can get you out of this bed and showered with my bare hands.”

  She was right. And she’d do it, too.

  “Please, Cress,” I implored. “I’ll shower, but I don’t want to go out.”

  “If I agreed to that, it would only be to trick you,” she said, “but I don’t think that would be fair given your current mental state.”

  “Why is it so important
that we go shopping?”

  She reached into the back pocket of her jeans and produced a crumpled square of paper. I stared at it with vehemence.

  “I threw that out,” I muttered.

  “I know.” She glanced at it. “What were you thinking? This is clearly recyclable.”

  “I’m not going to the party, Cress.”

  She dangled the invite in front of my face. “You are,” she said.

  “Seeing him will only make this worse!” I complained. “And he doesn’t want me there. That point was quite clear.”

  Cressida pressed a hand to her hip. “This isn’t about you,” she stated. “And that’s why I know you’ll come.”

  Ominous.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Damien’s going to be at this party,” she explained. “And since you and Oliver are on the outs, this will be my last chance to find him and apologize.”

  My mouth dropped open. She was positively devious. An evil genius. She knew I couldn’t deny her that!

  “So?” Her foot tapped against the floor, a chocolate bar wrapper crinkling with each movement. “Are you getting out of bed or are you going to stay there and let me rot in my own self-loathing for the rest of my life?”

  I groaned and kicked myself up to a sitting position. “Who’s being dramatic now?” I asked.

  Cressida winked. “Live with the best, learn from the best.”

  Chapter 27

  Elizabeth

  I pulled at the stretchy material of the dress, willing it to give my hips a little breathing room. The dress did not comply. I allowed it to plaster back to my skin and turned my gaze over to Cressida, who was applying lipstick for the third time since we left the house.

  “You look great,” I assured her.

  She pressed her lips together and angled the mirror to get a different perspective. “We both do,” she replied.

  I eyed my sparkly black second skin again. She was right. I’d never seen my boobs look so perky. Maybe it was all the food I ate after getting fired.

  The cab driver pulled up at the top of the circular driveway. He stopped amongst limos and exotic cars that each probably cost more than everything I owned, and I felt a bit sheepish preparing to get out. Who knew that arriving in a cab would make us the ones to stand out? We were probably the only ones here without a chauffeur.

  Cress paid the driver and we each slid out onto the pavement. She stared around in wonder.

  “You’re kidding me,” she breathed.

  I chuckled. “Wish that I were.”

  The mansion had been decked out in string lights, and live music drifted out to us from somewhere out back. The front door was flung open to the warm evening air, though nobody hung around it.

  Good. I didn’t want to be noticed.

  “This way,” I said, gesturing for her to follow. “I think most of the party stuff is happening in the library and the garden.”

  “I can’t wait to see the library!” Cressida exclaimed, jogging along after me.

  My friend had never seen the house in person, but I’d shown her lots of pictures of my work. I’d also talked about it extensively. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she got inside and instinctively knew her way around.

  Just past the foyer, we started encountering people. I didn’t know any of them personally, but I recognized a few minor celebrities and famous business owners. Oliver was clearly a well-connected guy, which made me wonder why he didn’t throw parties like this more often.

  “I’m so overwhelmed,” Cressida said, grabbing two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter. “I don’t know where to go or what to do first.”

  I took a sip of my drink and grimaced. I’d never cared much for champagne. But hey, free booze.

  “I don’t really want to run into Oliver,” I reminded her. “Can we just find Damien, apologize, and get out before anyone sees us?”

  She sighed. “Fine. But I want to see this library, first.”

  I took her down the east corridor and through the double doors that led to the room I considered my masterpiece. Cressida nearly dropped her drink.

  “Holy shit!” she exclaimed.

  A nearby group of people glanced over at us disdainfully. Cress scowled at them until they looked away.

  “You did a great job,” she marvelled, tipping her head back to stare at the vaulted ceiling.

  I felt warm in my belly. “Thanks.”

  A stage had been erected in the corner of the room with a brass band. I suspected it had been Todd’s idea to set up a dancefloor that spanned half the room. Several couples were already dancing, and even more milled around the edges waiting for the right song. The rest of the people in the room lounged at the cocktail tables and against the shelves.

  It looked beautiful. I loved having so many people here to see my design, to experience my vision. If Oliver hadn’t cast me aside, maybe he would have introduced me to people who wanted to do their own renovations.

  But Oliver was an ass, and I wanted to leave as soon as possible.

  “I don’t see Damien,” I hissed. “Let’s try out back.”

  I turned, running face first into a hard chest.

  Oh no.

  Cautiously tilting my head, I looked up to meet a pair of emerald green eyes.

  Oh no times infinity.

  “Elizabeth,” Oliver greeted, taking a light step back to give me some space. His voice was completely devoid of the animosity and disgust I’d heard in our last conversation. Still, I couldn’t help but feel he was just about to break down into insults. I needed to get away.

  “Uh, sorry,” I mumbled, trying to step around him.

  He put his arm out and stopped me. I jolted back from the light touch of his fingers on my wrist. So warm. So gentle.

  “Don’t go,” he murmured. “Dance with me.”

  I glanced back at Cressida, who was staring at both of us with wide eyes.

  “I-I can’t,” I stammered. “I can’t leave Cressida alone.”

  Oliver turned to my friend as if only noticing her for the first time. Cress regained her composure quickly and stepped forward, eyes narrowed. “Are you done being an asshole?”

  I almost gasped, but Oliver barely reacted other than to say one word.

  “Completely.”

  His gaze didn’t waver from Cressida’s and the two of them held it for a moment, as if evaluating each other as potential threats.

  “Then I’ll be fine,” she responded, stepping back. Apparently she was satisfied with either his answer or the look on his face.

  “I can’t dance,” I tried again.

  “We learned in high school,” Cressida reminded. “It’s like riding a bike. You’ll be fine.”

  I glared back at her, but she only shrugged, mischief tugging at her lip. I tried my best to give the international eye signal that I would murder her later.

  “Please dance with me,” Oliver repeated.

  I broke. I melted. I dissolved into a little puddle on the floor. Oliver said please. I didn’t even think he knew what that word meant until now.

  “Fine.” I turned toward the dance floor and started walking. A dance didn’t mean I’d forgiven him. It was just a dance. We’d done it before, the night we met. Of course, then the dance had moved to something more.

  Oliver caught up with me in two great strides, placing his hand gently on my waist to guide me onto the dance floor. He snaked that arm around me and pulled me close, gently taking my palm with his other hand.

  We began to move around the floor to the slow melody of the band, gliding along like air through a trumpet. I stared determinedly down toward my feet, concentrating on not embarrassing myself while at the same time wishing I was anywhere else in the world.

  But even still, I couldn’t stop thinking about how good it felt to be in Oliver’s arms again. I hated myself for it. I tried to remind myself that this was only temporary, that believing that Oliver was anything other than a selfish jerk would only land
me in a deep pit of despair later on, when he inevitably cast me aside again.

  “Liz,” he murmured. “Look at me.”

  What game is he playing this time?