by M. Leighton
“Fine,” I say hurriedly, grabbing her hand and towing her out of the kitchen.
If Olivia wanted me to feel guilty, mission accomplished!
“I’ll call you later,” I say, pecking her on the lips. “Maybe we can have dinner tonight.” In my head, I’m thinking I’ll say anything to get out of here.
“I can’t! I’m going to spend the night with Mom and then riding to the airport together with Daddy in the morning. Hang on. Let me get you my keys. I can call for the limo later.”
She rushes off, leaving me standing by the door waiting, hoping Olivia stays put. But she doesn’t. Of course.
I see her come to stand in the doorway. Although it’s against my better judgment, I turn to look at her. In her eyes is embarrassment and disappointment and shame, yes, but there’s also the spark of whatever is between us. There’s just no denying that we’re attracted to each other. Very, very attracted to each other.
I hear Marissa’s voice. She’s on the phone with someone, so I move toward Olivia.
I don’t really know what to say, so I just stand there, staring down at her. She really is breathtaking, even first thing in the morning.
Before I even realize what I’m doing, I rub my fingertips down her smooth cheek. Her eyelids flutter shut, making me want to kiss them.
“Sorry about that,” I hear Marissa say as she comes down the hall. I step back and walk to the door, stopping where she left me. I glance quickly back at Olivia. There’s a mixture of emotions on her face, emotions I can’t easily identify. Unless it’s the same thing I’m feeling, too.
CHAPTER NINETEEN- Olivia
Maybe it’s PMS. Maybe it’s just the stress of too much change too quickly. I have no idea really, but I feel like all of a sudden, my life is a train wreck.
And most of the wreckage revolves around two guys. Two guys that, for totally different reasons, are tearing me up inside. Two guys I want. Two guys I can’t have. Two guys I can’t stop thinking about.
I want Cash—badly—on a purely physical level, although he is cute and charming, which only adds to the danger level. But I want Nash just as badly, but in a different way. There’s a physical component for sure. He turns me on something fierce. But he’s just the kind of guy that I want, that I need in my life.
I don’t think I retained a single word from any of my three classes today. I’m more thankful than ever that a lot of it is fluff stuff—statistics, sociology and body mechanics, which is like the college version of gym class.
By the time I get back home, I’m exhausted. More emotionally than physically, but it ends up feeling like the same thing. In the quiet of the apartment, knowing I’ll have it all to myself for two weeks (a fact which I gleaned accidentally rather than Marissa actually telling me herself), I decide to lie down on the couch to take a short nap.
I wake up at 4:30, feeling no better. Just dead-headed. I’m still feeling icky in general, so I reach for my phone and call Shawna. I get her voice mail, which informs me she’s with her mom picking out flowers for the wedding.
The only other really close friend I have is Ginger, the bartender I worked with at Tad’s for years. Thankfully, she’s home.
After we talk for several minutes, she gets blunt, Ginger style. “All right, spill it. Something’s wrong.”
“No, nothing’s wrong.”
“You’re a terrible liar and I hate you for trying.”
I giggle. “No, you don’t.”
She pauses. “Okay, I don’t. But the only way you can make it up to me is to tell me what the hell’s up your butt.”
Ginger also has a way with words.
I sigh. “I guess I’m just missing home and friends and…I don’t know. Life just feels…complicated.”
“Uh-huh. This sounds like penis problems.”
“Ohmigod, Ginger! It’s not penis problems. You think everything is about sex.”
“Isn’t it?”
I laugh. “No. It’s not.”
“So this has nothing to do with a guy?”
I pause.
“Ah-ha! I knew it! Penis problems.”
“Well, it seems that the cause of some of my problems happens to have a penis. Well, two actually.”
“Oh sweet Mary! You’re dating a guy with two dicks?”
“Ginger, no! It’s about two different guys.”
“Oh,” she says, obviously disappointed. “Damn. That woulda been kinda cool.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know. One for each hole?”
“You’re sick, you know that?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
I laugh again. “At least you’re not afraid to admit it.”
“Girl, I own it! I’m too old to pretend to be something I’m not. Takes too much effort. Just like faking orgasms. If you don’t bring you’re A-game, don’t bother showing up at all. I’ve only got a limited number of orgasmic years left. I plan to squeeze every last drop of pleasure out of them that I can. And I do mean squeeze.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. Oh, Ginger…
After a few more minutes of wildly inappropriate shock-and-awe talk, Ginger promises to come take me out for drinks tonight, which actually sounds like a lifeline. We make plans to meet at a pub she’s familiar with downtown and, by the time we’re hanging up, I’m already feeling more lighthearted.
********
I’m finishing my second drink when my cell phone rings. My heart sinks when I see Ginger’s number.
“Where are you?” I ask without preamble.
“I can’t make it tonight, sweetie. Tad needs some help. Norma called in sick and he needs the help. I just turned around to head back home. I’m so sorry, Liv. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
I grit my teeth. “That’s fine, Ginger. We’ll do it another time.”
“In the meantime, get those penis problems fixed. Every hen house needs a cock, but only the special hens can handle more than one. Try ‘em out then pick one and stick with it. You’re not old enough to play with two toys at the same time. That’s cougar territory.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” I say derisively.
“You just send the rejected one my way. I’ll make him forget all about you. At least for a few hours.” She laughs in her gravelly smoker’s voice. “Talk soon, sweetie. Smooches.” And then she’s gone.
I hang up and look around the bar. As much as I really don’t want to go back to an empty apartment and think about all my troubles, I don’t really want to stay here by myself either. With a depressed sigh, I slide a few dollars under my empty glass and scoot off the bar stool, digging my keys out of my purse as I go.
Try ‘em out then pick one and stick with it.
Ginger’s words run through my head. They sound ludicrous! And completely slutty. But at the same time…
No matter how much I want it to work, the thing with Nash is impossible. He’s dating Marissa. I mean, I saw them together this morning. Even now it makes me sick to think about it.
But then I remember him brushing my face. It makes me wonder if I’m in his head like he’s in mine.
And then there’s Cash. At least a relationship with him would be less complicated. Less meaningful, with less of a future, of course, but at least I’d know what’s what.
Insane thoughts are running through my head as I get in and start the car. Or should I say try to start the car.
What now?
I bang my hand on the steering wheel as the lights flicker weakly. “No, no, no!”
I turn on the interior light and it barely sheds a dim cone of illumination into the back seat. These are sick-car symptoms I’m familiar with, ones I know.
The battery.
“You are such a piece of shit,” I yell into the quiet cab, slapping the horn accidentally. It makes a sound like a wounded duck. “Don’t you talk back to me! You’re this close to going to car heaven at the junk yard.”
Yes, it makes me feel a tiny bit better to get
rid of some of my frustration, even if it means sitting outside a pub, yelling at an inanimate object. A very inanimate at the moment.
Now what?
I need someone to jump me off. I hate to call a tow truck for something so simple. It would cost me a fortune. And my friend resource pool is frighteningly shallow here.
That’s what happens when you spend the first two years up a guy’s ass and the third one as a wallflower.
I close my eyes and try to think. As always, two faces, identical faces, float through my mind.
Nash probably has plans. According to Marissa, he stays incredibly busy. I’d hate to play the damsel in distress card and interrupt him, no matter how much I like the thought of him coming to save me.
Then I think of Cash. He owns his own business and disappears for hours at a time pretty regularly each night. Plus he’s just a few blocks away. He would be the logical choice. But remembering our last conversation, my stomach flutters with nerves wondering what he might ask for in the form of payment.
I can’t deny that the prospect excites me, though.
Try ‘em out.
Pushing Ginger’s voice out of my head, I reach for my cell phone and pick out Cash’s number from the contact list. He answers on the second ring.
“Cash, this is Olivia.”
“What’s up?” he says abruptly. His clipped tone surprises me. I don’t know what I expected, but this isn’t it. Maybe I thought he’d be all schmoozy and sexy, and try to talk me into sleeping with him. The sad thing is, I’m a little disappointed that he’s not.
“Am I bothering you? Because I can totally—”
“You’re not bothering me. What’s up?” he repeats.
“Well, I hate to call you over something like this, but my car battery is dead, I think, and I’m sort of stuck. I was wondering if you could come and jump me off. I’m just a few blocks away.”
There’s a pause. And it feels like a long pause, especially when I’m already on pins and needles. I think for a second of just hanging up. How childish would that be? Yeah, after doing something that embarrassing, I’d be forced to quit Dual, quit school, move back home and leave all my recent humiliation behind in the big city. And as drastic as that sounds, sometimes it seems incredibly appealing.
But I don’t. I just wait. While my face burns in humiliation.
“Tell me where you are.”
I give him the address.
“Will you be all right for about fifteen minutes? There’s just something I have to do before I can leave, but then I’ll be right there.”
“That’s fine. Take your time.”
“Can you go back inside and have a drink while you wait? I don’t like the idea of you sitting outside in your car by yourself. You are by yourself, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’m alone. But I’ll be fine. I just—”
“Olivia, I really don’t like it. Can’t you just go back inside? Consider it a favor.”
When he puts it like that… “Okay. I’ll go back inside. Just call me when you get here.”
“See you in a few,” he says then hangs up.
Tossing my phone in my purse, I pull down the visor and check my makeup. I know I shouldn’t care, but I’m glad I got all dolled up to meet Ginger. After I reapply a little rose lipstick, I run my fingers through my straight hair and adjust my red off-the-shoulder shirt.
Back inside, I order a beer. It’s inexpensive, so I don’t mind leaving it when Cash shows up, plus sipping it won’t give me a buzz.
Twenty minutes pass and I’ve checked my phone for the sixth time. I’m beginning to wonder if everyone’s going to stand me up tonight when the door swings open and I look up to see Cash striding toward me.
My mouth goes completely dry when his eyes meet mine and he smiles a lop-sided, cocky grin. I wish his long legs didn’t devour the space between us so quickly. I could just look at him, just watch him move all day long. He’s built so perfectly and he looks stunningly edible in his “work clothes” of snug black jeans, a snug black t-shirt and black boots. It sets off his wide shoulders, his narrow waist and the honey color of his skin. And those eyes. Damn those black eyes. They sparkle like drops of an ebony pond in his handsome face.
By the time he gets to me, I’m debating the need for a change of panties.
I start to slide off my stool, but he stops me. “Finish your beer,” he says then nods to the bartender. “Jack. Neat.”
When the bartender slides his drink across to him, Cash takes a sip then turns to me, as if he’s settling in. “So, why are you here, drinking all by yourself tonight?”
Nervously, I use my thumb nail to scrape at the label on my beer bottle. “I was supposed to be meeting someone, but they had to cancel. After I’d already gotten here, of course,” I explain, bitterness dripping from my voice.
“Want me to kick his ass?” he asks. I look up at him and he’s grinning at me over the top of his glass.
“No. You might be embarrassed when she gets the better of you.”
“Ahhhh, your butch girlfriend?”
His eyes are twinkling. He’s teasing me. And enjoying himself tremendously, apparently. This is more like what I was expecting when I called. Well, not even this much, really. This playfulness is unexpected and very…disarming.
Don’t let him charm you.
But then I think of Ginger’s words again. And I get a little bolder.
“No, I’m not into girls. I very much like…men.”
I can’t help but wonder if the “vampy” in my head comes across as “campy” instead.
Too late.
“I got the feeling you might be last night.”
He arches that one brow and his lips twitch with the smile he’s containing.
Holy shit! He’s so effing sexy.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s kinda hard to describe,” he says, leaning toward me and lowering his voice. “But I’d be happy to show you if you like.”
There’s a dare in his eyes. But I just don’t know if I’m up for all that he’s offering. Can I go there without letting my heart get involved?
I clear my throat and look back at my beer bottle, backing down simply out of a need for self-preservation.
Smart guy that he is, he picks up on the shift in my mood.
“So,” he says in a very nonchalant manner, “tell me all about Olivia.”
I shrug. “There’s not much to tell. I’m from Salt Springs. I grew up on my father’s sheep farm and I’m a senior in college.”
“Wow, a lifetime reduced to two sentences. I’m not sure if I’m impressed or depressed. Were there boyfriends and parties mixed in there? Or…”
I smile. “Yeah, there were a few of each. I wasn’t a wild child, but I wasn’t a shut-in either. Just average, I guess.”
“There’s nothing average about you,” Cash says quietly.
My eyes fly to his. He’s not smiling and he doesn’t appear to be teasing me, which triggers my blush.
“Thank you.”
We stare at each other for a few seconds, right up until the air starts crackling with electricity between us. That’s when I look away.
“So what’s your major?”
“Accounting.”
“Accounting? Accounting is for spinsters who wear their hair in a bun and have a closet full of orthopedic shoes. Why’d you pick accounting?”
I laugh at his vision. “I’m good with numbers. Plus, with an accounting degree I’ll be able to help Dad with the business. It just makes sense.”
“So you’re doing it for your dad?”
“Partly.”
He nods slowly. The expression on his face says he doesn’t believe me, but he says nothing. He just changes the subject.
“What about Mom?”
“She left. A long time ago.”
His eyes narrow on me, but again he says nothing. He’s a very perceptive guy.
“And this bad-boy boyfriend?”
“Bad boy?”
“Yeah. The type you apparently avoid now.”
“Oh, right.” I laugh. It’s one single bark of bitterness. “Ummm, he fell into a wood chipper?” I ask, hoping he’ll get the hint that I don’t really want to talk about him either.
He pauses with his drink halfway to his mouth, as if judging whether or not I’m serious, then he grins and takes a sip.
“Poor guy. And the one before that?”
“Eaten by a shark?”
“And before that?”
“Kidnapped by a travelling circus?”
He chuckles. “Wow. Your life’s like a cautionary tale.”
“Future suitors be warned.”
“I’m willing to take my chances,” he says with a wink.
My stomach flutters in response and my heart does a funny flip that is, in and of itself, a huge red flag.
Change the subject! Change the subject!
“So, what about your family?”
That cools his teasing mood considerably. “A long, horrible story, too awful for the likes of your tender ears.”
“Oh, is that so? So you can ask all kinds of questions, but this is all I get?”
I’m only half teasing. I really do want him to answer some questions, especially while I’ve got my wits about me. Somewhat anyway.
“My questionable upbringing and suspicious connections might make you shake in your boots,” he jokes with a not-quite-half smile.
I turn on my stool and look down at my feet. “I’m not wearing boots.”
“I can see that,” Cash says, reaching down to brush his palm up my calf. “No panty hose either.”
A bubble of air is trapped in my throat, making it impossible for me to breathe. Chills break out and shoot up my leg, straight into my panties.
He looks up at me, his eyes flashing. I know what he wants. And I know he knows I want it, too. It’s there in his eyes. There’s no reason for me to even try to deny it. But what to do about it?
In my indecision, I turn my legs back toward the bar, away from his hand. He smiles. Knowingly. But he goes along.
For now.
He finishes his drink in one long pull then turns to me. I push my beer away.