Breaking the Plan: Mill Street Series #1

by Calla, Jessica

  I shushed her. “We’re not talking about it until tomorrow, remember?”

  She rolled on top of me, her face inches from mine, studying me. “I wanted to make it clear that you don’t owe me anything. I know the deal, and if you want to leave, then—”

  “Don’t want to leave.” I kissed her hard to make her stop talking. I appreciated her giving me the out, but I had no plans to go. I traced a line from the back of her neck to the dip in her spine, over the curve of her ass. “Like, ever.”

  She smiled, but I read the tiny hint of sadness in her eyes. We could postpone the aftermath as long as we wanted, but it would still get there. Vi was between us, and we both knew there was a rough road ahead.

  I wasn’t sure if she was up for the aftermath. I wasn’t sure I was up for it. But as she looked down at me and her thighs opened around mine, I could push that aside and pretend I didn’t read that little glint of doom in her eyes. For now, living in the moment was working for us, for both of us, and we could delay the aftermath a little longer.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Taryn

  When I stepped out of the shower on Sunday evening, the smell of tomato sauce filled the apartment. We’d been fooling around all weekend and hadn’t stopped to eat. My stomach growled as I wrapped myself in a towel and smiled.

  Ollie whistled in the kitchen, the clang of pots and pans accompanying his tune. He’d snuck out of bed before me and showered. Even though he’d probably been in Vi’s room to get his clothes, I refused to let myself look at her door on the way back to my room.

  Later. I’d think about Violet and put an end to this thing with Ollie later. I had to. She was my best friend. What was that phrase, chicks before dicks? Hos before bros? I couldn’t imagine a scenario where Ollie could ever be more than a fling, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy him now.

  My room smelled like sex and the vanilla lotion I’d massaged him with earlier. I examined the contents of my closet, feeling like I hadn’t had clothes on in days. Even though fall had arrived with a vengeance, the apartment was warm, so I decided to forego underwear and slipped into my navy tank dress. I let my wet hair hang to dry naturally and didn’t even glance at my makeup.

  I peeked at Ollie from the hallway. Dressed in his uniform of khakis and a plaid button-down, he’d never looked more adorable. He was dumping the spaghetti into a colander, humming. He cooks too. In that moment, I couldn’t believe that the past twenty-four hours had happened. Oliver Stoneridge was standing in my kitchen, like he had many times before, but he was waiting for me. He was there for me. Vi’s boyfriend was cooking a meal to share with me.

  Holy fucking shit. I’d slept with Vi’s boyfriend.

  It took me a second to calm down as I reminded myself that he wasn’t Vi’s anymore. She didn’t want him. I used to understand why, but now I didn’t get it. Was he different with her? Did he not cook for her, whisper in her ear during car rides about how much he wanted her, and make love to her in a way that made her feel cherished? He was smart, rich, well-mannered, disease-free, and an amazing lover.

  I fell out of love, she’d said. What’s not to love?

  Now that I knew Oliver, I couldn’t help feeling angry at Vi for dumping him. Obviously, that logic didn’t make sense, since her wanting out of their relationship gave me an in. At least for the weekend.

  When the pasta was strained to his liking, he put down the colander and looked up, noticing me. His gaze drifted from my head to my bare feet.

  “Bella.” He kissed all five fingers of his hand and then sprang them out at me. “Bellissima.”

  Beautiful. How many times had he called me beautiful the night before? I’d lost count. “Me or the pasta?” I teased.

  “Both.”

  All business, he moved around the kitchen, pulling out bowls and silverware. I joined him and tried to stick my finger in the sauce.

  “No, no. No tasting.” He guided me to the small, round table shoved in the corner of our kitchen. “Sit.”

  I resisted when he nudged me to the chair. “I can help.”

  “Please.” He motioned for me to sit. “Let me do this for you.”

  With a sigh, I listened and sat, watching him move around the kitchen. He placed two wine glasses on the table and filled them halfway. “Talk to me in Italian. We’ll pretend we’re in Italy.”

  “Sono così affamata che potrei mangiare un cavallo.”

  He lifted his glass, encouraging me to toast. “That sounded incredibly sexy. Say it again.”

  I clinked his glass then repeated what I thought meant, I’m so hungry that I can eat a horse. “Need a translation?”

  “Nope. I like the sound of the words coming off your lips.” He took a sip of his wine, then leaned across the table. “Honestly, I just like anything having to do with your lips.” He exaggerated his kiss, sucking my lips and popping them as he pulled away. “But I’m hungry, Bella.”

  “Me too.” I rubbed my hands together. “Feed me.”

  He ran out of the kitchen and returned with the candle from my room. He lit it, placed it in the middle of the table, and then picked up his phone. After a few touches, he put it down as a horn played from the speaker. “Italian dinner music playlist. Figured it would help set the mood.”

  “Didn’t know we needed help with mood.” I winked over my glass of wine.

  “You’re right. I think we’re doing okay on our own.” He served the spaghetti and sat across from me.

  “This reminds me of Patrizio’s,” he said as he sipped his wine.

  I smiled, remembering our outing. “My favorite part of that night was when you put your shirt around me.”

  “You shivered,” he said matter-of-factly, as if his kindness was the only obvious response. He swirled the spaghetti on his fork and held it out to me. “My favorite part was when I discovered you spoke Italian.”

  I leaned across the table and sucked the spaghetti from his fork. “Delizioso, ragazzo.”

  He hummed, watching me enjoy the dinner he’d made for me, his gaze lingering on my lips. After a few bites, we started chatting again, and he asked me how I’d gotten involved in pageants.

  “I saw the opportunity for easy money.” It felt weird to talk about the pageant as I carb-overloaded with the pound of pasta in front of me. “I didn’t have to do anything except learn a couple of pieces on the flute. I just had to be pretty.”

  His face turned serious as he swirled spaghetti around his spoon. “It’s funny. As gorgeous as you are, your looks are the least interesting thing about you, in my opinion.”

  I stopped eating and stared at him.

  When he noticed, he lifted his eyebrows. “Was that the wrong thing to say?”

  I pouted, touched by his statement. “That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me, Oliver. Thank you.”

  He dropped his fork, wiped his hands, and then scooted his chair closer. Leaning forward, he took my hands in his and kissed them in turn. “You are perfection. Inside and out. You’re smart, strong, caring, and a hard worker. Damn, Taryn, you’re bilingual.” He squeezed my hands. “I’m sorry if I treated you poorly the past three years.”

  I shook my head. “You didn’t. And to the extent you did, you were just jealous that your girlfriend liked me better than you.”

  We laughed, until we realized what I’d said. Violet. Violet meant that this beautiful moment in my kitchen could only be that—a moment.

  For the rest of dinner, we ate and drank in silence except for the music. My body was feeling the effects of our marathon bedroom session and sitting there sharing a meal was a nice break in the action. Not that I wouldn’t be up for more action.

  When he finished his second glass of wine, Ollie started tapping the table with his thumb. He was thinking and I didn’t like it. I wanted to stay there, pretending he was my boyfriend, forever. When I couldn’t take the tapping anymore, I reached across the table and pinned his hand to it. “What are you thinking about, Ne
rdilicious?”

  He smirked. “I still get the nerdy nickname?”

  “Always. But think of it as my secret compliment, not an insult.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  “Tell you what, beautiful?” He lifted my hand and kissed the inside of my wrist.

  I pulled away. “Don’t change the subject with your kisses.”

  “But I like the way you taste. More than the pasta. More than the wine.”

  I drew a long breath and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Our night’s almost over. We should probably talk.”

  “After.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “After what?”

  He stood and pulled me to my feet, taking me in his arms. “After our dance.”

  I sighed but welcomed him into my embrace. He started swaying with me to the dinner music. As good as it felt to be in my little kitchen dancing with Oliver, I knew it was bad too. It meant that I was falling for him. After tonight, there would be nobody dancing with me in kitchens. Every man that might come into my life from thereon out wouldn’t hold up to Ollie, humming in my ear, clinging to me.

  Sex was one thing. Romance was something totally different. I could handle the sex. The one—or two—night stand. I’d be able to give him up for Violet, even though everything had been wonderful. But the romance? I couldn’t handle that part. By letting Oliver dance with me, with his lips nibbling at my earlobe, I was letting him into my heart and setting myself up for the inevitable heartbreak.

  So I turned it back to sex. He was hard again; I felt him through my thin dress. I slid my hands from his waist up to his shirt buttons, and I undid them one by one. He didn’t object.

  My hands wandered under his shirt, feeling for skin underneath. His started to wander too, around my back to my ass. I responded, moving closer in anticipation of our being naked again.

  I wiggled out of the straps of the tank dress and let it fall to the floor, which, from the intense look in Oliver’s eyes, he seemed to appreciate. I popped the button on his pants and pushed them down.

  I guided him to sit his bare butt in the kitchen chair. I didn’t have a condom nearby and didn’t want to go back into the bedroom to get one. “Thank you for making me dinner,” I whispered, as I dropped to my knees in between his legs.

  He gulped, watching me as I stroked him with my hand. “You…you don’t have to thank me.”

  I gave his hard-on a gentle squeeze, and he gasped, dropping his head back and closing his eyes. Then I took him in my mouth.

  For the first time since I started having sex, I didn’t feel like Ollie and I were using each other. He’d given me such pleasure the night before and I wanted to give some back. I sucked him, listening to his moans, feeling his hands on my cheeks and in my hair, and loving his reaction.

  I’d always felt like I had to put on a performance with sex to earn myself an orgasm. With Ollie, it wasn’t like that. It was exactly what sex was meant to be—two people who trusted, liked, and maybe could love each other, enjoying being together. There was nothing I wanted to do more than what I was doing at that moment.

  Although he was obviously fine with it from the noises he made and the way he moaned my name, he tried to get me to stop. I shushed him with an “it’s my turn” type comment and told him to relax. When he couldn’t hold out any longer, I encouraged him to come in my mouth, which I’d never let anyone do before.

  After, he pulled me onto his lap. Then he leaned down and grabbed my dress off the floor and wiggled it over my head. When I tried to stand, he held me in place. “Don’t go.”

  I snuggled into him as he wrapped his arms around my waist. He nuzzled his nose near my ear, and I couldn’t help but notice how perfectly we fit together.

  “Can I tell you a secret?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “That was the first time anyone’s ever…”

  I waited for him to finish, watching the blush spread over his cheeks. “What, Oliver?”

  He raised his eyebrows and glanced down at our laps, then back up at me.

  “Given you a blow job?”

  He shrugged. “Yep.”

  My jaw dropped, and I shoved him. “Get out!”

  He rubbed the spot on his shoulder that I’d assaulted. “You know I’ve only been with Violet, and she never wanted to, I guess.”

  I pulled away. “But I know you’ve gone down on her. She tells me everything.” I tilted my chin and looked toward the ceiling, thinking. “Come to think of it, pardon the pun, she never did mention giving you head.”

  He hid his face in my neck. “See. You took my BJ cherry.”

  I kissed his hair and forced him to look up at me. Then I pecked his lips. “Well? What did you think?”

  His eyes widened. “I had no idea that life could be so good.”

  I puckered my lips. “Thank you.”

  “No, thank you. Team Olivyn for the win.”

  We grinned at each other, our foreheads touching. “Sorry I didn’t teach Violet the reciprocity lesson,” I said.

  He scoffed out a laugh. “It’s okay. And that’s weird.”

  “We have to talk about her sooner or later.”

  He sighed. “Yeah. I was hoping for later. Would that be okay?”

  Nodding, I wrapped my arms around him, not ready to give him up yet. “That would be fine.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Taryn

  We listened to a song or two, my head resting on his shoulder. Finally, he shifted under me. I pulled away and met his gaze. “I was thinking,” he started.

  I held my breath. This was it. This was when he was going to tell me that he loved Violet and that he had to leave, so we could forget this ever happened and move on with our lives. But I knew I’d never forget. I hoped I could move on, but I’d definitely never forget.

  He cleared his throat. “I was thinking that maybe we don’t have to…”

  Say it, I wanted to yell.

  “…end this.”

  I let out my breath. “What? I’m so glad—”

  “Not yet anyway,” he added, his voice cracking.

  I pulled away to study his face to try and figure out what he was thinking. He gulped, his brown eyes on mine, his arms still holding me around my waist like he was afraid I’d take off if he let go. “Not yet?”

  He pushed a strand of hair over my ear. “I want to keep you for as long as you’ll have me. Vi comes home Thursday. I’m figuring you’ll get bored with me before then.”

  As his words sunk in, my cheeks warmed. I yanked his arms off of me and wiggled free. “Huh?”

  He widened his eyes as he pulled on his boxers. “Please, don’t be offended. I only meant that you’re,” he looked me up and down, “you.”

  I squinted and crossed my arms. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

  When I handed him his pants, he stepped into them. “You’ve said it a million times the past three years. I’m boring. You’re all fantastic, and I’m just me. I know you have your pick of guys, and maybe you were, I don’t know, temporarily insane or something and wanted to try with me. But I don’t expect you’ll want me for much longer.”

  I nodded, pursing my lips as if I perfectly understood his dumb statement. “So let me get this straight. You think that I wanted to fuck my best friend’s ex-boyfriend and deal with all the complications that entails—all the emotions and feelings of betraying her—because I was bored, or crazy, or horny, pick one—”

  “Tar—”

  “—and that now that we’ve had sex, I will probably toss you aside anyway since I’m a slut and all.”

  “Hey,” he barked, his brow furrowed. “I didn’t say that.”

  I turned my back on him and stomped out of the kitchen.

  He followed me into the living room. “Tar, wait.” I stopped when he put a hand on my shoulder. “I guess that was dumb.”

  Crossing my arms, I stayed in place. “Probably the dumbest thing you ever sa
id.”

  He scoffed behind me.

  Turning to face him, I reached for his hand. “How about you tell me the truth, Ollie? Knowing that we are in a safe place here and I’ll never hurt you, no matter how brutal you may be.”

  He took a deep breath suddenly looking like the awkward tween. He touched the ends of my hair, studying them as if he wanted to avoid eye contact. I pulled my hair away and held his chin up. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

  He bit his bottom lip, which was both adorable and concerning. “I’m scared.”

  I huffed out a sigh and let my posture drop. “Oh, Oliver. Me too.”

  “I’m afraid of seeing Violet again.”

  “Me too.” I squeezed his hands. “So much.”

  His eyes watered. “I have no regrets, but the past few weeks with you have turned my life upside down. Everything I thought I knew, everything I thought I wanted, it’s all changing, and I feel like a different person.”

  “Me too.”

  “I like you,” he added. “A lot. Too much. I’m scared because I can’t imagine how, in a million years, you could ever like me back.”

  I squeaked out a laugh. Then I let loose into full out hysterics.

  Oliver scowled at me as I pulled away from him. “Really? I thought this was a safe place.”

  “It is. I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at how screwed up what you just said is.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing as laughing at me?”

  I took his face in my hands again, forcing him to look at me. His cheeks were warm and pink. “Oliver,” I said, seriously without laughing this time. “I could spend the entire night telling you why I like you.”

  “Could you?” his voice cracked, and it was the sweetest thing I’d ever experienced with a guy. That hilt in his question shot straight to my heart.

  I leaned close so that our noses touched. “You’re smart. You’re beautiful. You’re sexy. You give great oral.”

  He laughed. “I could say all the same about you.”