Present
“YOU DID WHAT?” Mia asks in a bewildered tone that makes me bury my face in my hands.
“I know,” I say in a smothered mumble.
“Look at me! I want to see how you really feel about this whole thing, because let me just say, I am shocked.”
I drop my hands and look at her, really trying to school my features and not start laughing at the expression on her face.
“Oh my God. You liked it. I thought he kiss attacked you and you were pissed off, but you obviously liked it! Are you insane, Elle?”
I frown.
“No, really,” she continues. “I’m all for you moving on with your life, but Bean? There are a million other guys out there.”
“I know. I know.” I let out a frustrated growl. I can’t believe I freaking kissed him. “At least I walked out on him this time.”
“I guess,” she whispers.
“You guess?” I prompt.
“It’s just . . . you walked away last time too, and look at where that got you.”
“A new boyfriend, and later, fiancé?”
“Wyatt was another terrible rebound, but I’m not here to talk crap about people who can’t defend themselves.”
I let out a breath and shrug, because I don’t want to open that can of worms. When I met Wyatt, this older—much older than me—man, I traded in my friends and family for time with him. I became the girl I said I would never be for a guy, but he wasn’t just a guy, he was so much more. He was my mentor, my friend, my lover, and even though he had a controlling aura to him, and I dealt with crazy mood swings at times, he loved me. He was good to me.
“I don’t want to talk about Wyatt,” I say.
“You never do,” Mia counters, raising an eyebrow. I know she’s trying to goad me—trying to get me to the place where I lose my cool—because her words resonate something within me that I can’t argue with.
“I don’t want to fight right now, Meep.”
“Because you know you’ll lose the battle.”
“I can’t do this right now,” I say finally, taking the glass of Moscato and drinking what’s left in one huge gulp before slamming it down with a clink. I take out a bill and toss it on the table.
“You’re seriously leaving over this?” she asks, balking at me.
“I have to go get some stuff and get ready to go to Felicia’s house for dinner tonight, and I’m not in the mood to argue with you right now.”
“How are you going to move on completely if you’re still eating dinner with his parents every goddamn week?”
My mouth pops open. I can’t believe she’s even going there right now, even after knowing how upset this is making me. I try to regain control of the blood simmering inside my body, but the longer I stand there, the more impossible it is.
“Next time I need your advice, I’ll ask you. You shouldn’t be dishing out so much of it anyway! Your ex-boyfriend left you to marry his ex-girlfriend, and you rebounded with his uncle! How’s that for fucked up?” I practically shout.
“I didn’t know it was his uncle!” She slams her palms over the table and stands up, so it looks like we’re in a boxing ring with the table serving as our referee.
“I . . . I . . .” I put my hands on my head and squeeze the impending headache. “I have to go. I can’t . . . I can’t right now.” As it is, I already regret what I said to her. She didn’t deserve that and I know it, but dammit! She knows I hate it when she brings up Wyatt. Even when he was alive, I refused to talk about him with her after a while, because it would always end up turning into a huge argument.
By the time I get to Victor’s house, I decide I hate everybody and can only pray nobody else gets in my way, because I feel like I have enough pent-up rage inside me to make a charging bull look tame. The door slams behind me in a thud, and I head for the stairs, ignoring the voices coming from the kitchen.
“Elle?” Vic calls out.
“Yeah. I’m just here for a moment. Picking something up,” I shout back, reaching the bedroom door and closing it behind me. I sag against it, feeling like a teenager avoiding her parents, and I focus on collecting my thoughts before the inevitable footsteps come up the stairs. The knock comes shortly after and I sigh, conceding to open it. I regret it immediately when I find Oliver standing on the other side, wearing nothing but a pair of swim trunks and a smile. I refuse to give in to the urge to let my gaze travel the length of his naked torso. My eyes can burn in hell for wanting to do it. My hands can follow them and sit beside Satan himself for wanting to reach out to tame the mussed brown hair falling over his forehead.
“What do you want?” I ask, not even trying to hide my annoyance.
He stops smiling and starts frowning, crossing his arms over his chest. I refuse to look at his defined arms. Absolutely refuse.
“What crawled up your ass?” he asks, and I start closing the door on him, but he stops it with his hand. I exhale.
“I don’t have time for this right now, Oliver. If you want to annoy me, come back after nine o’clock,” I mutter, looking down at his naked feet. They’re probably the least attractive thing on his body, but then, feet usually are.
“Okay,” he says, pushing the door wider and letting himself in.
“What are you doing?”
“Annoying you.”
“I said after nine. It’s six-forty, and I have to go.” I grab the bag I have on the floor, filled with pictures of Wyatt.
“Where are you going? Another date?” he asks, as he walks around the room, picking up everything and looking at it—even a pink bra that’s draped over my chair. He stays fixated on that.
“I guess you can call it that.” I turn to the closet and sift through clothes, looking for something more modest to change into. The black shirt I have on shows off my entire back, and it’s not something I would wear to Wyatt’s parents’ house without him there.
“I like what you’re wearing,” Oliver says huskily into my ear, making me jump. I turn quickly, both palms up and ready to push him away, but get sidetracked when my nose ends up on his sternum and I can’t help but breathe him in. He smells of salty water and a natural scent that’s sweet, yet masculine. I only hesitated for half a second, but it’s long enough for him to place his hands over mine. He presses them to his warm chest, and my breathing escalates.
“Look at me, Elle,” he says, using the deliciously low, demanding voice that made my toes curl and my eyes roll back many moons ago. I have no choice but to tilt my head back and give him my attention. “Forget those lame guys you’re dating. Let me take you out.”
My heart, if possible, spikes even further in my chest, overriding all warning of the impending chaos that’s sure to come. I try to turn my attention to the poster hanging beside us, but the image of a kissing couple has my eyes darting back to deep green eyes that burn into mine. My stomach does a flip-flop—the way it always does when he looks at me that way. I try to take my hands back, because these feelings are too scary for me to deal with right now, but he holds them tighter, bringing them up to his mouth and kissing the tip of my ring finger. Why did he pick that finger to kiss? I pull harder, and he finally lets my hand drop.
“I can’t,” I say, my voice raspy.