Mia said you needed to talk. I would have stayed if you wanted me to.
I wanted you to.
Why?
I stare at the phone as if it’s going to explain why men are so stupid, and when it doesn’t, I decide that I can’t give him an answer either. I toss it on the nightstand and pull the covers over my head. The sun is just going down, so it’s still early, but I feel drained. I sleep until something wakes me . . . a whisper on my face . . . the caress of a hand on my head. My eyes pop open, and I push myself to sit quickly.
“It’s just me.”
I gasp and look at Oliver beside me.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper, looking from him to my slightly open door. “Where’s Vic?”
He shrugs a shoulder and puts a finger over my lips to silence me. “He passed out already. Can I stay?”
I frown. “What’s wrong with your bed?”
“You’re not in it.”
I push aside the way my heart is thundering inside me. “I’ve never even seen your bed.”
“Would you like to?” he asks, dropping his voice.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what, lovely Elle?” he asks, trying to smother a smile.
“Like you want to swallow me whole.”
“Has it ever occurred to you, that maybe I do?” He moves closer, and I hold my breath. “But no funny business tonight. I promise. Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a Boy Scout.”
He grins. “Okay, but I promise I won’t try anything. I just want to be with you tonight.”
“The last time you said that—”
“I was an idiot.”
I close my eyes. “What about my brother?”
“What about him?”
“What if he comes up here and catches you?”
Oliver’s hand grabs my waist, and he pulls me to him so that we’re nose to nose. “What would you want me to do if he does?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, my breath catching at the dark look in his eyes.
“Do you want me to tell him that you’re all I think about?” he asks, matching my whisper.
I shake my head, and our noses kiss. I’m not ready for Victor to know about whatever this is yet.
“Tell me why you wanted me to stay.”
“Because we weren’t done with our friend date.”
Oliver chuckles. “That friend date had me going home and taking the longest shower of my life.”
“I took one too,” I say in a whisper, my cheeks burning as I look at him through my lashes. His face turns completely serious, and he groans.
“God, Elle, why’d you have to say that to me?”
I laugh. “Say what? That I touched myself thinking about you?”
His eyes hood a little. “If you want me to keep my word, you need to stop talking about that.”
“Okay.” I grin and turn around so that my back is on his chest. He snuggles me close, creating a nook for my body. “Tell me a story,” I say, yawning.
“About what?” he murmurs, dropping a kiss on my head.
“Anything. Like the ones you used to tell me when we were young.”
“Okay.” He pauses and holds me tighter. “Once upon a time, there was this little girl named Cassia. She used to walk around talking to herself.”
I nudge him. “To the plants, not herself.”
He laughs. “Oh, that’s right. She used to talk to the plants. One day this little boy named Jeter asked her—”
“Jeter?” I ask, looking at him over my shoulder. “Like the baseball player?”
Oliver laughs and shakes his head, snuggling into me. “I forgot how many interruptions these stories lead to,” he says against my neck.
“Well, you’re always talking about how weird I am, but listen to your stories.”
His sigh sends a shiver down my body. “Okay, let’s move on to joke time then.”
I groan. “I hate your jokes.”
“You’re not supposed to tell me that!” he scoffs as his hands trail down my body. “What are you wearing anyway?”
My eyes snap open, and I’m glad we’re cloaked in darkness. “It’s one of Wyatt’s shirts,” I whisper.
Oliver’s hands stop moving over my stomach. “Did you keep a lot of his things?”
I turn around in his arms and prop my elbow up on the pillow. He does the same. “Only his shirts. I gave his parents back his pictures and a couple of other things I didn’t want. But I can’t seem to get rid of the shirts.”
“Is it because you miss him?” he asks.
“Is it bad that I was wondering the same thing the other day? That all these questions are suddenly popping up in my head?”
Oliver brushes my face with the back of his hand. “Like what?”
“You really want to know?”
“Of course. I want to know everything you want to tell me.”
I stay silent a moment longer, and once again wonder why he really took Marlon’s spot in the photo shoot. Maybe he was just protecting me from a creeper, and it wasn’t really his way of marking his territory. This is Oliver, after all. He doesn’t really mark territory; he just goes over it on a bulldozer and leaves before he can even notice the damage.
“Okay. Well, when he first died, I felt like I couldn’t breathe—especially at night when I was alone—but as time went on, it got better . . .”
“And now?”