Barely even friends, p.13
Barely Even Friends, page 13
He truly enjoyed stunning me into silence.
“I’m sorry. I’m an ass.” His arms lifted for a moment before coming to rest at his sides, as if that was all he had to offer. Himself.
Embarrassment flushed my body at the memory of how I’d thrown myself into that kiss, held nothing back. The way my lips still tingled at the memory. But I couldn’t put myself out on another limb. Not when he’d so easily walked away.
I concentrated on the wallpaper. Something I was confident about, that didn’t leave me wondering if I was nauseous.
“The wallpaper isn’t ruined; it’s just seen better days. I’m restoring it.” Something uncurled in my stomach as his eyes widened in interest, nodding for me to keep talking. “You make the cloth damp, and carefully clean the fabric. It’s tedious and time-consuming, but worth it.” Dad had shown me the technique as a child. It kept me occupied in a place that had a million things a kid shouldn’t touch or could hurt themselves with. “I don’t just give up on things because they’re hard.”
His beard shifted incrementally, maybe his jaw clenching. “Can you teach me?” He didn’t move away from the door. Left the choice in my hands for what happened next.
“It’s slow, delicate work,” I hedged. I had zero interest in messing up my hard work just so he could feel better. I was here for a job and nothing else.
“Does that mean you don’t want me to help you?” A hint of a challenge lay in his eyes.
“I didn’t say that.”
“So, you want me to help?” He gently bit his lip, my body clenching in memory of the way his teeth felt on my skin, betraying me.
“I didn’t say that either.” Confused was an understatement for the feelings knotted up inside of me. But finding some sort of peace would ensure Sebastian wouldn’t try to pick a fight for the remainder of their visit.
“How about this? I’d like to help you.” Oliver lumbered over, hesitating, still giving me the out, reaching for another towel hanging off the side of the bucket, wringing it out before coming to stand by me.
Everything in my chest fluttered.
“This is my house. I should contribute.”
“Of course.” I had spent too much time listening to Finn wax poetic about love. My brain had been sucked into his world viewed with rose-colored glasses. My glasses were vintage and clear as day. This was better, be on the same team, reach the same goal. It was about the estate, it was always about the estate.
“You must be glad to have your friends here.”
I gasped, my fingers involuntarily releasing the cloth, which landed with a plop on the hardwood, my mouth gaping.
“What?” His eyebrows drew tightly together.
“Did you just willingly speak to me?” My wet fingers clutched at my chest.
“I have before.” He sounded offended, a breath huffing out, nose scrunching up in a way that was not adorable at all.
“Voluntarily ask me a personal question?”
“You make me sound like a—”
“Inquire how I’m doing?”
“All right, now you’re being—” He focused on his task, his shoulders hunched.
“Bl8z3, have you recorded this? It deserves to go down in the history books.” I couldn’t be stopped.
“I’m reaching out to the Library of Congress as we speak,” Bl8z3 promised.
I had zero interest in addressing what had happened in the library. Self-respect refused to allow me to ask what made him walk away. The point was, he had. I didn’t need more details about his rejection. Did he frustrate me, his ability to brush past it as if it hadn’t happened? Did the moment keep me up at night, a sweaty mess, tossing and turning in my bed sheets? Not at all.
“Hilarious.” He cringed. “Am I that bad?” The hunch in his shoulders had gotten worse, his back tensing.
“Bad?” I feigned ignorance, not inclined to make this easy on him.
“Rude?”
“I wouldn’t say you’ve been the friendliest person to me since I arrived.” Other than that time you took me into the library and kissed the heck out of me. But we don’t talk about that because of an unspoken agreement that I’m sure your attorneys will forward me any day now.
“Yeah. I guess I’m not used to people anymore.” He gestured to the room, the estate, the grounds. “Not that I was ever social.”
“You, the football stud?” I refused to glance in his direction.
“Being successful on the field does not mean you’re successful off it.” He gently, almost tenderly pressed his cloth to the wallpaper. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned you find me attractive.”
“Third, but who’s counting?”
“I am,” I thought I heard him mutter, but I was hearing what I wanted to.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve been difficult. You came here with a job to do.”
The sentiment was nice, but I would not leave him alone on the ledge. It had been a lot. Me showing up, the renovations, now the crew, all the changes. I couldn’t hold him to that charged moment. Offering his mother’s notebook, finding her ledger, I couldn’t pretend that was nothing. Even as I continued to think about it, let it sing through my veins. Our kiss had made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t in years.
“Truce,” I spoke up. “We agreed to a truce, and I will honor that. A parlay, if you will.”
“Parlay?” The tension in his features eased and so did part of the knot in my chest.
“Not into pirates either?” I had secondhand embarrassment for his lack of knowledge about films.
“Are you?”
“Can’t go wrong when a film involves a childhood crush pining for years, saying nothing because they think they’re not good enough.”
“I can understand that.” His gaze raked over me in what appeared to be a statement, a silent communication I was desperate to interpret but too scared to ask.
He stepped closer. “So, we’re …”
“Friends.” The word tasted wrong in my mouth, but it was the first one my brain supplied, so it would have to do.
His hand dragged down his scraggily beard, drawing my gaze to his lips. Those lips that had kissed me and made me moan. He could call me whatever with those lips. I could dislike him and still want to haul him to the library and do very inappropriate things to him, right? That was the type of friendship I wanted.
The idea of those lips made me rub my thighs together, fingers clutched to the hem of my shorts as I had to fight the temptation to see if he remembered.
I stayed up at night thinking, dreaming, wondering what would have happened if we hadn’t stopped. I was being haunted in this crumbling estate. But not by any ghosts, by this real-life man and his lips. Ass. Hole.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a friend.”
My heart squeezed at his words. If I wasn’t already on board, I was now. Who could say no to being his friend? Well, unless you couldn’t discount the grumpiness, tendency to speak in orders, and general lack of knowledge of social formalities.
“I’m wounded, sir.” Bl8z3 was pushing the bounds for what an AI was capable of outside of the movies. Sarcasm was part of its programming, apparently.
“Stop calling me sir.” He released that growl I knew, and, uh, thought absolutely nothing about, especially at night.
“It’s against my programming,” Oliver mouthed along with Bl8z3.
“Friend.” I twisted the word over in my mouth. “It’s nice to have a friend.”
He nodded, dipping his cloth in the water again. “I could still banish you if I wanted to.”
“Empty threat.” A smile broke out. “But as a friend I have to tell you”—I tried to cover my chuckle—“you are terrible at this.”
Oliver blew out a breath, rolling his eyes. “I’m dreadful at everything.”
Shaking my head, I shifted closer. “You’re being too gentle.” Placing my cloth next to his, I attempted to show him what I was talking about.
“Like this?”
I nibbled on my lip. “No, no.” Leaving my cloth at the edge of the bucket, I laid my fingers on top of his hand. Pressing down slightly, showing him how to move the cloth so as not to soak the silk.
Oliver’s thumb brushed mine, goose bumps breaking out in its wake.
We stood, shoulder to shoulder, slowly cleaning, mostly allowing our fingers to dance together, his skin brushing against my pulse point. I had to wonder if he could feel it.
When the cloth was too dry to clean any further, Oliver released my fingers long enough to turn his palm around and hold my hand for real. Tossing the cloth back into the bucket, he cupped my chin.
I waited another breath before I lifted my gaze to meet his. He gulped, gray eyes bright.
“Thank you.” His fingers squeezed mine, thumb pressed to my rapidly beating pulse point.
“For what?”
“Not giving up on me.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Partway through the day, Finn popped his head into the study, inviting Oliver to join us for dinner. I could tell by Finn’s expression, his intentions were more meddlesome than polite.
Still, I almost fell over when Oliver accepted the invitation.
This was going to be awkward.
Rue whipped something together with only a hot plate—better than most could with a stove. The small card table that typically sat in the kitchen was set up on the patio, with place settings for four, the sun setting behind us. Elegant, despite the plastic utensils and paper plates.
“I am salivating. How in the world did you hire a Michelin chef? What kind of wine are we having?” Finn stopped, staring as Oliver lumbered out onto the patio.
“I think it’s a rosé.” I swooped in, uncorking the bottle, and pouring four generous plastic cups, taking a sip of mine while plopping into my chair.
“Have a seat, Oliver. It’s time we have a talk.” Sebastian was never subtle.
I had to give Oliver credit—he didn’t even blink, just sat as we passed around the food.
Plates piled high, Sebastian held off as the rest of us dived in. “So, I’m curious. You have an actual person made of sunshine and joy living in your house, and you somehow were compelled to be cruel to her. Care to explain yourself?”
“Sebastian,” I begged, sliding down in my chair.
“Oh no, I think it deserves an answer, don’t you?” His glare was set entirely on Oliver.
All Finn and I could do was blink at this showdown.
“You’re right.” Oliver’s fingers curled around the edge of the table.
“Come again?” I blurted out at Oliver’s admission.
“I told you earlier, you didn’t deserve my behavior.” Knees bouncing, Oliver stared at his plate.
It was the closest I was going to get to an apology. “I thought you were huffing fumes from the wallpaper.”
Finn giggled, which Sebastian didn’t appreciate. “I’m curious why you would even stay here. You’ve done enough damage. Let Bell work in peace.”
“Sebastian.” I bristled. “He’s overseeing the project, and this is his house. You can’t …” My mind blanked on any other word. “Banish him.”
“Yeah, that would be a terrible thing to do,” Oliver deadpanned.
It was the worst possible moment for him to crack a joke. My gaze caught his, a single eyebrow raising, and to Sebastian’s horror, we broke into laughter.
“I mean, really, what kind of jerk banishes a person?” I giggled.
Oliver’s thighs spread close enough to touch his knee to mine. My breath shifted from a laugh to something else stirring in my chest. Friendship had never brought electricity to my veins.
“Well, if you are going to stay here with our Bell, it’s time we learn about you.” Finn’s grin had an edge to it.
“What do you want to know?”
“Favorite movie?”
There was no holding back my snort as Oliver pretended to glare at me.
“I don’t watch much TV.”
Finn gasped. “What do you two even talk about? TV and films fill all the lonely parts of her.”
“Darling, I don’t think you meant to say that last part,” Sebastian gritted out as I sank further into my chair. Any lower, and I’d be hiding under the table.
“Watching TV isn’t a sign of loneliness.” Oliver’s pinky brushed mine, causing me to take another gulp of wine with my other hand.
“No, but a beard like that might be.” Sebastian smirked.
“I don’t think he’s had anyone to tell him that. For the past few years, he’s only lived with people who call him ‘sir.’” I pressed my glass to my lips. Despite its wildness, the beard was growing on me.
“Kinky,” Finn quipped.
“My programming requires me to refer to Oliver Killington as ‘sir,’” Bl8z3 offered.
Sebastian and Finn jumped in their seats.
“Is that the …?” Sebastian whispered, eyes wild, drifting across every surface. I nodded as Sebastian pointed to the ceiling. “How do you get used to it?”
All I could do was shrug. Somewhere along the way, it had become normal for Bl8z3 to speak up.
Sebastian’s eyes kept shooting up to the ceiling before resting on Oliver. “Stop making her doubt herself. Bells deserves to see herself the way the world does, and to accept how absolutely spectacular she is, a source of blinding sunshine.”
My eyes filled with tears as I considered my best friend. “That doesn’t sound pleasant.”
His foot kicked at mine under the table. “You get what I’m saying.”
“Yeah.” I sniffled. “Can we eat now? I’m hungry.”
“Fine, but Oliver, tell me who your team is.”
I held my breath, wondering if this was too far. If Oliver had pushed away all the happy memories of his family, thinking about football had to hurt in its own way.
“College or NFL?” Oliver’s palms moved to his thighs, sliding back and forth, slowly, my heart pounding in time with his movements.
“Either.” Sebastian shrugged, voice conveying that this mattered.
“I’ll be honest: it’s been a while since I’ve watched.” Oliver sipped from his cup.
I held my breath. Would anyone notice if I got up and went to find some gummy bears? Maybe hide out in the kitchen for a while?
“But I was always a fan of LSU,” Oliver confessed.
Sebastian popped a fry into his mouth. “Well, decent people can still make bad choices.” His eyes filled with mirth, as a weight lifted from my chest. “All right.” Sebastian leaned forward. “Do you know anything about the new technology your family’s company is planning on investing in? Because I have some theories, and if you maybe blink when I say something that sounds correct—”
I coughed loudly. “Insider trading.”
Oliver’s foot nudged mine.
And with that, my accidental roommate became a tentative accidental friend with mine.
Long after we finished eating and opened a second bottle of wine, I watched Oliver interact with my favorite people. Sebastian laughed, full-throated laughed, at something Oliver said while Finn ensured our Solo cups remained full. I rubbed my knuckle at the emotion building in my chest.
It seemed impossible, the intersection of these two worlds, but here it was, seamless, easy. Not that it mattered when I’d be leaving in a matter of months.
* * *
120 Days Until the Deadline
I returned from the kitchen with a glass of water and some of Rue’s cookies, to discover an argyle sock hanging off my bedroom door handle. A sock. Like we were still in college.
I should have realized something was up when Sebastian asked me to grab him a snack from downstairs. The way he shoved me out the door as Finn nodded aggressively.
We were adults now, with our own bedrooms and doors. I was more than delighted to give them alone time. Finn’s mural was a beautiful burst of colors, abstract, a variety of flowers practically exploding from the wall. It was going to be a statement when it was finished—he had outdone himself, making me even more appreciative they were here. Except when they were in my bedroom.
I smacked my palm on the wood, hoping I was interrupting a particularly intimate moment.
“Ten minutes,” Sebastian called out.
“Thirty,” corrected Finn.
I gave the door another smack before plodding down the stairs, grumbling to myself. “You’re up at least, Bl8z3?”
I was met with silence, only proving the point that it was time for me to be in bed.
I dug around the barebones kitchen, brewing myself a cup of chamomile tea. Setting the kettle on the table, I dipped my tea bag, relaxing into the routine.
Sebastian and Finn’s relationship was something that made me happy to witness. But it was also a glaring spotlight on what my life was missing. What Dan had pointed out I would always be lacking.
And maybe, just maybe, I was horny. I wouldn’t mind having a reason to put a sock on the door. I knew they wouldn’t lock me out the entire night, at least not on purpose, but—
“Couldn’t sleep either?” Oliver stood at the entrance to the kitchen, fists stuffed into his pajama bottoms.
His hair was loose, landing at his shoulders in disarray, as if he had just run his fingers through it.
But what had me staring, struggling to swallow, was his beard. Oliver was still the bearded hulking man I had become used to, but it was no longer unruly—now it was trimmed close to his face, the edges straightened. The cheekbones I had only seen hints of before were prominent. The mystery of where Sebastian had disappeared to today suddenly revealed itself.
“Your beard …” I was gawking, but unable to stop.
He shifted his stance, hand moving to stroke it, but coming up empty. “Is it okay?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t shave it off.” It was a fresh start, another change, like the house around us, though he had been frozen even deeper in the past.
“Not a beard fan?” An eyebrow quirked up.
“I didn’t say that.” My response was too quick, too telling. My heart, on red alert, beat rapidly in my chest.
I couldn’t stop staring. There were those lips I had kissed, no longer hidden. His nose seemed straighter now. My eyes feasted, having never fully gotten a view of his neck, thick and leading toward those broad shoulders I remembered gripping.
