Barely even friends, p.16
Barely Even Friends, page 16
Rather than be repulsed, he drew my body into his warmth, his chest softly meeting my skin. “Hey, it’s going to be all right.” He patted my arm, the angle making it awkward, but I still relaxed into it. “When I heard you scream, all I could think about was getting to you. I thought something bad had happened.”
“Something bad did happen,” I wailed before I pressed my face into his soft, if wet, T-shirt, hiding.
“You’re going to handle it like you’ve handled every other bump and mishap. All while dealing with the largest crew I’ve ever seen, and me.”
I snorted. “I don’t deal with you.” Crap, did I just admit that out loud?
“Right, I’m very easygoing.”
There was no holding back my cackle this time as my body shifted with his as he began to walk. “Where are we going?” I was exhausted, wrung out, needing another shower to clean myself off from this mess, and too tired to figure out solutions tonight.
“You need a place to sleep and something to sleep in.”
How was he not stressed about this? “And where exactly will I find this holy grail? There aren’t a lot of options.” Déjà vu again.
“My room.”
A very, very dangerous idea. My protest was halfhearted as Oliver’s thumb brushed against the skin of my inner arm. I glanced up, but his gaze was focused straight ahead. The room where it had happened, where it had gone down.
“I don’t think you have any other options.”
“It’s not that, I …” I trailed off. He was right. The bench had been ripped out of the kitchen. The only comfortable surfaces left that weren’t waterlogged were all in his room. I typically planned for every eventuality. Why hadn’t I planned for this one?
“Petal.” He lowered his head, even as I did my level best to avoid his gaze. “It’s been another long day. You’re exhausted, working yourself ragged on this deadline. Let me take care of you?”
The “no” was bursting out of me on an initial impulse. I even formed the word. But the baritone of his voice, the soft rumble of it under my ear that only made me nuzzle in closer, the part of me that was beaten down and tired, that part won. Because I was exhausted. Exhausted from fighting so hard and being so impossibly strong every moment of every day to prove I didn’t need a single person.
I refused to overthink it as he carried me through the doorway of his bedroom. Normally closed shut, it was hanging open after what I could only imagine was his rush to get to me.
The room was just as I remembered it: the bed, the sheets that smelled like him, the uncomfortably flat pillows. The creak of the mattress as we moved together, the gentle way his fingers cupped my face, how he’d held me as we slept. It had been on a constant loop in my mind.
“I’ll take the couch.” The this time was implied as he sat me on the edge of the bed, legs dangling.
“It’s your room—I should have it.”
He grunted, ignoring my offer as he grabbed me something to wear from his dresser. I had given up on the towel, mostly using it as a blanket to cover my front bits, star fishing on the bed in the most dramatic fashion I could because I was a quivering wreck, shaking from nerves, attraction, and the cold that had seeped into my skin. He moved around the room, calm, collected, nothing ruffling him.
He stalked out of his bathroom with a towel and a T-shirt. I stood, barely keeping the edges of the towel from exposing what he’d already seen.
“Let me.”
I had forgotten I was clutching it, not letting the frame go, until he gave it another tug. Our fingers brushed, both of us frozen, caught in the electricity of each other’s gaze, until I shivered.
“It’s silly.” I murmured.
“That’s your dad?”
“Yeah.” We were in matching Mordor Fun Run shirts, the words too blurry from the water to read any longer.
“I—”
“It’s fine.” I snatched the proffered clothing, softly closing his bathroom door behind me.
When I emerged, his T-shirt stretched across my breasts and stomach, covering me in his scent, hanging to mid-thigh. Oliver had changed out of his sopping clothes too, dressed in gray sweats and another T-shirt that clung to him in a way I was tempted to. He had gifted me a pair of boxers which I slid up my legs, glad to not be so exposed.
I wrapped my hair up in a dry towel as he continued to shift around his space. Oliver grabbed one of the flat pillows and the knitted blanket that was folded at the end of his bed, laying them on the too small couch.
I flopped back onto the mattress, scrubbing the towel through my hair. I had no experience with this. My nomadic lifestyle ensured I never ran into exes or, more likely, the romantic partners who had rejected me after we’d slept together.
“Can I?” Oliver stood in front of me, hand reaching.
“I can do it. Leave me here to drown in my patheticness.”
His fingers cupped my chin, and I hated myself for the little sigh that escaped. “I know you can. The point is you don’t have to. Let me.” His voice broke as if I was the one doing him a favor.
“Oh, I’m the stubborn one?” I crossed my arms but set my feet on the floor, hedging my bets.
“You took care of me.”
My eyes widened. Well, it had been a mutual taking care of each other, if we were going to be honest.
“Not what I meant.” He read me too easily, and I didn’t know what to do with that.
I sucked on my bottom lip before nodding. The bed dipped further as he settled next to me. Our fingers brushed as he grasped the towel, and then he began to methodically dry my hair. I closed my eyes, holding myself back from leaning into him.
I was too aware I was naked under his shirt; could he see the way my nipples tightened, my stomach quivered? Without intending to, I relaxed against his chest, his fingers massaging my scalp, easing my concerns, as if he was taking it on himself. Helping me escape in the same way romance novels typically did. Except romance novels couldn’t actually reach out and touch you, their breath warm against your neck, fingertips brushing against your ears, making everything tingle.
Then, to my libido’s immense joy and disappointment, it was over. Torture by towel. I was no longer a drowned rat—now I was drowning in sexual tension.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
His chin dropped to the top of my head, neither of us moving, living in the silence, the breath in between, the almost.
And then it broke. Oliver shifted me to sit up as he eased out from behind me, attempting to fluff up the remaining pillow that seemed only flattened further.
We both settled, him on the couch, legs hanging over the edge, me alone in his bed.
“Well, goodnight,” I called out, unable to not say anything.
Oliver grunted, the couch’s cushions creaking. I wasn’t in much better shape, flopping around, searching for the perfect pocket to fall asleep in, his body a burning flame too close and yet too far away.
All I wanted was to make the ache disappear, finish what I had started in the shower before I was so rudely interrupted. Bury my face into his pillow, hump his mattress—wild and electric and impossible with him only inches away, able to hear me. Why was that appealing?
“Stressing about the pipes?” His voice was low, testing if I was awake.
“Yes, uh, yes, can’t stop thinking about it.” I closed my eyes, trying not to groan.
“I slept … that night.”
“What?” My legs were restless against his cool sheets, the dark space making it seem like he was lying next to me.
“That’s why I was up so early. It was the first night of rest I’ve had in … a long time.” His voice tipped up at the end as if it still surprised him.
If I had to guess, he hadn’t been sleeping well since his parents’ death. “It was?”
“Yeah, I should have told you instead of standing there ogling you.”
“You weren’t—”
“I’ve avoided people for so long.” His words escaped in a rush. “Rue, Bl8z3, Ambrose, and Nick kind of forced themselves on me. But it’s different, having someone who—” He hesitated.
“Isn’t obligated to stay?”
“You want to be here, I recognize that, but it’s not for me. It’s for the house.” His voice ached with something that made me wish I could see him, or at least reach out and hold his hand, close the distance.
I scrunched my nose. The memory of that night, the drag of his dick, his voice in my ear as I came, it was all twisted up in the cold sheets of waking up alone.
“I should send Jeff an email. Figure out how extensive the damage to the pipes is. Gut my room so mold doesn’t set in. Bring fans in. And we should—”
“Tomorrow.” He interrupted my list, my mind racing. “There’s nothing you can do about it now.”
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing.” There was that firm voice again, the one that haunted my dreams.
I was scared. The pipes, the damage to the rooms. But right now, I was petrified about what I was doing in this bed, tempted to ask this man to sleep next to me, let his body curl around mine, but it couldn’t only be for tonight. We were going to be stuck like this for the foreseeable future.
“They’re not going to be able to fix it tomorrow,” I pressed, my stomach sinking with the realization.
“If this is about the picture, Petal, I can—”
“No, they’re not going to be able to fix my room. All the mattresses have been tossed. The furniture delivery isn’t for months. I don’t have a room to stay in.” The words were rushing out faster and faster as my mouth was catching up with my brain. “My bedroom will have to have the carpet torn out, and the floors are being redone in all the other rooms too. I guess I can get an air mattress, but then I need to figure out—”
“Bell.” Oliver’s voice sounded like this wasn’t the first time he had said my name. “You’re not sleeping on an air mattress.”
“Been hiding another wing from me?” At this point I wouldn’t put it past him. He had seemed almost chipper lately—well, chipper for him—and it was disconcerting.
“Cute, Petal.”
“Explain yourself, Killington.”
“You’ll stay here.” It took a lot to stun me into silence, but here we were. “I’ll take that as your agreement.”
“Oh, that’s a great idea. What will you be proposing next—bunkbeds?”
“If that’s something you’d be into.”
My mouth suddenly went dry. “You’re going to get sick of me. Besides it’s just a bad idea.”
“Why?” Was he really going to make me be the one to say it? “You’re fixing up my favorite place in the entire world, and I was … not great in the beginning. I can give up my bed for a while.”
“You don’t owe me.” I licked my lips, searching for the words, trying to understand him, this thing between us, taking its own shape, delving into my chest and taking up residence there.
“If I can take this one thing off your shoulders, can you promise to let me?”
I twisted to lay on my back, staring into the darkness, unable to answer because I wasn’t sure if that was something I was capable of.
* * *
88 Days Until the Deadline
“Okay, all I need is a time machine, an understanding of string theory, and a way to make the day thirty hours long,” I announced to the room. We were seated at the folding card table in the skeleton of a kitchen that Rue could still operate like a Michelin-starred restaurant. What they could do with a hot plate alone was mind-boggling.
“Time is merely a social construct, but I’d be happy to explain string theory to you.” Nick smiled at me before taking a bite of her omelet.
“Well, this social construct is ruining my life.” Maybe Mr. Killington would accept “time is a social construct” as my explanation for why the restoration couldn’t be completed on time. Yeah, probably not.
“Here, have a muffin, baked fresh this morning.” Rue set the corn muffin on my plate, fresh from the oven of the cabin they lived in on the property with Nick and Ambrose as I offered them a grateful smile. I was well fed in my desperation.
Despite the varying levels of construction the kitchen was undergoing, it remained our gathering place in the mornings before the crew returned each day. Somehow, I had become part of the routine: Nick sharing what she was learning in school, her excitement for summer vacation; Ambrose occasionally allowed me to brew the coffee when he was otherwise occupied, only grumbling a few times about how I was almost as bad as Oliver; Rue had begun teaching me the secrets of their cooking—well, tried to in the few moments it took me to scarf down breakfast. The three of them listened raptly as I puzzled out whatever hiccup had popped up.
“Morning.”
My gaze shot up, egg falling out of Nick’s mouth as she stared over my shoulder.
Ambrose jumped out of his chair so rapidly he fell out of it, sprawling on the ground as he stared at the doorway. “Sir, you’re here. What can I do? What do you require? Have I forgotten something?” Distressed was an understatement.
Oliver was standing in the doorway, dressed in khaki pants, a black T-shirt from his collection, arms crossed protectively over his chest; and now that his beard was trimmed back, a slight blush highlighted his cheeks. In the months I’d spent at the estate, he’d never joined us once since that first morning for breakfast, always choosing to have it alone. With the destruction of my bedroom, we spent time together every evening before we fell asleep. Talking until we couldn’t keep our eyes open anymore.
“I thought I might, uh, join you for breakfast?” He stood ramrod straight, fists shoved into his pockets, his muscles shifting, eyes switching between our faces. As if he assumed we would send him away.
“Nonsense.” Ambrose had never moved so quickly, almost throwing his half-eaten meal at the wall to get rid of it. “Please sit. I can make you a plate. What would you like, sir?”
Nick resumed chewing, cautiously, as if a bomb were about to go off.
“I have some muffins, an omelet, toast?” While not leaping out of their chair, Rue shifted back into action too, snatching a fresh mug to pour Oliver a cup of coffee.
“Whatever is easiest.” Oliver eyed the open door, shuffling his feet.
Ambrose jostled my cup and paperwork into a pile. “Please, leave some room for others at the table, Ms. Price.” I had to cover my mouth to stop myself from laughing.
I gathered my papers while Ambrose practically shoved Oliver into the seat beside me, his body colliding with mine from the momentum. My skin hummed from the slight contact, then Oliver’s palm gripped my thigh. “Don’t leave on my account.”
“No, I …” I could sense his effort to step out of his routine, to stop hiding away, even from the people who cared for him. I knew what this meant, though I was unsure how to vocalize it. I reached down and squeezed back.
Rue set toast and a muffin in front of Oliver. “I’m so glad you joined us. So many changes happening, all due to our new friend.”
I ignored the pointed look they sent in my direction, instead continuing to stare at the hand that remained on my leg, how right it looked, my fingers intertwined with his. He let go to tackle his breakfast, and I flexed my suddenly cold fingers.
“Sit.” Oliver gestured to the empty chair and Ambrose.
“I much prefer standing, sir.”
Nick raised her eyebrows at me. All I could do was shake my head and drink my required caffeine fix.
“I haven’t seen these suspenders yet,” Oliver observed aloud.
I jerked back, knocking my shoulder into his, jostling my cup. The moment Oliver spoke, everyone froze, staring at us as if we were a museum exhibit. I wanted to be absorbed into the ground and never be heard from again.
“Yup.” I needed the attention off me immediately, off us and the hearts Rue had in their eyes.
“They have little construction tools on them.” Oliver’s finger hovered over the curve of my shoulder, and I choked out a breath.
“Yup.”
“Should I be scared you’re not talking?” He gazed down at me, eye contact steady, pupils slightly blown. I wanted to stab him. And also lick his exposed collarbone. I was a woman of many mixed emotions.
“They were a present from my father. Anything else?”
The jerk chuckled, which made everyone else’s eyes go wide, like they’d never heard the sound before. Which only motivated me to have it happen more. He kept it up, his body bumping, leg staying pressed against mine, eyes shining. My heart clenched.
“Have another muffin. I’m making a fresh pot of coffee.” Rue rushed toward me. “Anything you want, anything you need.”
Ambrose met Rue’s gaze with a single raised eyebrow, an almost smile before refiling my cup of coffee himself.
“Oh my gosh.” Nick’s jaw was practically on the floor. “I never thought I’d see the day. He should have hired you years ago to restore this place.” Her eyebrows wriggled.
A sinkhole would be a blessing right now.
* * *
We survived the day, but breakfast haunted me. Ambrose had smiled at me; it was eerie.
I could still remember the whispers about me and Dan, the assumptions the crew had made. The hope it filled me with, that there was truly something there—there had to be if everyone else saw it. And how wrong I’d been.
Everything about Oliver was a weapon designed to wreck me, and my heart wouldn’t survive. How I’d caught him Googling his sisters, checking up on them in the middle of the night. Sometimes even looking up wallpaper restoration. No one cared more than him, no matter how much he tried to hide it.
“Ready for bed?” The ass was preening, running his fingers through his hair as he left his bathroom, gray sweatpants clinging to his body, making me sweat.
“Firm, eh, firmly ready.” The man’s thick thighs were distracting. I wondered for the millionth time what they would feel like, pressed to mine, with no clothes separating us. “Don’t you want to put a shirt on?”
