Barely even friends, p.20
Barely Even Friends, page 20
We lumbered up the stairs and down the hallway, the new runners pristine, wall sconces lit. Oliver pushed the door open. The bleakness and chipping paint were a stark contrast to the finished rooms, and the smell was almost overwhelming.
“Where do you want to start?” I asked, placing my palm on his arm, a reminder he wasn’t alone.
“You should send someone in for my sisters’ rooms. It doesn’t seem right for me to dig through them.” His voice was quiet, cutting through the must, gaze roving down the hallway, each door leading to more memories.
“I can do that.”
We lived in the silence and stale air, his muscles flexing as if he were working up the nerve to begin. He picked the playroom to handle first. After I wiped clean the windows to let in some air, we packed up old VHS tapes and DVDs, childhood classics I recognized, and others I didn’t, along with home videos that he reverently placed in a box of their own.
The act of walking through the doors opened something up in him too. It came pouring out of him: the time his sisters were supposed to be playing pretend and instead cut each other’s hair two days before the first day of school. How the siblings would take turns waking up their parents by jumping on their beds. The song his mom sang them awake with, even when they were teenagers and slept until noon.
The stern set of his shoulders lightened; we weren’t storing these treasures away for them never to return. We were walking through the memories he had packed away to protect himself all those years ago. Allowing them to breathe, return to the spaces, just as we would hang the family pictures back up.
We made our way to his parents’ bedroom, the walls and surfaces covered in photos of Oliver and his twin sisters. Photos of the family laughing at a beach and playing football together. Their wedding photo sat on the bedside table.
“We were dysfunctional.” Oliver’s voice cracked as his eyes traveled over every inch of the dusty space. “But we loved each other.”
Maybe this had been too much to do in one day, too much to ask of him. “I can pack up this room when I do your sisters’.”
“No, it should be me. I owe that to them.” His voice cracked. “I failed them.”
Oh, darling. “You were in a terrible accident. You didn’t fail them. You’re lucky to be alive.”
“It’s my fault.”
When I tried to reach for him, he stepped away, plucking up their wedding photo. It was a candid—their infectious grins were the first thing anyone would notice.
“This isn’t some sort of misplaced guilt. I know what my sisters said, but they weren’t there. I killed them.” He was full of conviction; this was his truth.
He sat on the edge of the bed, palm scrubbing at his left thigh. “There were only a few weeks until graduation. My dream NFL career was within reach. All I wanted was their approval before the draft. But Dad was vehemently against it.
“We were arguing in the car, headed to the city, some sort of family dinner, the twins were waiting for us. Mom and Dad insisted they wanted to pick me up. Really, it was to talk about my future, convince me football wasn’t the right path.” He was rushing through the words. Maybe he thought the faster he rid himself of them, the less they would hurt. All I could do was close my eyes and go along on the ride with him.
“Dad swore I would be failing the family. Said it was time to buckle down and get serious.” His eyes were distant, fingers scrubbing his beard, his breathing harsh, reliving the worst moment of his life while I clutched his other hand. The photo lay on the moth-eaten bedspread.
“I wanted to be drafted, then decide. Football was easy, natural for me. All I had to think about was the game, the next play. Not investors, stocks, or the family’s reputation. It was separate, and mine.
“Mom sided with him too, which hurt more. She said it was because she didn’t want me to get injured. But it was more than that. She’d married into this family, accepting what it entailed. I was letting her down by not wanting it too.”
Oliver stared at our intertwined palms, thumb rhythmically running over the back of my hand, as if I were the one that needed comfort in this moment.
“Dad wasn’t watching the road. The driver in the other car was drunk and swerved. Mom screamed. Then I woke up in the hospital. Grandfather was in the chair next to my bed. They’d had to sedate me for two days.
“My leg.” Tears streamed down his face as I pulled his hands against my chest, crying with him. “My femur had been shattered. It’s all rods and pins now. A giant scar.” He waved at his thigh.
“It is not your fault.”
“But it is. If I hadn’t been fighting with him, if he had been paying attention … if I had agreed … I let them down. Abandoned my sisters. Abandoned it all.” He spat in disgust. “After my accident, I let myself get stuck, as if the world weren’t still moving around me if I stayed here.
“I’m cursed. I ruined my family by being selfish. There is no choice. I need to accept my grandfather’s terms. Make it right.”
“That doesn’t make you cursed,” I whispered, my heart breaking for him, realizing this was what he had been stewing with for the past week, alone. His sisters might have resolved something, but Oliver was dealing with old wounds only he could heal.
“The press mentions me and the stock in the company drops five points. The team that was going to recruit me—my friend got the spot. His first game he wrecked his knee, never got to play again. My sisters? Constantly berated by the media. The accident blew up every single aspect of my life and the lives of the people around me.”
I wanted to suck all his pain into my body. “You went through something incredibly traumatic. No one can fault you. Grief is a personal and painful thing.”
“Oh, but they do. I do.” He tried to pull away, but I refused to let him.
“And what’s so great about them?”
“What?”
I reached up, swiping the tears that streaked his face. “What’s so remarkable about them? Cousin Carter? Not exactly a competent individual. What about that time your uncle decided to fumigate his house from snakes and ended up burning it down? Or your white and rhythmically challenged cousin struggling to start his rapping career by recording a Tupac tribute album?”
Oliver blinked slowly. “Yeah, that was …”
“Racist?”
I pressed my forehead to his, thumb brushing against the apple of his cheek, the roughness of his beard contrasting with his smooth skin. “I’m not trying to make fun of your family. Well, maybe a little. But only because they’re the ones who let you down.”
“You may have to keep reminding me of that.” The lift in his voice caught in my chest as I rubbed his shoulders.
Every day. “It’s your life. Do you want to live in a boardroom for another thirty years, or is there something else you’re passionate about? Something that makes you eager to face the day?”
His nose brushed mine, our breaths mingling. “You enjoy your job that much?”
“It may take a cup of coffee or two in the morning, but yeah, I love it.” This project might have wanted to break me, but it had also reminded me of all the things I loved and reaffirmed that I was capable of doing this on my own, without Dad as my safety net.
“I can vouch you are not a morning person.”
“Smart-ass.” I scratched my fingers along his beard, leaning back, examining his features, making sure he was truly all right, brushing away the tears.
The tips of his lips quirked, contrasting with the sadness that remained in his eyes.
I couldn’t relieve his grief, but he didn’t have to be alone in it. “My mom left when I was a baby,” I confessed.
“I’m so sorry, Petal.” His palm ran down the length of my forearm. It was unnerving how comforting that single gesture from him was.
“Thank you. I realize it’s not the same thing, but I know what it’s like, to have no control over them being gone.”
Oliver nodded. “But you miss her?”
“Sometimes. Mostly, I’m just angry she couldn’t handle Dad’s job and left me behind too.” I offered him a soft smile.
He pressed his face against my breastbone, murmuring words I couldn’t understand as I held him.
“We don’t have to finish today,” I mumbled.
“No interest in seeing my childhood bedroom?” he teased, finally a bit of levity in his voice, and I squeezed him tighter.
Of course I was interested. “We could check out what naughty things you have stashed under your bed.”
“Okay, we can stop.” He snuggled in closer, nose nudging the fabric of my suspender.
“Oh, come on, tell me. Blondes, artistic types—I’m so curious. What did teenage Oliver fantasize about?”
“I will take it to my grave.” He mimed sealing his lips.
“Bl8z3 will tell me.”
“Sir is a fan of—”
Oliver cut in. “Don’t complete that sentence. I will reset you to factory settings so fast.” He scowled at the ceiling before burrowing into my breasts as I chuckled.
“Petal, this week, I’m sorry, I—”
I shook my head, not that he could see. “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about. I’m honored I’m the one you talked to when you were ready.”
I swayed us back and forth, running my fingers through his hair, content to stay as long as he desired.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It took us the entire day to clear out the west wing. The only breaks were the two meals Oliver insisted on.
I was an ocean of questions in his bedroom. I demanded an explanation for each trophy on his bookshelf and asked where all the photos on his wall had been taken. He was terrible at bragging about himself, mostly shy and mumbling a lot. It was adorable.
The crew was eager to clock out, as Jeff kept texting to remind me until I confirmed it was okay for them to leave. The next day was our last break before the final push. We’d be working through weekends, late nights … it was going to be brutal. But I refused to fail.
“What are you doing?” Oliver’s gaze followed me as I set the book from his childhood bedroom, with its bookmark indicating the last page he read, down on the nightstand in our room, next to a picture of his parents.
“Decorating.”
“What’s the point? We’re going to pack it all up soon, anyway.” He scrunched up his nose, as I fought the urge to kiss it.
“I’m practicing.” I spun away, walking clear across the room.
“Practicing what?”
“Creating a home.” For you.
I didn’t realize he had moved until he was standing behind me, arms wrapping around my middle, chin balanced on top of my head.
“You surprise me at every turn, Petal.” His voice, barely a whisper, struck me in the chest.
“A good surprise?” I was so tired of fighting this thing between us. We were alone in the mansion, alone in our room, and all I wanted was him.
His fingers pushed my ponytail out of the way, lips traveling to the back of my neck, a shiver vibrating through my body.
I attempted to twist with one destination in mind, but he denied me. “Is this okay?” His voice throbbed with the desire licking my veins.
“You’re not kissing me,” I grumbled, spinning to tug his head down to mine.
“Is that what you want?”
I nodded furiously, giving up on his lips and sucking on his collarbone, shifting his T-shirt to lick at those freckles I stared at too often.
“I enjoy making you happy.” His thumbs discovered the space between my shirt and shorts, stroking the exposed skin. “You make me happy.” It sounded for a moment as if that surprised him.
“Tell me what you want.” I reached to release his ponytail, running my fingers through the soft strands.
“I can’t decide.” His teeth grazed against my jaw. Firecrackers exploded in my chest. “Should I taste you again? Or learn how you feel clenched around my dick?”
Fucking anything. “Is all the above on the menu?”
He chuckled as he let me yank his shirt off, the thin fabric almost ripping. The moment he was free, my fingers skimmed along all that smooth skin, unleashing every desire I had lying near him each night. As he kissed me, I felt it again, the press of his cheeks against mine, the lifting of his lips. He only smiled when his lips were touching me, and the realization did something funny to my stomach.
I wanted more of his smiles, more of him. His gruff, impossible vulnerability, the way he made me feel things no one had ever before. We had wasted a lot of time not doing this, and I would not let another moment pass.
My fingers dipped along the edge of his pants before tracing down his erection, my smile hopeless to hide with the groan he made, fingers digging into my hips, sliding up my suspenders.
“As long as you’re on the menu, I’m good.” He snapped the fabric over my nipple, his thumb immediately smoothing the bite. “I need to fuck you in only these.”
“Does that mean you’re going to fuck me?” My voice came out a little breathless as he repeated the move on the other side, making my body sing for him.
“For as long and as hard as you want.”
I released the button on his pants. “We should get started on that.”
I flung off my clothes as quickly as possible, glancing up, expecting to find him naked too. Oliver had removed his shirt and unzipped his pants, but his hands were frozen at the waist as he gnawed on his bottom lip, one palm protectively covering his left thigh, as if he were still deciding whether to push the fabric down.
It hit me that this would be the first time I’d seen him fully nude. He’d never taken off his pants in front of me. He always wore long sweatpants, long pants, never allowing his legs to be exposed, even as the weather grew oppressively warm.
“The scar is still pretty gnarly. I don’t want you to …”
“Come here.” I pressed my lips to his, fingertips tracing every inch of skin available to me, before letting my hands rest against his. “Whatever you are comfortable with.”
He nodded, linking our fingers together to rest at the waist of his pants, both of us pushing down, and then his boxers. I searched his face for any hesitation, any sign he wanted to stop, but his flush of pleasure only grew, his erection popping up to greet me. Pulling him toward me, I licked along those freckles as he relaxed into my body, hips pressing into mine, dick resting against the curve of my stomach, purposefully keeping my hands above his waist.
“I’m okay, let’s just”—his erection pulsed as heat flooded me—“let’s maybe go slow.”
“Slow’s perfect.” I stepped back, my hand gently roving, discovering. Surrounded by a light brushing of black hair, the scar started from the top of his thigh, a divot in the fat, following along past his knee, ending just below.
He sucked in a breath as I traced it, the skin noticeably rougher, but a reminder he was here, whole. My lips pressed together tightly. It was the most beautiful leg I had ever seen, the reminder that he had survived, was here with me now.
His palms wrapped around my biceps, stopping me as I began to kneel down. His mouth was rough against mine, as he removed the flower that was still in my hair, placing it on the nightstand. He sat on the edge of the bed, bringing me to stand between his parted knees, eyes on me like I was the sexiest thing he had ever seen. My skin flushed, my throat was dry, because right back at ya.
Before I could kiss him, he connected us chest to chest, skin to skin, my heartbeat somehow racing in time to match his. The hair on his chest lightly brushed against my nipples.
His hand shook as it smoothed over the skin on my back, goose bumps breaking out as the erection between us became impossible to ignore, my hips shifting.
“We don’t have to,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his sternum.
“I want to … but it’s been a while. I don’t want it to be bad for you.” His voice wavered, fingers digging into my thighs.
My heart gave a flutter. “Outrageous.”
“You’re …”
“A chaotic loudmouth, who annoys the living crap out of you?” I offered, humming as his hand moved to the side of my breast, stroking the skin the way he had stroked other parts of me in what had begun to feel like a fever dream.
“Well, I was going to say smart, gorgeous, and too good for me. But what you said also works.”
I pushed him, not that he moved an inch, laughing with his small grunt of exaggerated discomfort. His fingers wrapped around my palm, bringing it to his lips. Everything in me pulsed to that one spot of skin as his tongue dipped out.
“I have absolutely no idea what you see in me.”
The raw honesty in his voice made me pause. “That you’re incredibly brave, kind, and passably attractive.” I couldn’t show all of my cards; I wasn’t even sure what they were.
“And you don’t even care about the inheritance.”
“I mean, I could renovate so many more homes.”
“You could buy so many more homes.” His thumb moved to the juncture of my thigh, swiping enticingly there. “You might be the first person who’s ever seen me.”
I pressed my mouth to his pulse point, wanting the name of every person who had ever hurt him. “It is shocking to me that your personality didn’t win them over. Banishing someone is so attractive; it’s like playing hard to get.”
“Definitely what I was going for there.” His thick, long fingers slid against my pussy as I moved to straddle him. He traced my lips before delving deeper, immediately using two fingers. I couldn’t hold back my moan as my body rocked, trying to bring him closer. “Petal, you’re soaking.”
“What are you going to do about it?” I held onto his shoulders, digging in.
Any comeback flew out of my mind as he picked up his pace, kissing along my chest, using his body for my pleasure, every touch of his skin igniting me further.
I wasn’t worried about how I looked or which way I moved. There wasn’t a single thought except how to keep chasing this. My palm wrapped around his erection as he slowly slid his fingers out. My protest was lost on my lips as he sucked on the digits, eyes closing in bliss. “Better than I remembered.”
