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For some reason, this bothers me. The idea that everyone thinks I’m just naturally averse to settling down, to having a real relationship.
Yeah, my own actions and statements have earned me that reputation. It’s something I’ve been conscious of and never bothered by before. But now there’s a knot in my stomach as I ponder it.
I could be a relationship guy, damn it. I want?—
I make a sharp turn mentally away from finishing that thought, like a car veering suddenly off course when a deer jumps on the road and into its path.
Is that what I want? I’ve never wanted it before. I’ve never thought about it before. But …
My gaze alights on Olivia again. She’s turned towards one of her friends, and I’m afforded a view of her profile: the soft outline of her chin, the gentle swell of her breasts, the creamy smoothness of her bare arm …
When I first met Olivia, when Summer took her out to the bar to celebrate with the team after a victory, what I wanted from her wasn’t complicated. I can’t deny it. It was lust at first sight.
But over time I became infatuated with more than her looks. I started to like her attitude, her wit, the way she challenges me. When I first saw her on stage, I was blown away by her talent.
She’s interested in things I’m not, like those artsy movies; some might think that two people having different interests makes them less compatible, but for me it just makes Olivia more intriguing.
There’s just something I feel when I’m with her that I’ve never felt with anyone else.
Yeah, what I wanted from Olivia was simple at first. But the tension I’m feeling from this conversation tells me that, somewhere along the way, what I want from her became a lot less simple.
That’s obvious from the fantasies I have about her.
Don’t get me wrong, I still fantasize about getting her alone in my bedroom. The things I’d do to her body. The noises she’d make for me. Shit, I fantasize about it multiple times a day. But …
I think about other things, too. I think about having more days with her like that one where we drove around Cedar Shade looking for Pretzel M&M’s.
I fantasize about things as mundane as going to a coffee shop with her and sitting at a table doing our schoolwork, silently but together.
Things like spending a rainy night with her on the couch, bored to tears as she makes me watch one of her long, boring artsy movies—but still enjoying it, because I’m doing it with her.
Things like us trying to cook dinner together, me making a fool of myself because I’m totally hopeless in the kitchen, and us both laughing as we find the end result is so bad that we have to order delivery.
Things like me sneaking up behind her on campus as she leaves her class, surprising her with a present I bought her just because I can.
I realize I’ve got a goofy smile plastered to my face just thinking about these things. Man, I’m beyond down bad.
Down bad for a girl who herself has no interest in doing any of these things with me …
At least, that’s sure as hell what she wants me to think.
I know I’m cocky to the point of overconfidence. But I don’t think I’m imagining the cracks I’ve noticed forming in Olivia’s I Hate Tuck McCoy façade.
It hits me that I’ve been lost in this daydream for some time. When my gaze searches out Olivia again, she’s not where she was. My eyes bounce around the room until I finally find her—talking to some guy.
My ab muscles tighten. An acidic feeling rolls through my chest, rising up my throat and filling my mouth with a bitter taste.
That fucker’s standing way too close to her, using the loud music as an excuse to lean close to her ear.
I bet his nostrils are filled with the same strawberry and vanilla scent from her hair that I’ve grown to savor while sitting next to her during our tutoring sessions. The thought makes a downright irrational jolt of jealousy surge through me.
My gaze locks on her face, and I feel a measure of relief when I don’t notice any interest in her expression. In fact, she looks like she’s trying to disengage.
But the asshole talking to her clearly isn’t getting the hint.
When she says something to him and steps away, he steps right along with her, bending down again—way too fucking close for my liking—and saying something else into her ear. That’s when I notice Olivia roll her eyes.
A protective instinct pulses in my chest. I push into the crowd, heading in their direction. If Olivia needs rescuing from some oaf who can’t take a hint, I’ll be more than happy to assist.
