That’s what happens when you stare at someone long enough, my subconscious chimed in as if I wasn’t already aware that I’d developed an unhealthy fixation on the handsome man standing in front of me.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I answered, moving out of the doorway and waving him inside. I crossed the room to my dresser where I’d stashed a bottle of whiskey. After rifling through my bottom drawer, I glanced at Oliver over my shoulder, lifting it in silent offer. “Want one?”
“Sure,” he said, settling his large body into the club chair in the far corner, hissing as his skin came into contact with the cold leather. “Fuck. I should go grab a sweatshirt or something.” He rose to his feet and moved toward the door.
I panicked. Initially, I hadn’t wanted to see him, but now that he was here, I didn’t want him to go, afraid that if he went back to his room, he’d stay there. Blurting out the first thing that came to mind to keep him here with me, I said, “My robe’s hanging on the back of the door; you’re welcome to it.”
“Thanks,” he said, pulling it off the hook and shoving his arms into the sleeves. At six-foot-four, he was a couple of inches taller than me, and his back was more broadly muscled than my own, but he wasn’t so much larger that he couldn’t fit into some of my clothes.
In fact, I had a navy blue wool Ermenegildo Zegna suit hanging in my closet back home that would look so fucking sexy on him—an idea I tried (and failed) not to let take root. Oliver wouldn’t ever visit my apartment in Boston, much less rifle through my closet for something to wear. When this was all over, we were going to go our separate ways.
I blinked long and slow, giving myself time to compose my features before I turned back around to hand him the glass of whiskey. Fuck. I’d avoided thinking about the future, but sooner or later I had to face the fact that this would all be over in a couple of weeks.
“What’s up?” I asked evenly.
Oliver rearranged his long limbs into the chair and sighed when the amber liquid coated his tastebuds. He stared down into the contents of his glass for several long moments as I waited for his reply. Eventually, he lifted his eyes to mine and let out a weary sigh. “Are we going to talk about it?”
I lifted my shoulder in a churlish shrug. “There’s nothing to talk about. We’re contestants on a reality dating show, and you kissed the woman you might wind up marrying.”
Oliver threw back what remained of his drink, wincing as it burned a path to his stomach. “You and I both know neither one of us is marrying her.”
“Does she know that?”
“Honestly?” he asked, letting his head drop back against the chair. “I don’t know. Probably. That kiss was … unexpected.”
“And yet it was reciprocated,” I pointed out, hating myself for how pathetic and mean I sounded. I wasn’t that guy. Or rather, I hadn’t been that guy for a very long time. It pained me to think how easily I’d fallen back into old habits.
The thing was, while logically I understood that my reaction to seeing them kissing was less about them and more about my past relationships and how they’d ended, my heart was the one calling the shots here, and it wanted Oliver more and more with each passing day. Maybe I’d misread the situation—what with us stealing kisses whenever we possibly could, and that night—but I’d assumed he wanted me, too. Especially when he’d discovered that his own attraction was a careful, delicate thing, so hard to come by, I’d thought I was special. I’d assumed I was the only one he looked at that way.
And when you assume, you make an ass out of you and me, my subconscious snarked.
And that was just fucking great. Exactly what I needed right now. Apparently, I wasn’t beating myself up enough over all of this so the deepest parts of my psyche had decided to join the fray. My therapist was going to have a field day with this when I got back home.
“Look,” he said, blowing out a breath, “I could sit here and tell you that she caught me off guard—which is the truth, by the way—but you’re right. I reciprocated. And I know that makes me an asshole—”
I snorted. Like a goddamned sullen teenager, I’d actually snorted. Shit. Things were way worse than I’d initially feared if I’d just channeled my fifteen-year-old self. That kid had been a crabby little asshole who didn’t know when to say uncle.
“I know that makes me an asshole,” he continued as if I hadn’t just thrown a nearly-silent little temper tantrum, “but I had to see, okay?”
“See what, exactly?” Did I even want to know? Probably not.
He leveled me with a pointed stare, liquid heat blooming in his stormy eyes. “If I could feel for her even half of what I feel when I’m with you.”
With a gulp that I was sure he could hear from clear across the room, I swallowed down the fleeting glimmer of hope his words had brought forth lest he confess that Allie lit a fire in him I could never match. And even as I told myself that I was a fool for asking, I heard myself say, “And do you?”
He licked his lips and his eyes dropped to my mouth. “No.”
13
Oliver
“No?” Elijah’s voice trembled as he repeated my answer.
I pushed to my feet and crossed the room until I stood directly in front of him. Reaching out, I pried the empty glass from his hand and set it on the dresser behind him. “No.”
He titled his head back and his dark blue eyes studied me intently for a few brief seconds. “It looked like—”
I set my hand to his chest, halting his words. His gaze flicked down to where my palm rested against his beating heart. “I know what it looked like and I’m sorry for that.”
“You shouldn’t have to apologize,” he rasped, his gaze darting abruptly away. “I fucking hate it that I’m so jealous.” I could tell the admission cost him. While I’d disappointed him, he was even more disappointed with himself right now.
“Hey.” I gripped his t-shirt in my fist, pulling his attention back to me. “Look at me.”
He blew out a breath, and I watched as a bevy of emotions flashed through his eyes. Indecision, trepidation, and finally determination. “I’m such an idiot.” He shook his head and eased out of my grip. He stepped around me and moved to the other side of the room, putting several feet of distance between us.
“Will you let me explain?” I asked, turning around to face him.
“Like I said before, you shouldn’t have to. After all, it’s not like you were cheating on me or anything by kissing her.”
“Fuck you,” I huffed, frustrated by the venom of his words.
True, Elijah and I weren’t a couple in the traditional sense of the word, but we were together in all of the ways that truly mattered. In the weeks we’d been holed up here, I’d spent more time with him than I’d spent with anyone in my entire adult life, save my former teammates. From sunup to sundown, we were each other’s constant companions. And when the sun went down and he snuck across the hall to my bedroom, I was closer to him than I’d been to anyone. Ever.
And if that didn’t mean something, I didn’t know what did.