Still. I worked at a coffee shop all summer. I know annoying clients. I mouth sorry, move to the front, motion for Oliver to follow.
He does.
It only puts five feet between us and the barista, but it's the best we can do.
"You couldn't do it," Oliver says. "You have to take orders from customers."
"You think I can't take orders?" I mean to say it in a playful fuck you kind of way. Instead, I say it in an I dare you to order me out of my clothes way.
His pupils dilate. His tongue slides over his lips. He stares back at me for a second. Almost like he is going to dare me. But he doesn't. "Name one time you have."
"I listen to my coach."
"Uh-huh."
"You think I want to suffer a hundred hundreds?"
"Maybe. But you don't listen to me." He shrugs, trying to sell casual, failing to hide the desire in his voice.
Thankfully, the barista interrupts. Calls out our drinks.
I keep mine black.
Oliver lightens his cold brew with whole milk and simple syrup.
"How do you drink that?" I ask.
"I put the straw in my mouth and suck."
"It's too sweet."
"It's good."
I shake my head no way.
He offers me a sip.
Okay, fine. My fingers brush his as I take the cup.
His gaze stays fixed on my lips.
There's intent in his eyes. Like we both know he's picturing my lips wrapped around something else—
Or maybe I'm imagining things.
Why am I imagining things?
Oliver isn't my friend, exactly, but we're friendly. I know him well. Yes, he's sexy and tattooed and troubled.
With that dark hair and those deep eyes.
And I…
Uh…
The point is, yes, Oliver is attractive. But it doesn't affect me like this. Even if I occasionally think about him naked.
Or picture his hands in my hair.
Or his lips on my thighs.
I, uh… "What was Holden talking about?" I reach for some way to change the subject.
He runs a hand through his hair. Fights a look of displeasure. "Holden bullshit."
"Right." I take a long sip of my iced Americano. Let out a low sigh. Fuck, that's good. Rich and nutty and refreshing.
He looks at me funny, but he doesn't say anything.
"Anything interesting?"
"My hiatus."
"Oh."
"What?"
"I just thought… I know you guys are awkward, since Daisy—"
"Since he broke his promise to look out for her?" His voice drips with anger. In an Oliver way. Restrained. Hurt.
I want to hold him, comfort him, convince him it's okay.
And tell him he's an idiot. Daisy is an adult. She can choose to date anyone she wants. Even if it's kind of messed up dating her brother's best friend.
Not that I'm contemplating a similar idea.
I would never.
Daisy is my best friend. I'm not risking that.
Or my place to stay.
I'm just—
Ahem. "I thought you'd have told him."
"You know Holden. Makes everything into something."
True. And Oliver tends to hold his cards close. Sure, he's free with dirty stories or tales of drunken debauchery. But he rarely shares the serious stuff. "Is it something?"
He shrugs. "Just a thing I'm trying." He motions to the door. Moves toward it at a quick clip.
I rush after him. "Is there a reason? Why he thinks it's a thing?" It's definitely a thing. If he's running away from it so quickly.
I don't mind walking fast—I have long legs, after all, and I'm in comfortable shoes—but this isn't really his thing.
He's not slow. More purposeful.
This is something else.
"You need to grab anything at home first?" he asks. "Or should we go straight to your parents' place?"
"We can go straight there."
"You actually need someone to carry stuff?"
"Kinda. I need my clothes. My makeup. Books. It's a lot."
"We can take the car."
I nod. "My car is there. And you don't have space for another."
"We can take my car."
I bite my lip. "Oh. Sure. But, uh, I didn't ask you for your biceps."
"No?"
"No." I take a long sip. Walk faster to keep up with him. "I want someone else there. In case Allison is home."
"You don't want to see her?"
"No. I can't look at her right now." My chest tenses. "She's the one… she's leaving Divya for a younger woman."
"Fuck."
"Yeah."
"I guess… if she was a guy, it would be expected. Rich business owner. Good looking. In great shape."
"And Divya isn't?" I ask.
"Are you really asking me if your mom is hot?"
"You just went on about how my other mom is hot."
He chuckles I guess so. "Like you don't talk about how hot Gabe is."
Okay, maybe I mention it. On occasion. But, in my defense, Gabe is smokin'. All tall, and broad, and stoic. Dark hair and clear blue eyes.
Oliver in twenty years.
Not that I—
I just notice attractive men. That's all.
And that's all this is.
Sure, I want Oliver.
But I'm an adult. Unlike Allison, I can control myself.
No matter how much my body protests.
Chapter Nine
Luna
Thankfully, both my and Oliver's parents live in the residential part of Venice Beach.
Our place is way south of theirs, but, hey, we don't have to cross any major streets. Even with those silly apps routing people through the neighborhood to avoid traffic, the road is clear.
Five minutes of empty streets and cute bungalows.
Oliver parks right in front of my parents' place. Next to the cute lattice gate. The rows of succulents. The stone walkway.
It is a cute house, objectively speaking. Not really like either of my parents.
Allison, my biological mother, is a no-nonsense, tough as nails HBIC (head bitch in charge, usually said with love. Right now… ugh).
Before this particular revelation, I would never have called her a bitch. Okay, I still wouldn't, unless it was in a HBIC/I say it as a compliment thing. I don't care for that word.
The point is… she's tough and serious and not at all into frills. When she isn't wearing a suit in a neutral color, she's wearing a suit in a power color. And when she's not wearing a suit, she's sipping red wine in a silk pajama set.
Her idea of a casual weekend is pairing a suit with designer flats, sipping black coffee at brunch, then reading a business book as Divya and I play.
Fun is not in her vocabulary.
I guess I found out where she gets her fun. Other women. Like so many male execs before her.
Divya is her polar opposite. Her parents moved to London when she was a baby. She grew up in a city of culture and influence and came out with an eccentric love of family and tossing aside tradition. (They were both studying at Oxford when they met).