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“Not a chance.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“I never said I wasn’t.”
We bicker back and forth, even as I juggle holding her and getting the door unlocked. I manage to nudge the door open with my foot and escort Olivia over the threshold. It would be romantic if it was any other night. Instead it’s an awkward circus dance that has Olivia trying to scramble out of my arms as I attempt to close the door.
“Settle down. Quit being so squirmy.”
“I don’t even want to be here.”
“You wouldn’t be if you’d just stayed here and talked to me in the first place.”
Despite Olivia’s protesting, she’s too drunk to put up a real fight as I convey her up the stairs. She curses me the whole way up, slurring her words in an angry flurry I can barely understand. I can only roll my eyes.
Instead of the guest room, I head over to our room.
“What’re you doing?” Olivia protests.
I plop her on the bed and ignore her question. Despite her combing the entire apartment for everything that belonged to her, some of her things had been left in our room. Case in point: the fuzzy pajamas I pull out of one of her drawers and bring over to her.
“Changing your clothes. You smell like you rolled around in sweat, Axe body spray, and Grey Goose,” I inform her icily.
She’s not getting out of this, no matter how mad she is with me. She can’t sleep in the clothes that she’s in. A tight little denim skirt and a cropped t-shirt. Threads of arousal twist in my gut. I’m reminded by her proximity just how much I’ve always wanted her—how much I still want her.
Not the time, dude.
I shake my head and push down the arousal. Besides, Olivia’s in no condition to consent to fooling around. That’s probably why that creep targeted her. The thought alone has me seeing red once more, so I shove it to the back of my mind and focus on the headstrong woman in front of me.
“You don’t have to look like you hate me,” she snaps.
I meet Olivia’s eyes. She stares back at me, her face full of hurt. Shit. My own face must’ve given away my thoughts. She just read them wrong.
“I don’t. I’m trying to help you.”
My hands go to the hem of her shirt. She snatches them away, her nails digging into my fingers.
“Why?” she presses. “Undressing another woman in your bed. What would your wife think?”
“Don’t know, since I don’t fucking have one,” I snarl. I rip her shirt up and over her head. Her torso tips to one side and sways dangerously close to tilting off the bed before I catch her.
Olivia shoves her hands at my chest. There’s very little force behind them, but it’s not the force that stings; it’s her next words.
“I’m not having se—hic—sex with you!”
My nostrils flare. So not only am I a liar and a cheater, she thinks I’d do that? Right now?
“I’m not trying to fuck you. Dunno if you realized, but you’ve got cheap alcohol all down the front of your shirt. And you smell like shit.”
It’s harsh, but fuck it. It drives the point home when she finally has the sense and sobriety to look embarrassed.
“You can barely stand, let alone get undressed and into PJs,” I add. “Now, sit the fuck down and shut up so I can do this.”
Olivia’s off-center glare is luckily not accompanied by any more lip. I peel her out of her soiled clothes. Given her demeanor, I stop the service care at that. God only knows what kind of damage she’d do if I tried to get her into the shower.
So we keep things simple. One leg into one leg hole, and then the other. Olivia cooperates despite the huffs she gives me. Shirt on next. Then, before she can stumble herself away, I tug her up higher on the bed. One second, she looks like she’s about to protest; the next, she’s tucked under the fluffy comforter.
Her bottom lip pokes out. Her pouting is almost cute.
