AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“It’s not as glamorous as it sounds, really,” Jericho demurs.
I might hate her. I might really, really feel genuine contempt for this woman for being intelligent, successful, beautiful, and perfect for Drew.
Fuck her.
“What do you do?” Jericho asks, politely.
Elodie and I share a glance before she blurts. “I make pottery.”
My asshole clenches so hard while I try to keep my face blank.
“Oh! You’re an artist.”
“I wish.” Elodie goes on, weaving an intricate tale of pottery making as a passion while Jericho listens attentively. I keep sneaking glances at Drew, living for the moments when his gaze meets mine.
The wine arrives at the table while Elodie is still talking. By now, I’m convinced she actually does make pottery. Finally, the dreaded question from Jericho comes. “And you, Ollie?”
“Nothing,” I say without thinking about it. In response to her fading smile, I double down, my need to self-destruct peaking at the exact wrong time. “I do absolutely nothing. I have rich parents, and I spend their money. That’s about it.”
“Oh,” Jericho says, the smile all the way gone now.
Two lines form between Drew’s brows. His elbows are on the table and his chin is perched on his folded hands. He tilts his head. I can’t tell whether he’s confused or disappointed, or maybe he thought I did have a job. I don’t even know.
“How did you two meet again?” Jericho asks Drew specifically, and I shut my mouth.
“He lives in the building where I work,” Drew tells her, eyes still on me, and I shrink in my chair.
What? Was I supposed to make up a job? I’m in cashmere for fuck’s sake, and I’m not that creative. Elodie pats my cheek. “Ollie’s so much fun, though,” she says. “Everybody loves him.”
Jericho is silently judging me. I can feel it. She’s gonna leave here and talk shit about me to Drew, and he’ll remember everything about me he hates, and I’ll never get to kiss him or fuck him.
Jesus, how am I even thinking about that with his girlfriend right there? “Is there a restroom here?”
“Downstairs,” Drew says.
“Cool.”
I stand without another word and head for the back of the dining room where a dark stairwell leads to the lower level.
After I take a piss, I’m washing my hands when there’s a knock on the door. “I’m in here,” I call out.
“Let me in, Peach.”
Fuck.
I open the door with wet hands and tell him in no uncertain terms, “I’m not blowing you in a bathroom.”
His big, muscular body backs mine up to the counter without even laying a hand on me. “What’s your problem?”
He doesn’t sound angry. More curious.
“Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Did you see a stain on the tablecloth or something?”
I huff. “No.”
“I can’t tell if you’re annoyed or…nervous?”
