“Oh.”
We stand in the doorway staring at each other. “Okay,” I finally say. “I’ll go see if the hotel has an extra room available.”
I start to turn, but Olivia sighs and grabs my arm. “Wait. Just … just come in,” she says. “We’ll figure it out.”
I can’t help but grin as I close the door behind me. Unfortunately, she sees it. Her hands fly to her hips.
“What?” she asks.
I quickly school my features. “Nothing,” I say.
She narrows her eyes and makes a humming sound in her throat. “The bed’s a king, so there should be plenty of space for both of us. I was finishing up in the bathroom. When I’m done, you can have it.” She glances at me, waiting for my reaction. I keep my face impassive.
“Sounds good,” I say. Inside, I’m giddy. Yeah, I’m still annoyed with Matt for kicking me out of my own hotel room, but if it means sharing a bed with Olivia, I may actually owe that guy a thank-you card. She could put a wall of pillows between us on that bed, and I guarantee she’d still be the best roommate I’ve ever had.
She pops back out of the bathroom, where she’s put leggings on underneath her baggy T-shirt. Her hands are on her hips again.
And the ponytail is gone, her hair now flowing like a soft river across her shoulders and down her back. The way it frames her face makes the angles of her jaw softer. I have the almost uncontrollable impulse to bury my hands in that hair and feel the silky strands glide through my fingers. I know I’m staring, but Olivia doesn’t seem to notice.
“Tell me the truth,” she says. “Is this some sort of a plan that you guys put together? Are you hoping to….” She trails off, wanting me to fill in the blanks on my own, which I do.
“No,” I say quickly. “I swear.” I draw an X over my heart with my pointer finger.
She glares at me, assessing my truthfulness. Despite the fact that I really do only have honorable intentions, I sweat a little under her gaze. I mean it’s not like I haven’t thought about it. A lot. But I’m not stupid, and I knowthatkind of fling isn’t what either of us wants.
“Okay, good,” she finally says. “Because that’s not the kind of thing I would do with someone who’s just a summer fling.”
Even though I literally had the same thought, I bristle at her wording. I can’t help but push back. “You’re still clinging to the whole ‘summer fling’ thing, huh?”
She blinks at me. “Of course. That was our agreement.”
I lift a hand to her cheek, running my thumb across the collection of freckles that dot her skin. I move my hand up and back, my fingers parting and then disappearing into the strands of her hair. I close my eyes at the feel of it, even better than I expected. Her hair is still wet in some places, and the damp spots chill my hand as I wrap Olivia’s hair around my palm.
I open my eyes and immediately lock them with hers. The gold flecks in her green eyes glow in contrast with the low light that surrounds us. Her pupils dilate, and she leans toward me the tiniest bit. Her neck and cheeks flush pink, and I’m slammed with the intense impulse to erase all the distance between us, both physical and emotional. I pull her body into mine easily. The emotional chasm will be more difficult to bridge.
“We’re more than a fling,” I whisper into the shell of her ear, my voice husky and cracking.
Instantly, Olivia shuts down, like a switch has been flipped. It’s actually pretty impressive to watch. The emotion—desire, longing, affection—drains from her eyes, leaving them hard, cold, and a little … sad. Her hands drop to her sides. I untangle my hand from her hair, and she steps back, restoring the distance between us.
“That was the deal,” she says flatly. “If you want out…”
I hold back a groan. I want to shout. I want to shake her. I want to push her down onto the bed and kiss her until she can’t remember her name, let alone why she insists on holding me at arm’s length. I don’t do any of those things.
Instead, I hold up my hands, palms facing toward her. “Hey, forget I said anything, okay? I’m going to get ready for bed.”
I grab my duffel and walk into the bathroom. After I close the door behind me, I slump against it. Maybe I am stupid, because I damn well know better than to back Olivia Delaney into a corner. She always comes out swinging. At me, mostly. Or so it feels.
I take a quick shower to wash off the chlorine, river water, and sunscreen from the day. Then, as I brush my teeth, I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
Because how pathetic am I? Pining patiently for a woman who’s made it very clear what she wants from me.
I don’t understand the hold she has over me.She’s just a woman.Even as the thought enters my mind, I push it away. I know it’s a lie. Olivia has never been just a woman or just a girl to me. She pushes me. Challenges me. She keeps me humble when I get too cocky. She also makes me feel like I can do anything.
When we were in high school, I was on the debate team, but my toughest arguments were always at home with my twin sister’s best friend. We argued over stupid stuff like whether hot dogs are sandwiches and whether the American League or the National League is better. After one particularly fierce discussion in which I had to concede by the end thatFolklorewas an artistically more mature album thanRed, making it objectively Taylor’s best, I told her that she really needed to join me on the debate team.
She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Yeah right. I'm not smart enough for that.”
I don’t know why she sold herself short. She still does it. Does she think self-deprecation makes people like her more, or does she really not see how smart, strong, and capable she is even off the soccer pitch?
