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I smile. “Yeah, it’s likely the only thing I cook well.” I chuck the burnt bun in the trash. “Usually.”
He nods slowly and rubs a hand at the back of his neck. Orange halos shine on the wall as the sun begins to rise. “Can I help?”
“I got it. You paid for dinner last night.” I cut another piece of pandesal. “Akara texted me.”
Oscar grabs protein powder and a bottle. “Me too. He said, congrats. Good choice in bros. He knew you were a frat bro, didn’t he?”
I laugh. “Yeah. He’s met some of my frat brothers.”
Oscar shakes his water bottle with mix. “Where was I?”
“Working or flirting with me.” I eye his washboard abs, and our arms begin to slide around each other’s cut waists when a loud noise emits from my phone.
“Can I look?” Oscar asks me.
“Have at it.”
He checks the notifications. His glare goes from a low simmer to angry boil, but he tries to rationalize the future. “I’m not with Charlie. It’s a fucking lie. They can’t believe it for long. I’m just a bodyguard—I’m not even that famous.”
I plate the hot pandesal. “It’s so much easier creating perception than to change it, Os. When people believe a lie, they will cling to it with all their fucking might. You know why?” I turn to him, wiping my hands on my sweatpants. “Because if they admit it was a lie, it means they were wrong.” I laugh bitterly. “People don’t want to be wrong.”
My phone lets out another angry buzz in his hand and he powers it off and slides it across the counter. “Yeah, well, they’re all fucking WRONG!” He yells at the phone.
I just start laughing.
His lips lift. “Stop,” he tells me. “Because I really need to scream at these motherfuckers, and I can’t do it on the job.”
“No, I needed that.” I wave him on. “You look hot when you’re angry and trying to defend me.”
His lips hoist. “I’m always hot, Highland.” He walks over and puts his hands on my cheeks. “Being with me is complicated.”
My pulse ricochets every which way. “Do not shut the window—”
“I’m not,” he forces
“You sure?”
“For sure,” Oscar says strongly. “Just giving you the opportunity to crawl back out of my open window.” He swallows harder, choked at the thought. “You can still back out. This is day one. You’re not in that deep.”
I laugh like he has no idea. “Yeah I am.” My feelings…can’t walk away from those. And he’s the safe place right now. He must see this answer in my gaze that sinks into him.
Something heady passes between us, and Oscar presses a kiss against my lips, one that brings our bodies so much closer. My nerve-endings prick—and then we’re cut off by a new noise.
His phone buzzes, and when he peeks at the caller ID, his concern jacks up. Switching on speaker-phone, the first thing I hear is a fire alarm and the muffled sound of Charlie’s voice.
23
OSCAR OLIVEIRA
“I can’t hear you, Charlie!” I yell at my cell. He hangs up. Jack and I don’t even put shirts on before we’re down the hall in a flash.
Gold 2166 number on the door, I bang hard. Just what we need this morning. Surliness is a look that I wear pretty fucking well from time to time.
Catastrophes are commonplace among the Cobalts, but I wasn’t looking forward to one so soon after a media shit storm rained down on Jack.
And he made me toast.
Alright, the guy burned the toast first, but damn if that didn’t get to me more. Jack isn’t a flawless person, and I had this idea of the perfect guy who’d be obsessed with the Phillies, cook a perfect breakfast, and never attend a frat in his life.
Who I thought I’d end up with has been swept aside to leave a more beautiful reality of the man I’m falling for.
And now that we’re officially dating, I’m dying to give my all to Jack. For the fucking crap he’s getting online, he deserves my attention, effort, and protection. It feels like Day 1 together, the start of something more serious, and look at me now, leaving the guy behind.
Not entirely true, Oliveira.
Highland is right next to me. Jack knocks on the door too, his shoulders straightened with the same urgency and concern. He loves these families. He has a little brother. He understands.
Thoughts zip out fast as Charlie swings the door open. Blocking me from entering, he slides out and shuts the door behind his back. “I have it handled,” he says. “But we have a problem.”
“You have that handled?” I wave towards his apartment. “What’s with the fire alarm?”
“There’s smoke,” he says like it’s obvious.
No duh, Sherlock. I want to draw a big red circle around a glaring fact: WE JUST HAD A TOWNHOUSE BURN DOWN.
