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I pointedly ignore him, choosing instead to march my butt up the stairs before I bite off more than I can chew. With him, I think I might just be outmatched for once in my life. This man isn't intimidated by me. Nothing I say rattles him. He's cool, calm, collected, and completely freaking filthy.
God help us both, I think I might love it.
"Oh my gosh. There you are!"
I barely make it through the front door before Olive has her arm looped through mine, dragging me deeper into the house. She's dressed in a cute little sundress, her hair up off her neck.
"I've been waiting for you for the last hour," she says. "What took you so long?"
"Ask your husband," I mumble, peeking over my shoulder to see Zion right behind us, standing like a wall of muscle at my back. The glower on his face grows every time he locks eyes with someone.
Is he uncomfortable?
He doesn't strike me as the socially awkward type.
Olive peeks over her shoulder at him too. "Holy crap," she whispers. "Madden left out the part about him being hot."
"Did he leave out the part about him being a giant pain in the butt too?" I ask.
Olive laughs. "So I guess I don't need to ask how it's going?"
"Great!" I enthuse. "Just two minutes ago, he threatened to fuck me over the railing in front of everyone."
Her sky-blue eyes practically bug out of her head. She looks at me and then at him and then back to me. "Um, I just have one question. If he's offering to do that, why are you standing here with me right now? Are you insane?"
I groan, pulling her into a luxurious, gray-tiled bathroom as soon as the door opens.
Zion opens his mouth to say something, but I quickly shut the door, putting up a barrier between the two of us. I need a minute to think. Preferably before I let him do exactly what he threatened because Olive isn't asking me anything I'm not already asking myself.
I'm ungodly attracted to him. He's attracted to me. Why not scratch the itch?
Oh, right. Because I've never scratched an itch before. As in, ever. I'm a virgin, and Zion Carmichael looks like the kind of man who might itch deeply enough to leave scars if I start scratching now.
"You're freaking out a little bit, aren't you?" Olive guesses, leaning back against the door.
I hold my thumb and forefinger an inch apart.
"What's the problem?"
Where do I even start?
"I'm in a freaking bikini under this dress. Lyle Taggert is threatening me. Your meddling husband decided to send freaking Thor, God of my panties to watch my back." I press my hands to my overheated cheeks. "He's hot and bossy and he says the sweetest things." I exhale a sharp breath. "And I think I like him."
"Well, first of all, you look gorgeous in a bikini, so I don't know why you're freaking out about that," she says, looking at me like I've lost my mind. "Half of the women here may be thinner than us, but that doesn't mean they're more beautiful, more worthy, or any more deserving of success than you.Youtaught me that."
"Did I? I must have been off my game that day."
She sticks her tongue out at me, not buying my crap for a minute. Olive never does. She knows me too well.
"Secondly, Lyle Taggert can go kick rocks. Third, my meddling husband only hired Thor, God your panties—we're going to talk about that in a minute, by the way—because he cares and he's worried. Fourth…wait. What was next? Oh, right." She snaps her fingers. "Fourth, he wasn't looking at you like you're just a job. And you definitely didn't look at him like you're annoyed by him. So if you like him, good. There's no rule that says you aren't allowed to like the man protecting you."
"Yeah, but…"
"There's no rule saying you can't fall for him, either."
I gulp audibly. That's easy for her to say. She hit the lottery with Madden. And she didn't grow up with a mother who picked apart every little flaw, making sure she knew exactly how unattractive everything about her was to the opposite sex. I did. Everything about me was wrong to my mom. And for someone who thought she needed a man to survive this world, that meant there was something wrong with me in general in her eyes.
I grew up terrified of dating, terrified of becoming dependent on someone else. Terrified of becomingher. The funny thing about fear, though? No matter how loud it screams, it never silences the little voice in the back of your mind whispering that you still aren't enough. I've done everything in my power to ensure I'm nothing like my mother…and yet I'm still afraid I haven't done enough to guard against becoming the same sad caricature of femininity she became.
