“I feel like shit,” I say, then flush and glance at Louise’s shocked expression. “Disculpa mi lenguaje.” (Sorry, excuse my language.) I then look back to Julia and take her hands once the guys have released me. “I will make it up to you.”
“How about sending us to an exotic country, like you did when Grey totally fucked up my party?” Jaimie suggests, sounding extra pissed too.
Jeez, he and I are always ruining someone’s party…I feel like utter crap now. What is wrong with us?
I look at Julia. I wouldn’t mind. “Well?”
“A vacation to another country wouldn’t change the fact that you messed with my groove last night,” she snaps, and I wince.
Jaimie whines.
Julia rolls her eyes and resigns, “But I guess a trip to Italy wouldn’t be so bad…”
“Yay!” Jaimie jumps onto her girlfriend’s side, arms encasing her small waist. “Make it Rome and you’ll get something special tonight. And I’ll give you a hint: it starts with a V.”
Everyone collectively groans, disgusted. And I join in too, because, um, gross. But when do they ever hold back on what goes down in their bedroom? They’re a very shameless couple…but you can’t not love them.
“Don’t be nasty,” Charlotte mewls, face scrunched up.
“Oh, get your heads out of the gutter, people,” Jaimie scoffs, then a mischievous grin forms. “I just meant: very amazing head from moi.” She pokes her cheeks and bats her eyelashes, and everyone begins to disperse, each muttering how they’re “nasty” and shouldn’t reveal too much information. “What? I don’t believe for a second that you all haven’t gotten banged by another human being,” she argues as she drags Julia along with her to catch up with them as they huddle into the living room.
I stand here for a moment, wondering how I became friends with such weirdos.
“Cool weirdos,” I correct myself.
I struggle up the stairs with the massive headache growing larger and larger with every nerve-wracking beat.
When I finally make it to my bedroom, I trudge directly to my ensuite. I twist on the bathtub faucet. A shower would not be enough to soothe my aching muscles and the nefarious scream ringing in my head. I strip away my clothes and add bath bombs and soap into the quickly rising tub. The end product is a soft orange and dark pink color that looks really pretty.
I sink into the water and press the button on the expensive tub that starts up the jets. I thought my mother was splurging way too much by buying this tub, but man, am I extremely grateful for her inability to make smart shopping decisions.
About twenty minutes into the bath, I nearly doze off, feeling relaxed and the headache slowly disintegrating, when I hear a knock at the door.
“It’s me,” Noah says before I can even open my mouth.
“Oh, come in.” I sink lower into the thick bubbles to cover myself.
The door pushes open, and he steps in, closing it after him.
He turns and our eyes lock. But then his eyes shift to the bubbles, one of my legs peeking through my makeshift bubble-shield, and his pinks turn the color of the soap used in the bath. I believe I am the same color as I look away and self-consciously arrange the bubbles a bit in case something else wants to make itself known.
“I’m sorry, I can come back later?” he suggests, smoothing his fingers through his hair.
“No, it’s all right—you can stay,” I assure him with a smile.
He just nods, face glued to the ground.
An uncomfortable silence fills the room.
“So, you came here for something?” I say, trying to fill in the silence.
He turns to me, looks shocked for a second like he forgot I am completely naked, save for my terrible wall of protection made of bubbles, then clears his throat and tries on a crooked smile. “Yeah, I did.” He looks hesitant for a moment, but then he finds his natural confidence and walks over to the tub. He grabs the wooden chair that holds my clothes, places them on a rack, and swivels the chair in front of me and sits, facing the back of the chair.
I raise my brows expectantly, and he blushes even more, if possible.
“Sorry I’m being a spazz,” he says. “Not very often I am in the presence of a pretty naked girl.”
“I doubt that,” I mumble, looking into the bubbles. But looking in his eyes when I bring my attention back to him lets me know instantly that I am wrong.
“I’m serious, buttercup,” he relays. “Despite my past, none of them compare to you. You’re like this kind of wildflower, exquisite and rare.”
I gulp at his sweet words and avert my eyes from his, unable to look into those green eyes. “Thank you…” I raise my hand to my lips and nervously play with my lower one. But then I realize I’ve stolen Grey’s tick and let my hand drop. I feel hotter than ever at the image of him and give my full attention to Noah, who has been rubbing his neck nervously.
“No problem,” he mumbles.
“Yeah…” I grumble.
“Hey,” he says, and I look up.
“Yeah?”
He pauses.
“How come you only got home twenty minutes ago? I called you way before that…” he questions, and I gulp.
“Oh, yeah…I, uh…I had to help comfort Grey,” I say, though it sounds more like a question.
“Oh?” He frowns.
“Not like that,” I say, then sigh, having to reveal something that’s left him a complete wreck and is a personal thing. “It’s just…he got this call that his grandfather passed, and they were really close. I couldn’t just leave without knowing he was okay, especially after his hospitality to me last night.”
“Oh…makes sense.” He nods to himself, then quickly adds, “But sorry about his loss. That sucks.”
“Yeah, it does.” I bite my lower lip and feel another silent pause coming. “I’m sorry, you were saying something earlier…?”
“Oh, right.” His eyes light up. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“It’s not like Grey would hurt me,” I immediately defend him, and he raises his brows. I sink lower into the tub and shrug, my voice turning lower, “not physically, at least.”
“Still…” I face his serious expression, cheeks sucked and lips taut. “Are you okay?”
“Despite the raging hangover?” I laugh lightly and roll my eyes. “I’m rainbows and leprechauns.”
“Good.” He smiles from ear to ear, but there’s something he isn’t saying. I can see it in his eyes.
“What is it?” I question him.
His dark eyebrows curve. “What do you—”
“What aren’t you saying, Noah?” I cut him off, kind of impatient. I have my fair share of partners withholding things on their mind and making me lose mine because of it. I won’t go through it again. I just won’t.
“It’s just…” He sighs and closes his eyes. “Did anything happen between the two of you?”
“Seriously?” I feel my cheeks rise in critical temperature from both shock and anger. I wish my emotions weren’t so easy to decipher based on my cheeks.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he groans and slaps his hands over his face and leans down, then pops back up, lips between teeth. “It’s just, I know the epic past you two have and—and I was just worried you or he would…Fuck, I’m the worst, aren’t I? It sounds like I have no fucking faith in you, but I do, trust me! It’s him I don’t trust—” he rants.
“We didn’t do anything,” I tell him, but he doesn’t even hear me over his blinding fear of me betraying him, which has been my own lately.
“I should have taken you and rented a room at the motel or something. How could I have let you leave with that guy? I could have watched over you at the club, but Dean and the gang fucking walked in and I knew he would just try to start something and—”
I clutch the tub’s edge and lean up to kiss him, tasting his words on my tongue.
It lasts for a few sweet seconds, but then my skin bubbles with goose bu
mps and I feel ultra-uncomfortable. So I sink back into the tub and let the bubbles almost swallow me with coverage.
He has some on his chin, and I giggle at the dazed look on his face. “Whoa,” is all he says, and I laugh some more.
“Does that satisfy your worry?” I ask teasingly.
“It satisfies something, all right,” he says with a little laugh. I can’t stop myself from joining him.
“Nasty.” I stick my tongue out at him.
“You’re nasty,” he coos, lightly pinching my tongue.
“Ouch!” I laugh and pull back. He and I laugh so hard the sound bounces off the tiled walls. I like this, the easiness that ignites between us when we’re just joking around. I swear it becomes so much harder when we kiss or do anything romantic, but that isn’t detrimental to being in a relationship.
Our laughter is cut short when my phone begins to ring.
“I got it,” he says, walking over to my clothes.
“Thank you,” I mouth to him as he digs my phone out of my jeans’ pocket.
“No problem,” he mouths back as he hands me the phone.
I smile as I answer the phone and press it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hello, is this Olivia Westerfield?” a woman answers.
“Yes…” I say unsurely. I should have looked at the caller I.D. Whoever this lady is, she sounds stern, professional even.
She continues speaking, and as she does, I swear it isn’t real. Tears fill my eyes as she goes on and on, answering my questions, completely oblivious to the fact that I’m having a major dance party on the inside.
“Yes…yes…thank you so much for the opportunity. Yes, thank you, again.” I hang up the phone and stare long and hard at the bubbles.
Noah carefully takes my phone from my palm. “Okay…what was that about?”
“I’ve been accepted into the Psych Program…again,” I say breathlessly, still shocked.
“What?” I look at him and feel relieved, and ecstatic tears leave my eyes. “Oh my God! That is amazing!” I can tell he wants to hug me, but he holds back, considering. “How are you not freaking out right now? You told me how big this opportunity was.”
“Oh, I am freaking out.” I laugh and shake my head in disbelief. “It’s just taking me a while to process it.” I can’t believe this!
“Don’t process, just react!” He grabs my hand.
“Okay, I’m so fucking freaking out!” I launch out of the tub and wrap my arms around him. I don’t even care if I’m naked and freaking out even more because of the fact. I’m doing as he says, reacting! “I got into the program, Noah! Again! Fuck! The most elite and hardest program in the field, and I got in twice! Can you believe it? How am I special?”
“Don’t even get me started,” he says and hugs me tighter.
I squeal and melt back into the water. But I am too excited to stay still. I splash around excitedly, and he laughs and throws his arms up.
“I can’t believe this!” I scream at the top of my lungs.
“Quiet the sex down, please! Thank you!” I hear one of those cool weirdos yell from downstairs.
I clasp a hand over my mouth and giggle, meeting Noah’s wide, mortified eyes.
“Crap! What do we do? What do we do?” I repeat, and he grabs my hands and leans forward.
“We celebrate, of course!” he exclaims. “First, we go out clubbing tonight. We tear up the fucking town because you did it. Then, we stretch out the celebration all through the week, because, guess why…you fucking did it!” He grabs me out of the tub, and I laugh and squeal as he spins around, my naked body flushed and dripping against him.
“Getting dizzy!” I yell.
He stops, and I stumble a bit, my stomach clenching.
“Sorry.” He is the definition of red as he sets me down and looks away.
I quickly grab a towel and laugh at his excitement. And although I should be shouting my accomplishment from every roof in town and think of myself—because I fucking did it!—I can’t get rid of the image of Grey sitting on the plane, alone, trying to hide his tears as he heads to his grandfather’s funeral…alone. The crystal-clear snapshot brings actual tears to my eyes and tugs on my heartstrings, the strings that are connected with his.
“Livvy? Did you not hear me?” Noah cries, shaking me by my shoulders a little.
“Hmmm?” I lift my eyes and meet Noah’s wide green ones that are absolutely shining.
“I said: are you ready for a week of victory?” he reiterates, but a little less enthusiastically, having realized I’m not totally in the moment.
I open my mouth to say, “Hell yes!”
But that image, that fucking image, nearly sends me to my knees in tears. Him, all alone, heart-broken, all alone…
“No.” I shake my head.
“No?” He laughs uneasily.
I shrug his hands away and take a step back. “No,” I say firmly.
Chapter Eleven
“What?” Noah says breathlessly. He looks so confused and a little scared.
“I said…I said no,” I affirm, nodding my head as if to cement the insane idea myself. But I highly doubt nods are enough to swallow what I’m thinking of doing. I have to look away and storm into my bedroom; the look he was giving me was too intense, too emotional for me to register.
I pull out my luggage and begin packing frantically. I rush around my bedroom like I’m a chicken without a head. I don’t know what I’m doing. Yes, I do. But it is too insane to linger on the thought for too long. Because when I say it in my head, I get this little jolt in the back of my mind and I jump a little like I’ve been nipped in the butt. I am going to Venezuela with Grey. Wow! There goes that electric shock.
“What are you doing?” Noah watches me cautiously from the ensuite.
“Packing,” I tell him vaguely, folding a soft pink blouse.
“For what?” he asks, then stops, and I glance at him. But as it sinks in what I mean, I look away. “You’re not seriously doing what I think you’re doing, are you?”
When I shift a few jeans to the filling luggage, he smooths his hands over his hair.
“You are!”
“It’s only going to be for a week—” I try to explain.
“You’re going to another country with Grey, your fucking ex-boyfriend!” he screams, and I cringe.
“He needs me right now, okay?” I say calmly, trying to get him to lower his voice. I don’t need everyone to find out, not like this, not right now. They’d just tell me how stupid and irrational I’m being. And I will probably listen, and I can’t afford to do that. Not when Grey needs me more than he ever has before. The thought of him alone during such a trying time with no one who understands him the way I do kills me from the inside out.
“So?” he booms, and I sigh.
“Do you desperately need me right now?” I question.
“Does he?” he asks accusingly.
I look away and brush past him to the closet. “You don’t understand.”
“Of course I don’t understand!” he shouts, and I whirl around, walking up to him.
“Will you please lower your freaking voice?” I hiss, consciously glancing at the door.
“No, I will not lower my voice!” he screams defiantly. “You are jetting off to another fucking country with your ex-boyfriend, whom you just spent the night with.”
“I already told you I didn’t sleep with him,” I defend.
“Another country!” he exclaims.
“I get that, Noah!” I clutch my head; the headache is coming back tenfold.
“I don’t think you do!” he counters, and I roll my eyes. “Would you be okay with me going to fucking Canada with one of the girls I used to fuck?”
I gasp and push him away from me. “You can do whatever the hell you want, but unlike you, my goal wouldn’t be to fuck my past. I’m only going because he needs someone. He’s going through a lot.”
“But why does that mean you have to go to his rescu
e?”
Because I love him!
“Because I can’t handle him suffering,” I go with instead. My voice stretches thin and cracks at the end. I watch as the words crash on the ground. He looks more hurt than he would if I had gone with what I cried in my head.
“Why the hell not?” he exclaims. “He sure has put you through a hell of a lot of suffering himself. So why do you feel like you have to go out of your way to make sure he isn’t in too much pain? Why don’t you just let him be? He deserves it after all he has done.”
“No one deserves to feel like there is no hope,” I croak, and he tilts his head. “No one deserves to feel dead on the inside. No one deserves to be alone…not even Grey. Especially not him.” I shut my eyes to trap my tears, but a long warm strip slips past my eyelash barrier.
“Why not him especially?” he whispers.
“Because…” I chew on my lower lip as I try to think of a way this won’t hurt him. But then I open my eyes and take in his face: screwed eyebrows, flushed cheeks, and messy hair—and I can’t. Because he knows why and he’s already hurting, and I don’t want to drive the final nail through him.
“Because you’re still in love with him,” he finishes for me.
I don’t answer. But I assume he reads my trembling lips and shedding tears and formulates his own answer.
“For fuck’s sake, Liv,” he breathes, taking a step backward.
“It isn’t like that,” I argue, taking one forward.
“Oh, it isn’t?” He sounds utterly pissed, and I cower back.
“No,” I say weakly.
He rolls his eyes and threads his fingers through his hair. “I know how you two were before.”
“That doesn’t mean I’ll do anything with him. I’m only going for support—” I reason.
“That’s what I am afraid of!” he yells, cutting me off.
“What?” I shrug my shoulders defeatedly. “You’re so afraid I’ll fuck him the minute we’re out of the country? Do you have no faith in me?” My voice raises as my patience for his wild rage grows paper thin.
“It’s not you I don’t have faith in, Olivia.” He sucks air through his clenched lips and shakes his head, arms thrown up, done with this heart-breaking conversation. “Have fun on your trip,” he says and walks out.
Grey: The Reconnection (Spectrum Series Book 4) Page 8
