“Whoa. First you ignore me all the way here in the cab and now you attack me with a pudding.”
My reply is louder and harsher than I plan. “It’s not pudding! You think they’d let pudding in here?” Pudding has sugar and other ingredients that taste like food.
He laughs a little, but hesitantly. “It’s pudding like.”
I roll my eyes and fall into the chair not in the least excited to eat my all bran sandwich. “Well that makes me feel better.”
“Why are you so quiet and then standoffish? It’s making it hard to get to know you.”
“I’m not standoffish.”
His eyes widen a fraction and then he quickly schools his face back to normal. Probably realizes it wasn’t smart to argue with me at this point in time. “Okay, if that’s what you think.”
A woman — taller than any woman should actually be… seriously, she has to be at least six-foot four — strolls up to our table. She’s dressed immaculately, from tightfitting jeans, which have to be designer, to a cute little blouse with her highlighted hair and perfectly done makeup. I look at my own outfit, a pair of jeans and the USA Gold Medal T-shirt and scowl. Some of us have to work at these events.
“Mom?” Oliver says standing from the table.
Mom?
With a second glance there are a few aging lines in the corners of her eyes. Maybe a few extra creases in her brow, but for a mom she looks spectacular. I hope I look as good when someone his age calls me mom.
Oliver fidgets long enough to remind me his mom’s a bit crazy. Like bat shit crazy.
“Mom, this is Kenny. Kenny, my mom.”
I immediately freak out because he introduced me as Kenny and I don’t have a beard.
“It’s so nice to meet you.” I stick my hand out and smiled largely. “I was meeting with Oliver regarding tomorrow’s big event.” It’s totally logical. All athletes are required to do multiple interviews before, during, and after the day of their race event. I actually have his interview schedule clipped to my clipboard. Of course my clipboard is in my room where I dropped it off earlier in the evening. The one time I’m caught without it is the one time I need it.
Oliver scoffs and sits down in his chair, his mom picking one beside him. She still hasn’t spoken but stares at me with such intensity I almost see the wheels of her brain turning as she puts it all together.
“Kenny?” she asks, looking to Oliver.
“Yes, this is Kenny. And she’s not only my PR rep. There’s a lot more going on.”
“No, there’s not,” I promise his mother loudly.
Oliver narrows his eyes, but I can’t figure out why. Whatever it is, I don’t think I’m going to like it. He pushes his chair back slowly, the metal legs scraping against the tile floor. Never taking his eyes off me he takes a step up, standing on the stool. When both feet are planted safely on the seat, he cups his hands over his mouth.
“What are you doing?” his mom and I ask at the same time.
“Listen up, everyone,” he yells to the cafeteria. And like some freak situation, people actually listen. All heads turn in his direction.
“Oliver, sit down,” his mom demands.
I stand up too, thinking maybe I can pull him off the chair. “Shut up.”
“I want everyone to know that I, Oliver Slade, think McKenna Marston is the hottest woman I’ve ever set eyes on.”
Someone whistles in the back of the room, and I turn to look at the crowd, noticing a few heads shaking. Oh my God. This is so embarrassing.
“Oliver,” I whisper shout at him, “get down.”
Of course he doesn’t listen. “Yeah, I see the head shakes. You’ve noticed her. But she’s mine. So hands off.”
Oh my God. I put a hand over half my face to try and shield myself, but it does no good. “Would you get the hell down, please.” I widen my eyes at his mother, hoping she can talk some sense into him. He is her son after all. She doesn’t do anything useful except shrug and shake her head no.
Oliver sits down at the table with a wide smile on his face, completely oblivious to the fact he did anything wrong. I refuse to take my seat and instead scowl at him. Visions of me tossing the fake pudding at his head cross my mind.
“What were you thinking?” I ask. “Nothing is going on between us and Asbell told you to keep a lid on it.”
Oliver looks to his mom before giving me his attention. “Something is happening between us.”
“Okay, now it’s my time to go,” his mom says, patting him the shoulder. “We’ll discuss this later. I want the full report.”
His nose pinches up as she walks away, obviously not happy with what she said.
“What? She didn’t seem so bad.” I mean her son did make quite a show in the cafeteria over a girl and she didn’t tackle me or anything. Maybe he talked her crazy up too much.
“The full report means a background check.”
“You’re lying.” What would Oliver even find in a background check? I did pay a credit card bill a few days late last year. Is that on there? Who knows? Would one late credit card bill make me ineligible to date an athlete?
Why am I even considering whether I’m eligible to date Oliver?
“If I don’t give her one, she will run her own. And the service she uses is much more thorough.”
I sit back in my chair contemplating all this. “You’re not kidding. Are you?” Oliver might have mommy issues.
He laughs but there’s no humor involved. “No. You’re on her radar now. You might as well date me.”
“You are impossible.” I pick up my fake sandwich and stand. “I’m going to bed. Make sure you get a good night’s sleep and try not to get in any trouble.”
Screw Asbell’s stick to him like glue rule. I’m going to need therapy after I return home from this job. Oliver can handle himself for an evening…probably. With only my sandwich to keep me company, I walk back to my room. At least there I’ll be able to eat it in peace.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I drop the half eaten sandwich on my desk and flop down on the bed. I worked so hard to be good at this job. Failing this close to the end sucks. There’s no better word. I suck. My body is legit tired. I’m not talking like I need a nap or an energy drink. This is the kind of tired that settles in your bones. The type no amount of sleeping will make better. I was half joking when I suggested I should see the team psychologist a few days ago, but now the idea doesn’t seem so crazy. We can all use a little mental health on occasion, right?
My body and mind are so tired I’m not even going to move. I’ll lie here and sleep in my clothes tonight. Heck, would anyone even realize if I didn’t change them for tomorrow? I think I can get away with it.
I fluff my pillow preparing for a night of rest. A long, peaceful — Oliver-free — night of rest. I’ll wake up tomorrow morning refreshed and ready to deal with him for another day. At least from a work standpoint, my heart may never figure out how I feel.
The door handle to my room moves, squeaking through the silence. “McKenna are you here?” Oliver knocks again.
I jump out of bed quickly to open the door because I want to yell at him, not because I’m excited he came here to see me. “Did you try to barge in my room?”
He smiles and looks sheepish. “You should leave the door unlocked for me?”
“Why would I do that?”
He’s silent for a minute, thinking. “Then you wouldn’t have to get up to unlock it when I try to barge in.”
That’s a load of crap and we both know it, but there are bigger issues for us to argue about than his rude entrance. “What you do you want, Oliver?”
He takes a step into my room, closing the door behind him. “I came to sleep with you.”
“What?” Thank God the door’s closed. There’s a small chance the whole hall didn’t hear my question.
It isn’t until he stops walking that I realize he’s carrying a pillow and the comforter from his bed. “It’s not safe for me to sl
eep alone, so I’ll sleep on your floor.”
“You can’t sleep on my floor. You have a race tomorrow at the freakin’ Winter Games!”
He drops his pillow on the floor beside my bed, laying the comforter down next to it. “You can’t sleep on the floor. You’re a lady.” Oliver removes his shirt, balling it up and tossing it on the edge of my desk. “I told you, Kenny, it’s not safe for me in my room. Who knows who my roommate will let in tonight.”
I forget my next argument as I stare at his naked chest, counting the little dips that mark his abs. He’s not safe in this room either. When I reach the end of his chest on the number six, I huff. So…he has an actual six pack. Not that I care. He probably spends too much time at the gym.
“What was that noise for?” he asks.
“You’re damn straight it’s not safe.” I reach behind me and grab the large manila envelope I paid for earlier tonight. I toss it at him a little harder than I probably should, the edge hitting him right below his nipple. “I had to meet some freak in a scary dark parking garage today so these wouldn’t hit the papers tomorrow.”
Okay, so the garage wasn’t technically all dark and I wasn’t technically alone, but it was scary. I gave Asbell the USB drives and most of the printed images, but kept a few for myself for just the situation. I hadn’t planned to yell at him until after he raced tomorrow, but if he walks in my room and makes a big show, I guess he can see them now.
Oliver doesn’t waste time. He rips open the package rather than using the top like a civilized person. He’s two pictures in when he says, “You went alone? Why didn’t you tell me or Asbell? Someone should have gone with you.”
He flips through a few more pictures. “And I told you I don’t know this girl. My damn eyes aren’t even open in any of these pictures!” He throws the envelope and prints on my desk scattering them over the clean space.
“I know.”
“You know? If you knew they were fake, why pay money for them? Let them get printed.” His hands fly wildly toward the desk in his obvious outrage.
“Let them get printed? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” He can’t possibly be mad at me for stopping these pictures from going out to the public.
“I could’ve made a statement and told everyone they were fake.”
I laugh right in his face. “That’s not how it works and you know it. The first one to the media always gets the story. No one would believe you. Especially the day of your race. It couldn’t have happened at a worse time.”
“Well it’s not fair,” he shouts, and I hope to God the walls aren’t as thin as everyone says they are. Otherwise we won’t need a paper to tell people what Oliver’s been doing behind closed doors.
“Lower your voice,” I shush him. “Life isn’t fair. Get used to it and next time be smarter. Don’t let some bimbo in your room.”
He throws his hands up in the air. “I didn’t let the bimbo in my room. My roommate did. Go yell at him.”
Fake pictures are not the point. I had to pay him off so they wouldn’t be printed. One scandal like that could ruin someone’s career. Especially when you’re the new guy. From the drawer of matching USB drives I spotted in Asbell’s desk, I have a feeling Oliver isn’t the only athlete to get hit by this guy’s scheme.
“Well that settles it.” He brushes his hands together like he’s cleaning them off. “I’m sleeping here.” He sits on my floor pulling the blankets over his legs.
“No. You aren’t.”
“Yes, I am.”
Why does God punish me?
“No, you aren’t. Get in the bed.” This man is impossible! Regardless of how angry I am, I can’t let one of our athletes sleep on the floor the night before his competition. I may not be as obsessed about the Winter Games as some people, but I’m not cruel either.
He doesn’t move. “I’m not sleeping on the bed while you sleep on the floor. My mother might not like you, but it doesn’t mean I’m not a gentleman.”
“Wait, your mother doesn’t like me?” When did she tell him?
Oliver pulls back the sheets on my bed. “Don’t worry about it. She doesn’t like anybody.” He slides under the covers. “I’m only staying here if you get in with me.”
How is it I always seem to find myself in crazy situations? I only hope one day it will work out in my favor. I’ll win the lottery or something.
“Fine, but I have to put on pajamas.” Big thick ones to provide a buffer between Oliver and me if we’re expected to share my twin sized bed. I also plan to take a long ass time. Maybe he’ll be asleep by the time I get done in the bathroom.
Even though I take more than twenty-five minutes brushing my teeth, combing my hair, and changing into pajamas, Oliver is wide awake, his head propped up against the pillow along the backboard when I finish.
Resigned to my fate, I stroll over to the bed and act as calm and casual as possible. My heart feels like it wants to die and I might have a heart attack in the middle of the night, but I look calm on the outside and that’s all that matters. I test the bed by setting my butt lightly on the edge and then put my feet over.
“I won’t bite, you know,” Oliver says adjusting his pillow and lying flat on the bed.
That’s what I’m sad about. I mean…of course he won’t. Pretending like I have no idea what he means, I stick my nose in the air and then lay my body ramrod straight on my pillow, making sure there’s as much of the bed between us as possible. It’s a difficult task considering this bed is meant for one, but I’m still mad. Half my leg hangs off the bed and there’s no way I can sleep this way, but I refuse to admit defeat.
“Do I get a good night kiss?” He asks, holding his head up with an arm and smiling in my direction.
“A good night kiss?” First he tells me he likes me, then he gets caught with another girl in his room, then I find out the pictures are fake, and now he wants a goodnight kiss. “Okay fine.”
Don’t judge me. If you were lying in bed with a hot pro athlete, you’d agree too. Besides, the faster we get this done, the faster we can go to sleep.
Oliver leans closer and instinctively my eyes close. His lips tentatively touch against mine, testing and tasting. The kiss deepens, and I’m pretty sure it’s me who does the deepening. He opens his mouth and mine follows, his tongue running along my teeth. Something at the core of my belly flip flops with anticipation. My hands wish to reach out and feel his bare chest, but I hold back.
Then as quickly as it happened, Oliver pulls away. He kisses me one last time, a quick peck on my shocked and closed mouth. “Good night, Kenny.”
Good night? That’s it?
He rolls over, puts his back to me, and wraps the covers around his shoulder. “Can you turn off the lights?”
I slip out of bed and pad across the room with my bare feet, flicking off the light switch. What in the heck just happened here?
CHAPTER EIGHT
An alarm buzzes somewhere in the room. I fumble around for my iPhone even though it’s not the sound my alarm makes. Maybe someone broke in last night and changed it.
“Shhh. Stop moving. You’re comfy,” Oliver says. The warm hand that had been resting on my back leaves momentarily as the sound dies off.
Not listening to him, I lift my head and wipe a small line of drool from my cheek…and then to my horror from his chest. “I drooled on you.”
He laughs, the movement shaking my body. “I know. It was cute.”
I push away from Oliver’s body like he’s on fire. How in the hell did I end up stretched across his chest with his arms wrapped around me in the middle of the night? We fell asleep facing opposite directions. It’s like our bodies were drawn to each other, or they were if I believed in such kinds of things. Which I totally don’t. More than likely my vagina realized she was sleeping next to a hot athlete who earlier told an entire cafeteria I was cute and they couldn’t touch me and decided she wanted to be a little closer. Totally not my fault.
Can’t be
held responsible.
Deciding to ignore the fact I slept on top of him and the fact I drooled on him, I push a few strands of hair away for my face and look out the window. It’s completely black out there. “What time is it?”
He checks the phone he placed on the windowsill. “Five a.m.”
“Five a.m.!” And here I’d worried when I went to his room early in the morning. “Why did you wake me up at 5 o’clock in the morning?”
He stretches, the muscles of his chest flexing. “I always wake up early. Research shows you should wake up at least three hours before you have to work.”
“You’re not clocking in to some desk job, Oliver.”
“No, but I have my first qualifying heat at ten.”
“Exactly, so why are we up now? Go to bed.” Unless he totally failed at math, we can sleep until at least seven per his logic.
He laughs, gently pushing me out of his way to stand. I refuse to leave the warmth of my covers. “I need a few hours for good luck. Besides, I have a few things I like to do before I race.”
My stomach drops at the way he says “a few things.” That never actually means a few when it comes the athletes. He seemed so normal until right now.
As I look at Oliver’s face, he suddenly morphs. He’s no longer the cute fun laid-back snowboarder I’ve known the last few weeks. Now, he resembles all the other athletes. The ones who make me spend all day running around double checking their socks are packed correctly or their drinks are chilled perfectly. At least, maybe it will curb some of my attraction to him. If he expects me to sort out M&Ms or any other ridiculous request, he’s in for a shock.
“Okay, I’ll bite.” It’s not like I have any choice anyway. This is literally my job. “What exactly are your few rituals?”
“I brought a list.”
Of course he did.
He smiles, pulling out a small piece of paper from the pocket of his grey sweatpants he wore to my room last night.
“You slept with it?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t want to lose it.”
His Last Love Page 5
