by B. Cranford
He nodded, forcing his feet to move toward the living area. The big glass window that overlooked one of the quiet side streets of Madison highlighted his reflection, and he could tell that he had a stunned look on his face.
All in all, it had been a weird night. Not that he was here, specifically—he spent nearly more time here than at his own small apartment—but that after weeks of silence and regrets, Odie was speaking to him and answering her door in next to nothing.
If they weren’t currently in a weird place friendship-wise, he’d have thought she was trying to seduce him or something.
Okay, not thought, but hoped.
Oh God, would he have hoped.
“Do you want anything?” she asked, her voice floating over the counter and toward him. It wasn’t loud, but he heard it. He recognized it.
“Water would be good,” he managed, plonking himself down on her couch and trying to calm his thoughts. He wasn’t here to lust after her—though that was nothing new to him—he was here to win her back.
Well, win her friendship back, anyway.
When she sat down on the floor, not next to him on the couch, he smiled and started to say something about the boxing gloves sitting near her wine glass and bottles, but before he had the chance, she looked pointedly at her watch and said, “You have fifty minutes left, Austin. Then you can leave.”
“What’s with the gloves?” he asked, instead of launching into his apology. He knew he was avoiding, procrastinating, whatever. But he wasn’t quite ready to lay himself bare.
“I was getting in a workout, if you must know.”
“In lingerie?”
“You know what, I might be a”—she held up her hand and made exaggerated quotation marks—“‘stupid girl’, but I’m also an adult. I’ve been boxing for twenty years and training people for, like, eight or six or I don’t remember right now. But if I want to work out in lingerie while drinking wine, I damn well will.”
“Odie, I never said you were stupid.” It was an oft repeated refrain, since the day he’d let his jealously get the better of him and told her what he thought of her dating plans, but it was still true. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”
She snorted, a sound so Odie that Austin wanted to . . .
Kiss her stupid.
Not that he could admit that. And heaven forbid he say the word “stupid” around her.
“Fine, you didn’t say stupid, but that was the implication.”
“I didn’t mean it like that and you know it.”
“And the kiss? Hmm, what do you have to say about that?”
“I—” What did he have to say about that? A lot, actually. “I didn’t mean to kiss you and upset you. You know that. I would never . . .” He trailed off, thinking about how she’d pushed him away. How the look of outrage and the weeks of silence had morphed the best kiss of his life into a living nightmare.
Maybe that was hyperbole, maybe it wasn’t. All he knew was that he’d made a series of mistakes—from voicing his opinion on her dating habits, to kissing her, to leaving that stupid voicemail message that he knew, he just knew, she was using to fuel her fire—and it had cost him his best friend.
“Odie, come on. You’re being ridiculous and you need to talk to me. All I said was that you were better than him. And you are. I didn’t mean to upset you, Garfield, so just call me back. You know you want to forgive me. And you know I’m right about Meatball McGee.”
That stupid message. He’d curse it until the day he died. Because although she’d never mentioned it to him, he knew she kept it. He knew she’d listened to it more than once—over and over again, in fact—to preserve her anger at him, until keeping her distance for so many weeks became easy.
He knew that if he hadn’t left that one ridiculous message she might have forgiven him so much sooner. He knew she heard his frustration.
Because he knew her.
“Aussie,” she started, then paused as if coming to a decision. And when she started talking again, it felt like a blow. Because she used his full name, not the shortened version of it that had led his other friends to call him Dundee. “Austin. I think we need a break.”
“A break? From what?” The higher-pitch on the word “what” should have clued Odie in that he wasn’t buying what she was selling, but apparently, it didn’t.
“Each other.”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me, Odette.” Shit, he’d practically spat her full name back at her, meaning his temper was building. He needed to get control of himself before he did something stupid.
Again.
Except . . . “We’ve just had a break. A way-too-long break, and it’s getting borderline ridiculous at this point.” Whoops, he thought as he barreled straight past stupid and began making tracks toward catastrophic.
He needed to dial it back. In a major way.
One eyebrow went straight up. “Ridiculous? Seriously?”
Shit. “I didn’t mean like that.”
“No, you never do.”
“Odie, come on. It’s been weeks since we really talked, and that’s not okay. I am not okay with that, and I refuse to believe that you are.” He leveled her with a look that dared her to disagree with him.
She didn’t.
Instead, she stood. She was a slight little thing, always had been, and even though she’d been boxing since they were in middle school and he knew she could take care of herself, it always made him feel protective. But still, he felt the power in her move. “I get that you don’t like Mike, and that’s fine. You don’t have to. But I did, and even if he’d turned out to be the biggest fuckboy ever in the history of fuckboys—”
“Pfft, if. Like it’s in question,” he interrupted, cringing at himself but still, not really that sorry. After all, it was true.
Odie stomped her foot, something he knew she only did when drinking because she’d spent her life aware of the fact she was petite and she never wanted to be seen as a petulant little brat. “You are so fucking annoying, Austin.”
“What did I do?” Aside from insult Meatball, who totally deserved it? And, okay, call her silent treatment ridiculous.
Maybe I should stop talking?
“Stop acting like I don’t know what I’m doing. I know what I’m doing. I’m accepting dates from people who actually show interest in me. Who want to get to know me. The real me.” She looked at him pointedly. “Not wasting my time on an idiot who’s suddenly interested, but only because someone else is.”
She doesn’t mean me, does she? It was pretty obvious to Aussie that she was implying that he’d only kissed her because, ugh, Meatball had shown interest. But nothing could be further from the truth. “Odie—” he began, only to be interrupted, because apparently, she wasn’t done.
“I don’t want to be single Odie, the cute little chick who can level a man twice her size and is just one of the boys, anymore. I want to be with someone. I want someone who likes me, who loves me. Something real and lasting, like Aaron and Simon. Or Ashton and Andrew, all right?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m looking for my forever. I’m tired of waiting around and occasionally going on dates with loser guys from stupid apps or websites. I’m going to find my someone. My one. And if that means dating Meatball McGee to make sure the cute-but-dumb lughead—and yes, okay, he is dumb and he is a fuckboy, but whatever—isn’t him, then so be it.”
Austin stared at her. Her breathing was a little roughened, which made her tits press against the front of her college T-shirt, and her blue eyes looked like flames, and she looked so fucking pretty it hurt.
It physically hurt in his chest that she was looking for forever and she wasn’t looking at him.
God-fucking-dammit.
“Forever. You’re looking for your one.” He repeated what she’d said for himself—because what the hell?—and for her, to make sure she understood what was coming next.
Because it was time. He’d known—since the fi
rst night he’d moved into her parents’ place after leaving his own behind, when she’d snuggled in close and let him cry about how fucked up everything was—that he was her one.
And if forever was what she was after, he was going to be the one to give it to her.
Chapter Three
Odie couldn’t quite believe she’d just said everything she’d just said.
She wanted to groan. Or maybe cry.
She’d told Austin she was looking for forever and now he was looking at her like she’d lost her mind. Which maybe she had sometime between the first and second bottle of wine.
“Look, just forget I said anything, okay? Your hour is up—”
“It’s not even close to up,” Austin interrupted, shutting his mouth only when she narrowed her eyes at him. Don’t fight me on this was what she was projecting, and thankfully, he seemed to understand that, pursing his lips and encouraging her to continue with his eyes.
“I–I’m tired and far more sober now than I want to be.” Because I’d like to forget any of this happened, she didn’t add. “You need to go. Thanks for the apology.”
He didn’t move. In fact, aside from the brief interruption, she didn’t think he’d moved hardly at all since he’d summarized her words—“Forever. You’re looking for your one”—and she was getting increasingly uncomfortable standing there.
And considering she’d started the night in her most expensive set of lingerie, the idea of things getting even more awkward was just . . .
Kill me now, please.
She let her eyes fall closed, hoping that if she couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see her—a childish trick but hey, it had worked when she was five and playing hide-and-seek with her friends, so why not now?
She didn’t hear him move, but she felt it. With her eyes still closed, she felt the brush of air over her body when he stepped in close until they were nearly pressed flush against one another.
Why is he so close? She wanted the answer, but not as much as she wanted to hide behind her closed eyelids forever.
“Odie,” he whispered, his breath warm on her cheek, his towering height making her feel smaller than ever. But not in a bad way.
For the first time, it made her feel feminine.
“Open your eyes, Odie.” He hadn’t raised his voice, but the tone was much more compelling, and she followed his direction without a second thought.
He was right there. Looking down at her with eyes so intense, maintaining eye contact was dangerous.
To her sanity. To her heart.
“If you’re looking for forever, why aren’t you looking at me?”
He didn’t give her a chance to respond, mainly because if she didn’t say what he wanted—he needed—to hear, he might not recover.
He didn’t give her a chance to respond because the need to kiss her was overwhelming.
He didn’t give her a chance to respond because the moment his lips took hers, it was over for him. This moment they were sharing? It was the culmination of years of unrequited lust and love and want, all centered around his best friend.
He had other friends. Tons of them. Aussie was proud of the fact he was a good guy; that he was friendly and amiable and just dramatic enough to keep people entertained. But none of them were Odie.
None of them made him watch pay-per-view fights.
None of them could remember the time when he was nine and he broke his arm trying to get her Frisbee from a tree.
None of them smelled and felt like home—not the home that had fallen apart when he was a teenager, but the one he’d built on that foundation. The one that had Aaron and Ashton, his siblings, as the framework and Odie as his everything else.
And none of them kissed him like forever wouldn’t be long enough.
He groaned into the kiss, enjoying the tart taste of wine and indignation on her tongue. She somehow found a way to bring their bodies closer together and he wanted to just stay in the moment forever.
Forever.
Her hands landed on his hips and for a brief moment, he thought perhaps she was planning to wrap them around him. Instead, she slowly dragged them up his torso, letting them come to rest on his chest. They were warm through the cotton of his T-shirt and he marveled at how small but significant they felt.
Until she used them to push him away.
“What the hell, Austin?” she breathed out, anger in her thready question. “What are doing? To me?”
“What do you think?” It was a good question. He needed to know what she thought he was doing so he could correct her assumptions and get to work on proving himself.
Because he would, if that’s what it took. Prove himself, that is.
“I have no idea what to think.” She dropped her head forward, defeat in her stance. “Look, like I said, I’m tired. And now I’m confused.”
“What’s there to be confused about? You’re not obtuse, Garfield.”
The change in her posture and her demeanor was instantaneous and kind of scary. She raised her head to look him dead in the eyes, saying through gritted teeth, “Do not call me Garfield when you’ve just finished kissing me.”
“I wasn’t finished kissing you. You’re the one who stopped.” And even though he knew he shouldn’t, even though he knew he was poking the hornet’s nest, he added, “Garfield”.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and through gritted teeth, she replied, “Because you’re not explaining yourself and I’ve had too much wine to process this. Explain. Dumb it down. Treat me like the stupid girl you seem to think I am.”
That was when he lost it. Because there was only so long a man could stand being told what he apparently said and thought by someone who clearly had no clue what he was really saying and thinking. He took in a long, fortifying gulp of air and channeled his inner Ashton—specifically, he called on his sister’s innate ability to say whatever she was thinking in one long breath.
“I love you, okay? I have for years, and for years, I’ve watched you date loser after asshole after fuckface, and now you’re adding Meatball to the mix. Which is stupid. You’re acting like I don’t see you as a girl—as a woman—but Jesus fucking Christ, Odette, that is all I see you as. I don’t call you Garfield because I’m blind to your perfect tits or your gorgeous, grabable ass . . .” He paused for the shortest second, wondering if mentioning her tits and ass at the same time as angrily declaring his feelings was a bad idea. But no, dammit, he refused to hold back anymore.
This had been on the back burner, simmering for years—
“I’m not blind. I see them. I want them. You’re the one that has me locked away in the friendzone and I hate that word. Friendzone, what a dumbass word.”
“You don’t like the expression ‘friendzone’?” she asked, tilting her head in the most infuriatingly adorable way.
“No, I don’t. But it’s the only thing that fits right now. As evidenced by the fact I said I love you and you totally ignored it.”
“You also said you want to grab my ass.”
“Your point?”
“Why haven’t you ever told me?”
“I don’t know, because every time you say something like, ‘I want a guy just like you’, it’s like you’re saying you want a better version of me?”
Her eyes bored into him, so he stood a little taller. If he was going to lay things out for her and be rejected, then he was going to do it looking like he could take it.
He could. He could take it. Except—
“Are you going to say anything?”
Shit. He hadn’t meant to ask that. Maybe what he needed was a visit to his brother’s house. A few drinks with Aaron and some sage advice from Simon, Aaron’s husband and Austin’s brother-in-law.
Simon always knew the right thing to say or do.
“I don’t want a better version of you.” Her words made his heart punch against his chest—slamming hard like it was trying to escape. And then she said the words he’d been waiting to hear from her forever. “I
just want you.”
Chapter Four
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
She hadn’t been expecting that. Of all the things he might have said to her, that wasn’t even close to anything on the list.
Calling her breasts perfect and her butt gorgeous . . . that was closer to what she might have expected to hear. Except even that was a bit of a shock to her system.
If she hadn’t already been sobering up from her wine binge, that little speech of Austin’s would have done it, for sure.
“Are you going to say anything?’” he asked, his shoulders pulled back, tightness clear on his usually happy face.
“I don’t want a better version of you.” Was she really saying this to him? Yes, she was. And if she was in for a penny, then dammit, she was in for a pound. “I just want you.”
“I–it’s–I’m not,” he stammered, looking like she felt—stunned.
When she’d drunkenly invited him over earlier, she was sure that he’d say sorry, make a few jokes, and she’d either go back to having a small, manageable crush on him—one she’d never act on because they were friends and it would be weird.
Wouldn’t it?
So, she’d either go back to that, or she’d just take a step back from him for a while. Their friendship was her longest ever, and one of the most important parts of her life, but . . . it was becoming stifling. It had been changing for a while and she’d thought maybe taking a step back would ease some of that building pressure. So they could go back to what they were before.
But that’s not what had happened.
And now she was kissing him again. When did that happen? Her mind tried to process it as the last of her wine buzz finally drifted away, leaving only sensation and Austin behind.
He’s a ridiculously good kisser.
They stood in the middle of her living room, discarded boxing gloves still on the coffee table, discarded conversation still lingering in the air around them, and kissed. And kissed.
