by M. H. Soars
Oliver gives me a crooked smile and my stomach bottoms out. It’s his trademarked, sexy twist of his lips that made him an instant hit with teens—and their moms—worldwide. Why can’t he let me be? He can have any woman he wants.
Kimmy follows in right after me and closes the door.
“Why is he here?” I ask.
“Because Sebastian made the unfortunate decision to ask him to be the best man.”
“Hey!” Oliver glances at Kimmy and I would bet a hundred dollars that his indignant expression is genuine. He’s in for a treat with Kimmy.
I cross my arms and smirk. I can’t wait to see Kimmy unleash her Ice Queen powers on Oliver. She used to be a hurricane when she was younger. Her marriage to Owen and motherhood certainly mellowed her down, but she still carries the I’m-nice-but-don’t-fuck-with-me attitude. I love Liv to death, but Kimmy is my role model.
“Don’t give me that outraged look. Your reputation precedes you, Oliver. I know the stuff that makes it to the tabloids is just the tip of the iceberg. I have a master’s degree in how to deal with your type.”
Oliver flattens his lips and stares at Kimmy through slits. “Oh yeah? And what type is that?”
“Charming assholes with egomaniac tendencies.”
A snort escapes my mouth, catching the attention of my companions. “I’m sorry. Couldn’t help it.”
Oliver’s glower is now aimed in my direction and I shrug. “The truth can hurt sometimes, but it will set you free.”
Kimmy’s attention returns to Oliver. “I don’t want anything to ruin my baby sister’s wedding. She has waited her whole life for this moment and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you smear it in any way. I overheard you say that you plan to move to L.A. You better think twice before you try to pull Sebastian back into your party-until-you-drop ways.”
Oliver’s face turns a bright shade of red and his eyes seem to sparkle with fury.
“He’s a fucking grown man. I can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to.”
“Watch your language.” Kimmy levels him with a glare.
Whoa, the tension level here went from mild to volcanic in zero point two seconds. I’m afraid I will have to intervene before it gets out of hand.
Oliver looks at me then. “Is she for real?”
“Yup.”
“Did Sebastian ever tell you how my husband and I got together? No? You should ask him.”
Kimmy turns to me once more. “Saylor, I’m really counting on you to keep Ollie boy here in line.”
Wait. What? My jaw drops of its own accord. Kimmy did not just ask me to babysit Oliver. And in front of him to boot. I chance a look in his direction, and sure enough, the idiot has a huge grin on his face now.
“I’m perfectly okay with Saylor keeping me on my best behavior,” he says.
Kimmy stares at Oliver through slits and opens her mouth. But whatever remark she has on the tip of her tongue remains unsaid. Without another word, she goes back to the party, leaving me alone with Oliver in Murphy’s office.
“Wipe that smirk off of your face,” I say.
“Why? I can’t wait to be babysat by you. I’ve always thought nannies were hot.”
“Bite me.”
Oliver narrows his eyes and the glint in them changes from amused to something feral. A shiver runs down my spine as a low fire burns in the pit of my stomach. My throat turns dry.
“Oh, I plan to, among other things,” he says.
Six
OLIVER
Kimmy’s attitude pissed me off. Who the hell does she think she is to boss me around? And to demand I stay away from my best mate? Mental. But when she asked Saylor to babysit me, I disliked her a little less.
Saylor left the den, fuming, and disappeared somewhere in the house. In fact, I can’t find her anywhere and without her presence, there is really nothing exciting for me at the Dawson’s anymore. Sebastian is completely wrapped around Liv, and I’ve exhausted my arsenal of British charm among Liv’s family.
Anger is simmering low in my gut, making me feel like a coiled spring. What infuriated me the most about Kimmy’s remarks was how fucking prejudicial and unfair they were. I like to party hard, I’m not going to deny that, but I would never in a million years jeopardize my friend’s happiness. Liv is Sebastian’s kingdom come, his bright star, and he deserves that beacon of light in his life.
My body needs hard liquor and something else. The effect of the Cody I took earlier is gone and despite my devil may care attitude, I’m not that big of an asshole to get trashed in front of Sebastian’s future in-laws.
I make my rounds and say goodbye. I even give Kimmy a kiss on her cheek out of spite, earning a nasty glare from her husband. I almost ask if Saylor is still around but refrain from doing so. I’m not a lost cause yet, unlike the red-headed bloke who couldn’t stop staring at her the entire time at dinner. He wants her just as much as I do. Only she doesn’t reciprocate his feelings. That’s not my ego talking. I know how much I affect her, despite how hard she tries to deny it. Fuck, the air in the room practically crackles whenever we are in close proximity.
I finally make it outside to find Saylor cursing at a beat up Beetle. It seems she was trying to escape unseen.
“Car trouble?” I ask.
She spins around and levels me with a glower. It’s her go-to expression when I’m around, so I hardly expect anything else.
“Flat tire.”
“What? You don’t know how to change one?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “I do. But I bet you don’t.”
I shrug. She has me there. “Never saw the need to learn.”
“Of course you didn’t.” She rolls her eyes and stares at the flat tire again.
“Was that supposed to be a jab against my privileged upbringing?”
Without glancing my way, she says, “If the shoe fits.”
I breach the distance between us and stand next to her car, leaning my shoulder against the door. That draws her gaze back to mine.
“Darling, let me share a secret with you. Jokes about my background don’t bother me in the least. You’re wasting your breath.”
“I’m definitely wasting my time talking to you.”
I stand straighter and take a couple of steps toward her. “Now, be nice. I was gonna offer my help.”
She puts a hand over her chest and makes a mocking face. “Oliver Best wants to help me? I’m flattered.”
Before I can make a comment about her sarcastic answer, her expression turns serious. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have a spare tire.”
“Isn’t that against the law?”
Saylor throws her hands up in the air. “Why are you still here? Go back to your gilded hotel room and leave me alone.”
“Now, now.” I smirk. “Why are you thinking about my room?”
She stares at me hard and I think she’s two seconds away from punching me in the face. I’d better change tactics.
“How about I give you a ride then?”
I hear muffled voices coming from the house and I know my time alone with Saylor is up. She looks over her shoulder and I notice her posture change. Her spine becomes rigid and when she turns her face back to me, her eyebrows are furrowed. Interesting.
“Only if we leave now.”
That surprises me, but I won’t waste my breath questioning my lucky break.
“Follow me, milady.” I make a motion with my arm, pointing toward my car.
I strut as if I owned the street, trying my best to not look over my shoulder. I’m giddy like fucking Charlie when he wins the last golden ticket, and I don’t know what to do with the emotion. I’ve never been this pathetically excited about a woman before.
“Where to?” I ask as soon as Saylor slides into the passenger seat.
“How about I just give you directions?”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Really? Are you afraid I’m going to stalk you?”
“Isn’t that what you have been doing?
”
I laugh and shake my head. “Sugar, I don’t do stalking.”
Her refusal to give me her damn address irritates me, and my previously good mood vanishes. Maybe I’m still ticked off about what Liv’s sister said about me. Who the fuck knows? I don’t wait for Saylor’s directions and peel away from the side of the curb without a destination in mind.
“Are you in a hurry?” she asks and I grunt an incoherent response.
My mood is shitty but driving is the second best thing in the world—the first being sex, of course. So after a couple of minutes, I begin to relax and remember why I was excited in the first place. From the corner of my eye, I see Saylor looking out the window. Her white blonde hair is secured by a loose braid. Some strands have escaped and are currently framing her face. I did love the mermaid hair, but Saylor is the type of girl who would be gorgeous no matter what. She strikes me as someone who knows she’s gorgeous, but doesn’t give a flying fuck about it. I’ve met my fair share of beautiful women in the past and every single one of them milked their beauty to the max.
Fuck, here I am overanalyzing my thoughts. I don’t do shit like that. I’m the act first, never think about it later kind of guy. So why am I trying to find an explanation to why I’m so drawn to Saylor? Truth is I don’t know if I want her to be different or like the other birds.
Once I put us a good distance away from the Dawson’s residence, I cannot resist the urge to ask her who she was trying to avoid back at the house. I have a hunch, but I want to hear it from Saylor.
“What was that all about?” I say.
“What do you mean?” She keeps staring out the window with arms crossed in front of her chest. My gaze drops for a split second to her cleavage and I decide I shouldn’t ogle her too much if I want to keep my conversation innuendo free. I can exercise self-restraint if I choose to.
“Who were you trying to avoid that was worse than me?”
She turns her face in my direction, holding my stare until I have to force mine back to the road. It’s too dark inside the car to decipher what that look meant anyway.
“Nobody,” she finally says. “I’m tired and I just want to go home.”
“If you say so.”
I may be persistent when I want something, but I also know when to drop it and let a person be. Saylor is not in a mood that is receptive to jokes right now, and if I push my agenda on her, I will lose the small chance I have.
We only speak when Saylor needs to give me directions to her place. The ride takes less than ten minutes, way too short for my liking.
I park in front of a two-story, peach colored house. It’s the biggest one in the cul-de-sac and also the most eye-catching—or a complete eye-sore, depending on your taste. The color is definitely barf inducing, and the white Greek columns framing the front door don’t help either.
“Nice digs,” I say.
Saylor stares in silence at the house that is currently lit up like a Christmas tree. You can see light pouring out of every single window.
Her hand remains on the door handle, frozen. I wonder what’s making her hesitate. It’s not to delay parting ways with me. I’m cocky, but I’m not stupid. She’s uncomfortable, she doesn’t want to spend more time with me than necessary.
“It’s not bad,” she finally answers and I detect a sad tone in her voice.
It does something to my insides, like a twist in my gut. I can’t remember the last time I felt empathy like this. It’s like a foreign concept to me. I’ve worked fucking hard to become numb, insensitive to the pain of others. Bas is the only exception to my rule. A shrink would have a field day with me.
I’m usually not that observant with girls I want to screw either. But again, I don’t have to be. Within a few seconds of meeting a new bird, I can tell if she wants to fuck me or not and that’s all that matters to me. But with Saylor I find myself noticing every single detail, the way her voice betrays her emotions, the way her body reacts to things. Right now, I want to rip that sadness from her. Why do I care so much?
I notice the cars that are parked on the driveway and the two others that are parked in front of the house. Somehow, I don’t think there’s a party in progress inside.
“How many people live here?” I ask.
“Too many at the moment.”
“So, is this like a room and board kind of place?”
The corners of her lips tug upward and Saylor shakes her head. That little reaction there makes something strange happen in my chest. There are too many foreign things happening in my body for my liking.
“Not in the least.” She turns her face and offers me a tiny smile. “Thanks for the ride. I guess I’ll see you around.”
Saylor is out of the car before I can say another word. She sprints to the front door, and the outside lights automatically turn on, giving her a halo. Before she disappears inside, she looks over her shoulder and bites her lower lip. Like an idiot, I raise my hand to wave, forgetting she can’t see me inside the dark car. But that little action on her part tells me everything I need to know. Her walls are crumbling.
Seven
SAYLOR
Sweat is pouring down my back and even with the garage door open and the two fans placed on both sides of the room, it’s still stiflingly hot in here. My hair is sticking to my neck and I regret not pulling it up this morning. But in my defense, it looked so pretty when I woke up that it would have been a shame to ruin it.
We’ve been practicing for two hours straight and we are nowhere near as good as we used to be. We lost Katrina, our drummer, when she moved to San Fran with her boyfriend last month and her replacement, Damien, still has a long way to go. He’s the son of one Tabatha’s parents’ friends. We never had a dude in the band before, but we needed a drummer desperately, so here he is.
The kid is talented—I’ll give him that—but he’s young and unfocused. He doesn’t play the drums at home as he should and more than once he’s arrived late for practice, or bailed on us all together. I also suspect that half the time he is here, he’s baked. The only thing he never misses is when the band performs, but I suspect that has more to do with getting pussy after the show than his love for music.
Anyway, until we find a replacement, we’re stuck with him.
I signal to Tabatha that I need a break by making a cut sign against my throat. I unstrap my guitar as I walk to the side of the room where my purse is, and I prop the instrument up against the wall. I’m turning around to say something to Remi when white hot pain shoots across my forehead, almost blinding me. I don’t realize I’m falling until someone grabs my arm.
“Whoa, Saylor. Are you okay?” Tabatha’s voice sounds warbled.
I focus on my breathing to distract me from the excruciating pain and keep my eyes closed. It takes me a minute or so to recover. When I open my eyes again, I find Tabatha’s worried gaze searching my face.
“Flash migraine. It’s subsiding now.”
“Can you stand on your own?”
“Yes.”
She lets go of my arm and takes a step back, but her eyes are still scrutinizing me. I don’t want her to worry so I quickly add, “I’m fine, really. Probably just dehydrated.”
“It’s fucking hot in here,” Remi says. “I don’t think I can go on any longer.”
“Man, I could use an ice cold beer. Anyone want to join me at Closing Time?”
Remi’s snorts. “Good luck getting Rori to serve you any alcohol.”
“Priscilla’s shift started an hour ago. She’ll hook me up. She can’t resist me.” Damien flashes Remi a toothy smile that fails to impress her. She rolls her eyes and begins to pack her stuff.
I do the same. I rode with Remi since my car is still parked in front of Liv’s. Remi is already outside when Tabatha grabs my arm, keeping me in place.
“Tell me the truth, Saylor. How long have you been having these flash migraines?”
“It’s no big deal, Tabby. For real.”
“Your answer tells
me everything. Blue, you need to see a doctor about them, especially considering…well, you know.”
Tabatha knows I don’t like to talk about my fucked up past. Who would? I fight the urge to touch the hidden scar near my hairline, courtesy of that motherfucker.
“I know and I will make an appointment. I promise.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You better. Don’t make me drag you to the doc’s office myself because you know I will.”
Great. Now that Tabatha is on my case she won’t leave me alone about the doctor thing. I don’t want to go. I don’t think I can handle any more bad news.
“Where do you want this, Mrs. Goulas?” I ask Remi’s grandmother.
“I’ve already asked you to call me Ragna, sweet child. I’ve always hated the word Mrs.”
To my right, I hear Cassie’s chuckle. When I turn to her, I realize she’s laughing at something she read on her phone, not at my interaction with her grams. Ragna instructs me to put the casserole dish on the table and then I move on to cut the veggies.
Monday is the only day of the week that Remi’s family can have dinner together because the restaurant closes. Remi also warned me that the rest of her large family usually makes an appearance. It’s like having Thanksgiving dinner every Monday, but in Greek style. When I asked Remi if her Japanese grandparents ever came to such dinners, Remi twisted her face and snorted. That was answer enough.
True to her word, at around five p.m. people start to arrive in droves. They are a loud bunch and after a while, I give up trying to memorize their names.
We set up a long table under the covered patio in the back of the house, and I help bring all the food out. The sun hasn’t set yet, but the temperature has cooled off a bit, making it a nice evening to be outside. When I’m finally able to take a seat, the doorbell rings. I don’t think much of it until I see Cassie, who’s already sitting down in front of me, turn as white as a ghost. Her pretty almond shaped eyes widen and her jaw slackens as she looks past my shoulder.
Intrigued, I turn around and it’s my turn to lose my cool. I might be losing my mind. No way is Oliver standing there next to Mr. Ogata, looking as smug as the cat that ate the canary. What is he doing here?
