Which meant I was on a date with the love of my life’s roommate. Even worse, I was enjoying it.
* * *
Taryn
The number of glasses of wine I drank was directly proportional to an increase in Oliver’s adorableness. Thinking that to myself made me laugh, and I wondered which one of us was actually the nerd.
Throughout dinner, I sat across from him, listening to his stories that sounded like fairy tales to me—his fancy Manhattan townhouse a few blocks away from Violet’s, their private high school, special tutors, nannies. But he wasn’t snobby about it. I actually enjoyed listening to him, and I even asked questions as I got lost in his world.
When he reached to pour his third glass, I stopped him, grabbing his hand around the neck of the bottle. “Nope. You’re done.”
“What?” He frowned for the first time all night. “I was just getting started.”
“This is your problem. You are perfectly buzzed right now. This is where you have to learn to stop.” I yanked the bottle out of his hand and poured the last of it into my glass.
“Oh, but you can have more?”
“I’m not the one who punches things when I get drunk, am I?” I smiled sweetly.
He grinned and gave me the finger from across the table. I stuck out my tongue and gave him the finger back.
“That was only once—”
“Twice,” I corrected. “The camp boss and the wall.”
“Okay, twice. Is that so bad?”
“It is because it indicates a problem. And because it scares…Violet.” Because of either my buzz or the quiet atmosphere in the dining room of Patrizio’s, I whispered Violet’s name like it was a secret. “Normal people don’t punch things when they’re drunk. You’re out of control.”
“Me? Nerdi-luscious?”
“It’s Nerdi-licious, but ‘luscious’ could work too.” I covered my mouth as soon as I said it.
He leaned over the table. “Ah, let the drunk flirting begin. You think I’m luscious, Tar? I always knew that you liked me deep down.”
“Ha. You’ll be glad to know that I find nothing luscious about you, Oliver Stoneridge.” But as I studied those beautiful, wide, smiling lips—that weren’t sneering at me for once—the word luscious seemed to fit. All of a sudden, I wanted to flick those thick curls tangled on top of his head. “I just meant that ‘luscious’ works with ‘nerdi’ as a prefix too.”
“Luscious or licious, Vi never complained,” he said, a sexy tinge to his voice.
That was true. She’d had no qualms discussing her sex life with me, but since it had been with Oliver, I’d tuned her out. Maybe I should have paid more attention because at that moment, he licked his lips, and I imagined them on my skin.
Sweet mother, I had to stop drinking. I shoved my glass away and tried to fan away the heat prickling up my neck.
“You okay?” His eyes were wide as he reached for my elbow. “Honesty pact, remember?”
I hid my face in my hands, grimacing. “My mind is wandering to you and Vi having sex.” I peeked at him as a blush crept over his face.
“You’ve…seen us?”
“Oh God no. But Vi tells me everything.”
“She does?” He reached for my glass, but I beat him to it, quickly gulping down the last sips as he watched. “Was she…you know…satisfied?”
“Uh-huh.” Vi thought Ollie was a Sex God. I always attributed it to the fact that she had nothing to compare him to. The idea of Oliver satisfying a woman sexually always made me laugh—until tonight. Tonight, maybe I could picture it a little.
“So, you don’t think that’s why she dumped me?”
Stupid hormones. Stupid, charming, nerdy Ollie. We’d been having such a nice dinner that I’d almost forgotten our purpose here—to get him back together with my best friend. I reached for his hand, holding it across the table. “Of course not. She’s…” She’s fallen out of love with you. I almost said it. Instead, I looked down at our joined hands and pressed my lips together.
“Please, Taryn. I need your help to get her back. We said we’d be honest.”
For some reason, his desperation pissed me off. “Why?”
“Why what?”
I lifted my wine glass and grunted because it was empty. “Why do you want her back?”
He looked to the ceiling, like he was analyzing my question, then back down at me with a determined look. “Because I need her.”
That was the wrong answer. From the determined look on his face, his furrowed brow, and the way his brown eyes lasered into mine, he had no clue that it was wrong. “You don’t need her, Ollie. Don’t you see? You should have said, ‘Because I love her.’”
His face softened, his look of determination turning to one of confusion. “Of course I love her. That’s the constant in the equation.”
“Maybe the reason Vi wanted out was because you treated her love and devotion like factors in an equation. Like elements in your…” I waved my hands around, “… theory chart of love thing.” Theory chart of love thing? God, I was so drunk. “But really the person you love, that you want to spend your life with, may not be a factor in a theory but rather a whole theory in and of herself.” I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to make sense of what I’d said. “Or would she be the equation?”
When I opened my eyes again, Oliver was leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. “That’s some deep shit, Taryn.”
I sputtered a laugh. “Yeah, I drank too much, and obviously I don’t speak nerd.”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to get sloppy here. Now you’re sitting there talking about theories and equations, and epically failing at nerd-speak.” Those wide, pink lips spread into a smile.
I laughed. “Right? But really, the experiment was for you to control yourself—”
“Which, I have—”
“You have. Bravo.” I clapped. “I had to compensate, I guess. Can’t let the wine go to waste. In vino veritas.”
“If you say so. Are you Italian, by the way? You’ve been dropping words all night.”
I was surprised he noticed. “My father’s Greek and my mother’s Irish, but I speak Italian.”
“Really.” He leaned closer, seemingly interested as he rested his arms on the table and crossed his good one over his cast. “How did you learn? High school?”
I should have lied and said, ‘Yep, high school’ and moved on. Instead, I leaned back in my chair, not sure if I wanted to share my life stories the way he had. Clearly, our experiences were different. But as he waited for me to talk, with his gaze lasered into mine, I knew that getting to know each other would mean not only Oliver making an effort but me too.
“My family struggled with money, so I helped out by working in an Italian bakery every morning. Started when I was fourteen and kept on until I came here to NJU. At four a.m., I put the bread in the oven.” I’d never told anyone at college that I’d worked at the bakery, not even Vi. “The family I worked for only spoke Italian, so I picked it up pretty easily. Had no choice. I think I know everything about Italy because of the way they used to talk about it all the time.”
“That’s fantastic.” He held up a hand. “Not that you had to work that hard to support your family, but because you picked up on the culture and the language.”
I smiled. I was kind of proud that I could speak Italian.
“Have you ever been to Italy?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Have you?”
“Yep. My parents took me when I was twelve. I’ll never forget standing outside of the Coliseum. They have a picture of me there wielding a gladiator sword.”
“How cute.” This time, I was the one who leaned forward, mesmerized as I let Oliver’s vacation story fill my mind.
Glad to be back to his life adventures, I pictured him and his perfect family traipsing through Italy together without a care in the world. I imagined every place he told me about based on his description. As the heat of the wine wore off, I rubbed my
bare arms and asked him about Florence, where the family I’d worked for was from.
Oliver told me about Florence while he unbuttoned his shirt—right there at the table— untucked it, and pulled it off. Leaving himself in the gray T-shirt he’d layered under it, he walked around to me and put the shirt over my shoulders, not missing a beat of his story.
I held it around me like a shawl, enjoying its soapy scent as I listened to him talk. He told me about his mother getting lost in Rome, which made me laugh. In my buzzed state, I kept asking questions and focusing on his lips while he answered.
Inside though, I mostly wondered how Violet could let him go. Why would she give up someone who shared memories and stories so easily and who seemed so comfortable with himself? Someone who would literally give her the shirt off of his back? Oliver may have been a bit quirky, but tonight, he seemed fun, relaxed, and animated.
We stayed at Patrizio’s until well after midnight, when the waiter kicked us out, and then we strolled in silence down Mill Street back to the apartment. The cool air hinted at fall. I tightened Ollie’s shirt around my shoulders.
When he left me at the apartment door, I still didn’t return the shirt. We said a polite goodbye, commented that it was nice to get to know each other, and then he left.
Guys didn’t usually leave me until we were naked and spent. It was weird to say goodnight without any expectations, but I reminded myself that it was Oliver. Unlike every other guy I’d been to dinner with, he had no desire to see me naked, and I was perfectly okay with that.
Later, when I changed into my pajamas, I thought about wearing his button-down to sleep. I didn’t though. Instead, I took it off and laid it on Vi’s bed, where it belonged. I picked up the picture of Vi and Ollie at the prom, admiring the smiles on their faces. Then I climbed into bed, alone and content.
But the last thought I had before falling asleep was that this deal we made to help each other probably wasn’t a good idea. For the first time, sort of, I realized that Oliver was a guy. My history with guys didn’t support deals or friendships.
Chapter Four
Oliver
It was nice to wake up the day after drinking without a hangover or a broken bone for a change. Even though my father’s ringtone, blaring right next to my head, sounded like a damn fire alarm.
I let it ring until Josh cursed at me from the other room. Before I had a chance to say hello, my father’s voice boomed at me. “Oliver!”
“Dad,” I croaked. “What’s up?”
“It’s eight o’clock. You’re still sleeping?” He spoke like a robot, which meant he was on speakerphone. He insisted that it wouldn’t work right unless he annunciated every word.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes, wondering if I’d forgotten something—a birthday or a firm event. “I am. Are you okay?”
“Fine. Me and your mom—”
She shouted, “Hi, honey” in the background.
“—came to the shore house for the weekend. We’re on the boat. It’s a gorgeous day. How about you and Vi come meet us for lunch?”
A few weeks ago, I’d have jumped on the chance. But going without Violet wasn’t going to happen. “Um, Vi’s in Austria.”
“Austria?” My mother’s shrill voice took over.
I held the phone away from my ear. “Ma, why are you yelling?”
She ignored my comment. “What’s Vi doing in Austria?” Even louder this time.
I told Mom about Vi’s Fall Abroad thing and the stupid symphony. I should have added that we’d broken up. That she’d broken up with me. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was afraid the news would break their hearts as much as mine, not to mention my mother would be calling Vi’s mother within minutes to ask questions. I passed on the invitation, telling my parents that I needed to study.
Josh, carrying a bowl of something—probably cereal since he lived on the crap—entered my room as I ended the call. He leaned against my dresser. “How’d it go last night?”
I lay back down, remembering the curve of Taryn’s arm as she rested her chin on her hand. The way she laughed. Her sexy Italian accent. “Fine,” I answered.
He chuckled. “You fucked her, didn’t you?” Then he shoved a spoonful of cereal in his big dumb face.
Before he figured out to defend himself, I grabbed the pillow from under my head and tossed it across the room. It didn’t land anywhere near him. “No, you jackass. And don’t be so disrespectful.”
He pointed his spoon at me. “Don’t fall for her, Ollie. She’s not your type. You’re not hers. And if Vi finds out…” He shook his head and tsked.
If Vi finds out, my whole future crumbles. “I’m not an idiot.”
After last night, I knew I couldn’t go through with this deal. I’d help her with her paper, but that was it. No more outings. No more dressing up and feeling like a damn king as I walked down the street with her.
Taryn was Taryn. She put spells on men with her looks and gave them a night to remember that they could brag about when they were middle-aged, and, most importantly, she was my girlfriend’s beloved roommate. All that meant she was off-limits. Completely, absolutely, undoubtedly off-limits.
I hated myself for smiling when her text tone dinged a couple of hours later.
Taryn: Ready for Lesson Two?
No, I wasn’t ready. Not when she had been so alluring the night before, completely unlike the sexually aggressive manipulator Josh had described. I needed to get Vi back, but I’d have to find another way. Spending the next seven weeks with Taryn as my teacher was a bad idea. A very bad idea. No. I wasn’t ready for Lesson Two.
But my fingers had a mind of their own.
Me: Let’s do it, Bella.
She responded with a thumbs-up emoji and asked me to meet her in an hour at the bookstore. I texted her back the same emoji and practically ran to the shower to get ready.
* * *
An hour later, I walked into the giant campus store on Mill Street that served as half a bookstore, and half a regular retail store, and scanned the area for Taryn.
She stood in the travel section, running her fingers over the spines of the books with her head tilted like she needed to read the titles sideways. She wore jeans, flip flops, and a tight black cardigan. I wondered what she was thinking about and which places she wanted to see.
I snuck up next to her, shoving my hands into my pockets. She hadn’t noticed me. Perusing the stock on the shelf, I pulled out a book on Paris and glanced at her. From her profile, I could see that her eyes were focused, intensely studying the titles.
I cleared my throat and looked down at the book in my hand. “I was in Paris.”
Feeling her eyes on me, I flipped through the pages. “Um, my dad took us on a surprise trip for my seventeenth birthday.”
I braved a glance and saw that she was watching me, listening.
“The Eiffel Tower was kind of dumb. But my favorite place…” I held up the book to show her the photo of Sacre Couer, Sacred Heart, the church on the top of the hill of Montmartre. “Was here.”
She stepped closer, studying the picture intensely and reading the caption. “What did you like about it?”
“I liked that so much art had been created there. It seemed happy compared to the city streets of Paris, where everyone was tense and rushing.” I looked down at the picture, remembering my favorite time in France when we went hiking outside of the city. “My favorite places in France were places that didn’t feel like Paris.”
She scrunched her face. “That’s a little weird considering how loved the city is.”
“I guess so.” Smiling, I looked back at the shelf. “If you could go anywhere, where would you go?”
She twisted her lips into a pucker. “Hmm.” Strolling through the stacks, she finally pulled out a book and held it up to me.
San Diego. “Of all the places in the world, you want to go to California?”
She flipped the book and looked at the back cover. “When I was little, we ha
d this dumb blizzard. The power went out and our house got super cold. The next day, I googled ‘places to live where it’s always seventy degrees.’ San Diego popped up, and I’ve wanted to go ever since.”
“Huh.” My instinct was to ask why she didn’t just hop on a plane. But I was starting to realize that Taryn’s childhood had been a lot different than mine, even more than I’d imagined, and hopping on planes probably wasn’t an option.
She looked at me with wide eyes. “Have you been there?”
I had, but I said, “No.”
I didn’t want to be the one to tell her about San Diego. It was her dream, and I wanted her to see her own dream for herself someday and make her own observations. She deserved that much.
She flipped the pages to the center of the book. “It looks amazing. Check out this picture.”
I leaned closer to look at the page she referred to. Her eyes lit up as she glanced between me and the photos, and I nodded and agreed that it must be an amazing place.
Then, as we stood shoulder to shoulder, she flipped her hair and I made the mistake of inhaling. The sweet, vanilla scent traveled from my nose right into my veins and throughout my body. Intoxicating me. Waking me. Everything around us disappeared as I watched her talk. My lips were close to her cheek, and I had to resist the urge to connect with her.
When she slammed the book closed, it broke the trance. I grinded my teeth, forcing myself to calm down.
This was bad. This was very bad.
* * *
Taryn
Ollie zoned out while I showed him the book of San Diego. I must have sounded like an idiot, babbling on and on about Southern California weather patterns, the beach, the mountains. When he stopped responding, I shut the book and replaced it on the shelf.
I turned to him and crossed my arms. “As fun as dreaming about traveling is, that’s not why I brought you here,” I said. “Lesson Two, remember?”
He took a step back, ruffling his fluffy hair with his injured hand. “Are you going to teach me to read?”
Breaking the Plan: Mill Street Series #1 Page 4
