More Than a Memory (14 page)

“
S
top looking
at me like that. It wasn’t so bad.” I juggle the bags of groceries and try to unlock the door at the same time, but can’t reach my keys without putting the bags down. Like an idiot, I didn’t want to take more than one trip into the apartment. I angle my hips toward Liv, indicating the keys in my pocket. “A little help please?”

“I told you I could help carry the groceries,” she chides as her hand slides in to grab my keys.

Once she’s close enough, I run my nose up her cheek. “But then you wouldn’t have your hand in my pocket.”

My cock thickens, immediately seeking out her touch, but her hand pulls free before he can reach his destination.

For weeks now, this woman has tempted my resolve, provoking my ability to keep a handle on my willpower. We’ve kissed—oh God, have we kissed—until my muscles ache from the strain of keeping my hands to myself, but things haven’t progressed past that. I’m constantly on edge, suspended in a perpetual state of arousal.

Something changed in Olivia when Emerson was here two weeks ago. I don’t know if it was that first delicate kiss we shared in the lamp light of her room, or the mini shopping spree she had with my sister, but the differences are evident in how she talks, how she responds to my touch, and her willingness to be more open to ideas of living again.

Even though our physical relationship hasn’t progressed much, she’s changing every day. I’ve managed to get her out of the apartment more and more, even up to an every other day arrangement. Today was the grocery store. The day after next, we’ve planned for another visit to the dog park. Early of course, when most people are sleeping.

“Your muscles sure do look good under the weight of all those bags, though.” I beam at her compliment as she slips the key into the lock.

“Just give the word, beautiful, and I’ll strip down and flex like I’m in the Mr. Universe competition.”

She bites her lip as she mulls over the idea, her eyes scanning over my body. I flex deeper for her enjoyment. Not to be outdone, my dick stands at a full salute as well.

“I may have to take you up on that.” She ducks her head, trying to hide the sudden blush on her cheeks and walks into the kitchen.

Soft touches and light grazes have become one of my favorite things, and today is no different. I skim my hand over her back as she bends to organize things in the fridge. I stroke her arms while she pulls groceries from the reusable bags. I feed the fire, giving life to the fantasies I’ll satisfy later when I’m alone in my room.

“How do you know the manager from that store?” I query.

“Owner,” she corrects. “Her daughter and I were friends.”

“College friends?” I know her mother doesn’t live far, but we’ve never talked about where exactly she’s from. I just assumed they moved closer to her apartment when she refused to leave.

“High school. Kacie and I graduated together. We weren’t best friends, but ran in the same circles.”

I take the bottle of salad dressing from her hand and place it in the door of the fridge.

“Top shelf,” she instructs and I pull it out just as fast.

We haven’t discussed a lot of things, including her OCD and germaphobia, but that will end soon. I’m torn between talking about it while she’s in a good mood, afraid it will bring her down, but it doesn’t feel right bringing it up when she’s upset either.

“Where did you go to high school?” I move the bottle to the designated spot without a word. One disclosure at a time is probably best.

“Here. My parents live across town. They wanted to move to an area with more sun, namely the beach, but after Duncan…” her voice trails off, just like it always does when the subject leads back to him.

“Duncan was from here as well?” She nods. “Makes sense. Liam mentioned everyone loved him. Explains the outpouring of support if the kids in college also went to high school with you guys, and why everyone seems to know you everywhere we go.”

“Small town living,” she mutters, folding the bags and storing them under the cabinet.

Her good mood is dissipating rapidly and that’s not something I’m going to let happen—especially on a homework-free, practice-free Sunday. I haven’t been busting my ass all week with schoolwork so I could free up today for her to close down and shut me out.

“How about,” I begin, wrapping my hands around her waist and pulling her against my chest, “we make quesadillas and watch a movie?”

She leans her weight against me, relaxing into my embrace as some of the tension leaves her body.

“Sounds perfect,” she rasps.

Thirty minutes later, we’re climbing on the couch with a pile of chicken and cheesy goodness.

“What are we going to watch?” She lifts the remote and logs into Netflix.

“Well, we watched
Hope Floats
yesterday,” I remind her.

She sighs. “So, it’s your turn. What’ll it be?”

The screen flashes row after row of movies; most we’ve watched together over the past couple weeks, the others we’ve watched on our own.

“
Savages
,” I say when the highlighted square passes over it.

She takes a minute to read the synopsis, then eyes me warily. “Pot growers with a shared girlfriend?”

“Loads of action and steamy sex scenes. It has everything a great movie needs.”

“Is that something you’re into?” she asks with caution.

“Drugs?” I ask, avoiding her true question. “Not my scene.”

She rolls her eyes, but selects the movie anyway. I could speak the truth. I could put a voice to the fact that, although I may not be her boyfriend, I’m sharing her daily with a man who wanted nothing more than for her to be happy and get on with her life.

A short time later, Olivia is squirming in her seat, quesadillas forgotten on the table.

Blake Lively has nothing on Olivia Dawson, but it’s not a hardship to watch two incredibly sensual sex scenes with the Hollywood starlet in the first fifteen minutes of the movie.

Wrapping my arm around her back, I pull her closer, until her body is against mine. Within seconds, her hand is on my thigh, so close, but seemingly miles away from where I want her—where I
need
her to be.

“So violent,” she whispers.

“Is that why you’re trembling?”

She pulls her eyes from the movie, raises her head off my chest, and looks up at me. With an almost indiscernible shake of her head, my eyes fall to her perfect lips. Short, harsh pants of breath rush from her mouth, lighting me on fire. She’s seriously turned on, and there’s no way I’m wasting this moment.

Shifting my weight, I pull her until she’s straddling my lap, and groan when the heat between her thighs rests against my straining erection.

Her hands find my hair as my lips hit her neck. Tracing the raging pulse at her throat, my hands snake under her tank top, spanning across the delicate flesh of her back. She arches, forcing her magnificent breasts harder against my chest.

“Olivia,” I plead against her throat before seeking out her mouth.

She whimpers, her hips rotating on their own volition, searing my blood with the contact. I despise whoever created the very first strip of fabric right now, but want to hug the person responsible for yoga pants and thin basketball shorts.

My hands wander down until I’m gripping both cheeks inside her yoga pants and guide her grinding hips.

Pulling my mouth from hers, I look into her hooded eyes.

“Please,” I whisper, realizing I’m not above begging.

She swallows, her throat working up the ability to speak. “I can’t.”

I nod in understanding. She’s not ready. “It’s a big step,” I placate.

Her eyes dart from mine and my chest falls, imagining she’s thinking about Duncan and the times she was with him, but she blows me out of the water with her next words. Nodding, she says, “The biggest step—one I’ve never taken before.”

Sweet hell.

I shake my head in disbelief, my eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. “You’re not saying you’re a…you and Duncan never…?”

She refuses to meet my eyes, but answers with a nod of her head. My cock strains even harder inside my shorts at her confession.

“Hey,” I say, reaching up and cupping her cheek after regaining some composure, “I understand, Liv. I’m not here to pressure you, but I want it out in the open that I’m ready for that next step whenever you are. Have no doubt about that.”

I grip her neck and pull her back down to my mouth, knowing we aren’t taking this much further, but not wanting to stop.

“Is this okay?” I ask, sliding my hands back along her ass and rotating her hips on me.

“So very okay,” she pants against my mouth.

Lips and hands and hips work together to build me up to a point I never thought imaginable. Her whimpers and coos of satisfaction nearly force me over the edge.

“Fuck, Liv. You’re gonna make me come.”

“Me too,” she confesses.

And damn if that isn’t my undoing. I grip her harder and shift her weight faster as we both climb.

Her body stiffens and then begins to tremble as my sac draws tighter. I rotate her hips once more before spurts of come soak the inside of my shorts. I kiss her through it, calming her pulse with slow, passionate licks inside her mouth.

“W-wow,” she sighs against my lips.

I smile against her mouth. “Your lips are swollen.”

“I think my butt is bruised, too. Hell of a grip you have there, short stop,” she throws back with a wink.

“When I find something worth holding on to, I seize it,” I say, then my eyes narrow on hers. “I never told you what position I played.”

Guilt tints her cheeks as she bites her lip, mirth swimming in her beautiful blue eyes.

“Did you google the roster?”

“Maybe,” she teases, getting up from my lap.

I want her to stay on me forever, but there is one hell of a mess we need to clean up.

“Shower with me?”

She freezes. Okay, maybe not.

“Too soon?”

“Sorry, Bryson.”

“Don’t apologize for that, Olivia. You grab one first and then I’ll go.”

A short while later, after toweling off and opting not to wear a shirt, I find the living room empty. The fact that she pulled away from me a little bit ago when I tried to kiss her while we were switching out positions in the bathroom sat heavy in my gut during my entire shower. She’s slipping away from me again and I’m not sure how to stop it. I may only be holding on to her with the tips of my fingers, but I won’t sit idly by as she closes in on herself—especially not after the fun on the couch.

I knock on her door, but turn the knob immediately, not giving her a chance to deny me entry.

“Nope,” I say, walking toward her bed and grabbing her hand.

“I’m tired, Bryson. I just want to take a nap.”

“You’re sad. There’s a difference.”

“I can’t help it, Bryson. It’s not about you. I promise.” Her words gut me. I know it’s not about me. It’s about him and that makes it even worse.

“You can be sad with me. Living room, come on.” I tug her hand again, but she refuses to budge. I lift the covers off her and press my knee into the mattress, threatening to slide in next to her. “Fine. We can be sad in here, but I’ll warn you, having you horizontal in a bed is the epitome of my wettest dreams, so I’m bound to press my luck. I apologize in advance when you get angry at where my hands may wander.”

She looks over her shoulder at me, gauging my seriousness. “Fine. Let’s go to the couch.”

“Perfect,” I tell her, backing away so she can climb out of bed. “Do I still need to keep my hands to myself?”

She gives my chest a playful smack as she walks by. “Yes, but my hands have free range.”

I’m totally down with that plan. I give her ass a sharp smack on the way down the hall, thankful I was able to ward off another bad mood.

“
Y
ou’re up early
.”

I look away from the stove and over my shoulder. This time, I’m not even shy about staring at Bryson without a shirt. He knows full well how attracted I am to him.

“Out of clean shirts?” I tease.

“No. I just like the way you look at me when I don’t wear one,” he confesses, wrapping his arms around me.

The scent of his masculine body wash fills my nose as I lean back against him. I cherish the way he holds me—unexpectant, yet fully in the moment. I relax into his embrace, sighing with contentment.

“You have an amazing body, Bryson. I sometimes lose the power of speech around you.”

“You should try it sometime.”

I tilt my head to the side. “Try what?”

He chuckles, the warm air hitting my cheek, heating me further.

“Walking around without a shirt on. I imagine all sorts of responses I’d have if you went shirtless.” He waggles his brows up and down playfully.

“Stop it.” I swat at him with the spatula in my hand.

He takes a step back and looks in to the skillet. “Making breakfast? Smells wonderful.”

“You’re distracting me. Put on a shirt and I might feed you.”

His eyebrows pop up, as if he’s considering to stay half naked to get more of a response.

“Go,” I encourage him out of the kitchen with another wave of the spatula.

By the time he makes it back, regretfully fully clothed, I’m plating an omelet for him. Sitting down at the small table, he wastes no time digging in.

“What are your plans for the day?” I sit in the other chair with a cup of coffee

Please say you’ve quit school and plan to just stay home all day like I do.
I know it’s unreasonable, but I love the little bubble we lived in this past weekend—at least until I got to my room and my phone vibrated with my video alert. That popped my bubble and allowed the guilt to sink in.

“Class this morning, practice this afternoon. Want to grab lunch with me in between?”

I give him my best
have you lost your damn mind
look, but he ignores it.

“Seriously, Liv. It’ll be fun.”

I roll my eyes. “You said that about grocery shopping yesterday. Don’t even pretend you weren’t uncomfortable talking to Kacie’s mom.”

He shrugs and finishes chewing before replying. “Didn’t bother me.”

“You looked bothered when she started talking about Duncan, and the way she was looking at me, judging me for shopping with another guy so soon…”

His hand covers mine. “Liv, she wasn’t judging you. I never once got that vibe from her.”

“Seriously? Her ‘good to see you moving on, Ollie’ was filled with judgement.”

“It wasn’t,” he argues.

I huff. “Then how did you interpret it?”

“Exactly how she said it. I promise I didn’t see judgment in her eyes or hear it in her words.” His thumb rubs over the back of my hand, calming my nerves a bit.

“I guess,” I murmur, my eyes focused on the table.

He continues to eat while I reflect back on yesterday. Encounters like that are the main reason I stay home. Not many people have been where I am, suffered what I have, but they all seem to have an opinion on how I should handle things, how soon I should “let it go”, and the timeframe to do it in.

“I have an idea!” He claps his hands together, as if he’s been hit with brilliance. His smile is jovial as he looks over at me with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“That doesn’t sound good at all,” I mutter, bringing my coffee to my lips.

“I’ll bring you lunch from campus and we can eat together. When I leave for practice, you can come with me. Cheer for me from the stands. Lots of people have been showing up lately.”

“Did you slip in the shower? Bang your head on your headboard?”

“You sound like Emerson,” he chides. “Besides, if there’s any headboard banging, you’ll know because you’ll be in the bedroom with me.”

His wink is sweet, but not enough to make me forget his suggestion.

“I probably know every one of the people coming to those practices, Bryson, so my answer is a big fat no.”

I get up from the table, pour out my coffee, and begin to wash my cup.

“We can skip the dog park tomorrow,” he offers. “In exchange for you watching me practice.”

“I’d rather see the dogs,” I complain.

Finishing off his last bite, he gets up from the table and walks over to me. I take his plate from his hand and begin to wash it. He finds his place behind my back and wraps his arms around my waist.

“It would really make me happy, Liv…to know you’re in the stands, cheering for me. Live in the now with me, please.”

I shake my head. “It’s practice, no one cheers. If they do, they’re idiots.”

“Cheer for me in your head. I bet I’ll be a rock star on the field if you’re there.”

I shake my head again. The thought of sitting in those stands makes my stomach turn with more than just fear—it’s longing and loss, and knowing I’ve spent time with Duncan there makes me feel uneasy. “I’m just not comfortable with that.”

“Getting out of your comfort zone is exactly what you need. You’ll thank me later.”

* * *

“
I
can’t believe
I let him talk me into this,” I mutter as a small horde of girls file into the stands.

Bryson and I got to the field early and I prayed to be the only one here today, but apparently those prayers went unanswered.

The group of four are loud and obnoxious, not following the proper etiquette—obviously freshman. Anyone who’s been around a baseball diamond knows practice, especially pre-season, is important, so the silent rule is to…well, remain silent. These women are acting like they’re at a bachelorette party and the players are their personal strippers. I don’t know if I’ve ever been to a practice where the women catcall and threaten to take their shirts off for a foul ball. Ridiculous. The freshman players are eating it up while the upper classmen seem annoyed.

“Idiots, aren’t they?” I look over, torn between smiling and running when Ainsley, a friend from when I was actually social, sits down beside me.

I look back over at the girls now passing around a flask and back to my former friend. “Coach will straighten them out.”

She gives me a knowing look. Coach Finley pulls no punches. If these women remain a distraction, he’ll ban them from practice. They’ll eventually calm down. Getting ejected from the sports complex is detrimental for a cleat chaser—ultimate death.

“Can I hug you?” she asks, her eyes wary and tone cautious, as if she’s unsure of my reaction even though we were pretty close friends in another life. Her hands flex at her sides, waiting for the go ahead, but unwilling to reach for me until she gets my approval.

I open my arms to her and melt into her embrace. I never knew such a simple gesture, a single touch from another person, could feel so good. Bryson cradling me in his arms is of course different from this, but as Ainsley squeezes me a little tighter before letting me go, I realize I needed her touch as much as I need every one of Bryson’s. “It’s good to see you, Ollie. I’ve missed you. Lots of us have.”

Guilt hits me hard. Ainsley and a few of the other girls who hung around the ball players and I became pretty good friends last year. Right now, I realize I abandoned them more than they did me. I pushed them away and practically locked myself in the apartment. My self-imposed isolation is one-hundred percent my doing. I felt like it was what I needed, but as time went on and I pulled further away, it just became habit, a way of life. Sitting here beside her now, makes me wish I’d opened my eyes a lot sooner.

I’ve missed this, even with as uncomfortable as I am being here. I missed friends, the sound of practice, and the earthy smell of the field as the guys work through fall training.

“Missed you, too,” I say as she pulls away and takes a seat beside me.

“Those girls are out of control.” I follow her eyes back to the rambunctious group and shake my head.

“Freshman,” I mutter. Realization hits and I look back to Ainsley. “Scott graduated last year. Who are you here to watch?”

Her brother, Scott, pitched for Oregon State all four years of his college career and I read online that Dallas drafted him last season.

She gives me a shy grin. “Wanna play this game? I could ask you the same thing.”

My cheeks heat. I walked right through a door I opened myself.

“I’m here watching my roommate.” Confusion crosses her face, so I point out on the field between second and third base. “Bryson Daniels.”

She rolls her lips between her teeth to keep from smiling, but her eyes shine with amusement.

“That’s very...supportive of you,” she finally manages. “
Just
roommates?”

I look back to the field, finding Bryson looking in our direction. He gives me a goofy grin and a thumbs up. Shaking my head at his silliness, I look back at my friend and shrug, unsure how to answer her honestly.

How do I begin to explain to someone who knew Duncan that I’ve started to develop feelings for another man? I’m not ready for the judgement and opinions everyone will have, especially someone I once considered a close friend.

But at the same time, I don’t want to hide behind my grief any longer. I feel it every single day, like a slap to the face, but there are moments when Bryson and I are together that things seem like they’re getting better, that there is life and happiness to be found outside of Duncan’s memories.

“Word on the diamond is he’s the one to catch. Queen Simone already had her claws in him, but that’s to be expected.”

My jaw clenches, and I’m certain she can hear my teeth grinding. “We met a few weeks ago.”

I don’t mention I haven’t seen her since she was put in her place at the diner, or how Bryson spends almost every free second with me.

“I don’t remember her from before.” My voice drops at the last word.
Before
. Such a simple word that holds so much power.
Before
feels like yesterday for the pain, but a decade for the loss.

“She stuck to upper classman mostly. She didn’t bother Duncan because she knew she wouldn’t have a chance.”

My eyes close at his name coming from someone else’s lips, a harsh reminder that he’s still on the minds of others. I wish I could be more like Ainsley, able to mention his loss without my stomach knotting and heart tightening in my chest.

“Sorry,” Ainsley says, her tone soft, placing her hand on my shoulder.

A weak smile is all I can manage. I grip the edge of the seat, a way to hold me in place, ground me in the moment when every instinct says to get up and run. I want to run from Ainsley and her mention of Duncan and Simone—run from the feelings I can’t seem to control around Bryson, run from the ever pressing knowledge that my life has changed and I’m still incredibly bitter about my story being changed.

“I’m here to watch JJ,” she confesses with a conspiratorial whisper. She must notice my shift in demeanor, and I’m grateful for the topic change.

I pull my head back and look at her with surprise. “JJ, as in Joey Jessup? No way!”

I’m genuinely shocked at her admission, and I know she can read as much on my face. My lips turn up into a smirk when I see her eyes glittering with adoration as she watches JJ on the pitcher’s mound.

It’s her turn to blush.

“You’re together?”

She shakes her head, her lips turning down at the corners as an emotion I can’t name passes over her eyes. “He doesn’t even know my name.”

“Sure he does. He and Scott were thick as thieves, if I remember correctly.”

“Best friends,” she confirms. “Still are, but Scott’s Little Sis is all he ever calls me.”

“Oh God. Immediate friend zone.”

She huffs. “More like surrogate older brother.”

I cringe. “Sorry. Maybe with Scott gone this season, he’ll see you in a different light.”

“Fingers crossed,” she mutters, looking out on the field, mild disappointment in her eyes.

I know the feeling. I’m just glad I never had to look out on this field and see Duncan. It’s the only reason I agreed to come today. His memories here are with me in the stands. Ainsley showing up is a blessing because she doesn’t allow the wallowing I was sure to do today.