More Than a Memory (8 page)

E
ven with the
way my morning turned out, I should be walking across campus with a smile on my face. I’m not smiling, however, and my irritation must show. Everyone who’s even so much as glanced in my direction has turned their backs to me and scuttled away.

I lost count of how many times I sank into Simone last night, each orgasm leaving me hungrier than the last. Fucking Simone, yet wanting
her
, left me unsatisfied and more annoyed every damn time I rolled the condom down my dick.

My actions were retaliatory, but fuck if I thought she would react the way she did this morning. The pain I normally saw in her eyes was replaced with a fierce hatred I didn’t know she was capable of. I never should’ve said the things I did, but I let my emotions and the frustration over spending the night fucking a girl I didn’t even want control my mouth.

At the time, I thought she deserved it, but as I drove to class, guilt flooded me. It’s not her fault that she tempts me so damn bad. She hasn’t done anything to make me think she wants me other than the way I catch her watching me, but just being in the apartment makes me yearn to spend time with her.

I’m realizing very quickly this is my problem, not hers. This morning, I took that out on her, as if it’s her fault she’s beautiful beyond measure. As if it’s her fault I crave to be Duncan, the man sharing the same air with her, not some voice from miles and miles away.

“How was last night?” Liam asks, slapping me on the shoulder.

“I’ve had better,” I mumble, and immediately feel like an asshole. Simone was very attentive last night, and this morning in the shower. She doesn’t deserve my distaste.

“Of course you have. Hell, we all have, but that chick is down for just about anything. Has no problem with a little anal when the girlfriend refuses.” I look over at him, and chuckle when I see his eyebrows waving up and down.

“You seem like the type of douchebag who would cheat on his girlfriend just to fuck some other girl in the ass,” I chastise with a smirk.

He holds his hand over his heart as if I’ve offended him, but the spark in his eyes tells a different story. “I’ve never cheated on a girlfriend.”

It’s my turn to raise an eyebrow, knowing he’s full of shit.

“Scout’s honor,” he says, holding up two fingers instead of the traditional three. “I’ve never had a girlfriend to cheat on.”

“Now
that
I believe,” I agree as we walk up to the front of the baseball complex.

“Too much of an array of pussy out there to be tied down to one piece,” he adds. “I’ll be a bachelor until I get pudgy in about twenty years, then I’ll find a good woman to take care of me.”

“They won’t even want your fat ass by then. Better grab one while you’re still young.”

“Nah, I’ll find a young thing in my forties or fifties. Some chick with daddy issues who’s down with anything.”

I chuckle at how ridiculous his life plan is.

“Your dick may fall off before then.”

“Not a chance, buddy. I keep that shit wrapped, all the time, every time.” He slaps me on the back, as if he’s just given golden advice.

“What’s up with that?” I ask, pointing toward the small memorial I noticed after my first meeting with the team.

“Sad fucking deal, man. Kelly was like an honorary player. Played in high school, was good, too, but got sick before he could play in college.”

“Sick?” I ask.

“Yeah, man. Cancer or some shit. Too weak to play, but his dad was a baseball alumni. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it. That brave fucker committed suicide on a live social media feed.” He holds the door open for me as he talks.

“No shit?”

“No shit,” he confirms. “Brave motherfucker if you ask me.”

“That would take some balls,” I agree.

“Hey, fucker!” I look over and see another guy from the team walking over with a huge grin on his face. I watch as he and Liam do the bro-man, backslap thing. “The party this weekend is going to be epic! The Deltas are organizing a wet t-shirt contest. I heard the twins got tit jobs over the summer!”

“Sweet,” Liam praises. He looks over to me. “You coming? The wet t-shirt contests get pretty fucking wild, as in they don’t stay in the shirts very long. So, it’s pretty much just wet tits.”

“Wet new tits? Count me in.”

* * *

M
y mood lifts
once I hit the field with my teammates. Joking around and talking about the upcoming party while in the locker room is amusing, but the minute we hit the field, it is all business. These guys are as focused on getting ready for the season as I am. It’s a change from the team at La Grande, but I guess when you’re on a multiyear losing streak, it takes more than a pep talk to get you motivated.

We spend two hours running drills and hitting, and I let the excitement for the upcoming season fill my soul. The determination on the field is palpable.

Once we hit the locker room after practice, the playful banter and ass grabbing picks right back up.

“You heading to Cody’s with us?” Liam asks as he pulls his shirt over his head.

“Not today. I have two classes left. I think I’ll just head home after that.” I stuff my dirty clothes in my gym bag and zip it up.

“You sure? It’s two-dollar shot night,” he tempts.

“If I keep skipping class, I’ll get kicked off the team,” I explain.

“Should’ve done online classes. That way you can party and do assignments whenever.”

I smile at him. “I don’t have the self-discipline online classes require.”

He doesn’t look like he has it either, but that’s not my business to worry about. I’m concerned for myself, and if I can’t resolve whatever the hell is going on with Olivia, I may end up falling behind even more.

Even though it’s the last thing I want to do, I head back to the apartment after my last class. Leaving Olivia upset in the bathroom has worn on me all day. She can’t control my appeal to her, and not being able to have her is no reason to take my anger out on her.

Laughter from more than one female greets me when I unlock the door. In the kitchen, I find Olivia and an older blonde woman who has many of her same features. I watch them, unnoticed, for a few moments as they unload groceries from reusable cloth bags.

Although she’s smiling, Olivia looks tired and haggard, yet still as stunning and beautiful as ever. I want to laugh when I see her lining canned goods on the counter, straightening them before they even hit the shelf in the small pantry.

The other woman gasps when she notices me standing to the side.

“You must be Bryson,” she says, walking closer and holding her hand out. “I’m Raquel Dawson, Ollie’s mother.”

I shake her hand. “Nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Dawson.”

Her mother goes back to putting up groceries, and I can’t pull my eyes from Olivia. The atmosphere changed the second she realized I was here. Her laughter faltered, then ceased altogether. The familiar hunch of her shoulders is back, and she refuses to make eye contact with me. I close some of the distance between us, needing to be closer to her, but also wanting to talk to her without her mother hearing—an impossible feat in this small kitchen.

“Can we talk?” I reach for her hand, but she pulls it away, fisting it at her side.

“Not right now,” she says, cutting her eyes in her mother’s direction.

“Bryson, we’re having sushi delivered. Would you like to join us?”

I look at Olivia, trying to gauge whether the invite extends from her as well, but she turns her back to me and begins placing the can goods on the shelf.

“No thank you. I have a ton of homework to catch up on,” I decline.

“Are you sure? Olivia insisted we get enough for you too. She says you’ve been grabbing her meals while you’re out.” I continue to watch Olivia and notice her back stiffen as her mother confesses that they were talking about me.

“Maybe another time. You ladies have a good evening.” I walk out of the room, refusing to stick around if she’s going to give me the cold shoulder.

“He’s cute,” I hear her mother say.

“Yes, he’s very handsome.” Olivia’s voice is resigned, as if she wishes I weren’t good looking.

“And nice. Very good manners.”

“Yes, very respectful.” I smile at her tone.

“Maybe you should—”

“Don’t start, Mother,” is Olivia’s response.

I close myself in my room with every intention of going out and speaking to her the second her mother leaves, but homework and lack of sleep forces my eyes closed less than an hour later.

H
e already left
for school by the time I woke up. My mother stayed much later than I’d originally planned. One movie turned into two, but I eventually asked her to leave. She always brings up subjects I don’t want to talk about, and her opinions on how I should live my life are not the same as mine. When she began asking me about medication and leaving the apartment, I decided I’d had enough of her for one day. She left graciously this time, grateful I was the one who reached out to her.

I’m standing at the stove cooking chicken in a skillet when he comes in from school.

“Hey,” I say over my shoulder before sprinkling seasoning on the meat. “I’m making stir-fry. Want some?”

He’s silent for a moment, and I have to look over my shoulder to make sure he didn’t walk away after finding me in here. Though, I wouldn’t blame him. It’s not like I ever start conversation with him. But I’ve decided avoiding Bryson, pretending to still live alone, and being angry that he has a life outside of this apartment isn’t helping anyone. As hard as it may be, I’ve opted to just let it go—turn over a new leaf, so to speak. He’s living here to have a place to stay. He’s not some friend put in this situation because my mother feels like I need a companion.

He narrows his eyes as he evaluates my offer. “Yes?”

“Are you asking?”

“Are you poisoning me? I’m hungry as hell and may even eat it knowing it’ll kill me, but I’d like to make an informed decision.” The apprehension in his voice makes me laugh.

“I have no reason to poison you.” I turn toward him and narrow my eyes. “Did you leave a dirty towel on the bathroom floor?”

“No,” he says with a smirk at my playfulness.

“Then, you’re safe. For now.” I angle my head to the fridge. “Can you grab the snap peas?”

“Sure,” he says, his hand landing on my hip as he leans past me to get into the refrigerator.

I turn my body, forcing his hand to fall. I’m doing my best to start over without all the anger and hostility we spewed yesterday morning, but his hands on me is not something I can tolerate—especially not when they were on someone else a mere twenty-four hours ago.

“Tiny kitchen,” he explains, backing away. “Want me to rinse these?”

“Yes, please. The colander is under there,” I say, pointing my toe at the cabinet to the left of the sink.

“Any water chestnuts going in here?”

I crinkle my nose. “Not in mine, but I did have my mom pick up a small can for you.”

“Ah,” he says, his voice raising in excitement, “that’s where the poison is.”

“I wouldn’t kill you, Bryson.” He cuts his eyes at me in disbelief as he rinses the snap peas. “I never leave the apartment, no one really comes over, and your body would start to stink. I’m a depressed masochist, but I have trouble with dirty, stinky things.”

“That’s not remotely funny, Olivia.” Today, I hate the way he says my full name. “I already hate that you never leave. I hate it even more not knowing why.”

There’s genuine concern in his eyes, but it’s still not enough for me to open up to him.

He pulls down a paper towel and places the damp colander of peas on the counter. “I’m sorry about the things I said yesterday. I had no right to act that way.”

“That,” I say with a sigh, “was my fault. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset about the bathroom being messy.”

“The bathroom being messy?” He frowns. “That’s all it was about?”

I turn my attention back to the chicken before it burns.

“Of course,” I say with a quick lift of my shoulder. “What else would it have been about?”

How would I even begin to explain that the sight of another woman coming out of my bathroom with him pissed me off beyond belief? Answering his simple question truthfully would only bring a barrage of questions I’d never answer.

Silence fills the air, forcing me to look back over at him. He scrubs his hand over his face. “Yeah, sorry about the bathroom. I’ll make sure to keep it clean from now on.”

“Did you not want to eat?” I ask as he turns to leave the kitchen.

“I’m going to grab a quick shower. I’ll be right back.” He doesn’t even turn his head to look at me as he leaves me standing in the kitchen, confused at his change in behavior.

Dinner is done and I’m plating our meals when Bryson walks back into the kitchen. He has a pile of laundry in one arm and is using the other to scrub his messy hair with a towel. He’s also shirtless and the sweatpants hanging from his hips are riding obscenely low.

I swallow past the immediate dryness in my mouth as my eyes widen at the delectable sight of him.

“Sorry,” he says when he notices my quirked eyebrow. “Laundry day.”

I carry my plate to the living room while he starts his clothes on a wash cycle. I find it hard to believe he only has enough clothes for one load of laundry, and know he’s just toying with me. Two can play this game. I don’t have any problem ignoring his insanely defined physique and chiseled muscles. I’m turning over a new leaf, one that doesn’t include me drooling over Bryson Daniels.

Moments later, he joins me on the couch, touching my thigh with his rather than sitting in the chair perpendicular to me.

“What do you want to watch?” he asks as I flip through shows on Netflix. “Oh, that! Since when is
Top Gun
on
Netflix?”

“Are you a closet Tom Cruise fanboy?”

He grins at me, flashing his perfect smile. “Never been in the closet where Tom Cruise is concerned. Besides, this is the best bro movie ever.”

I’m grateful he picked this movie. It keeps me from admitting my lifelong crush on Val Kilmer.

“Thank you,” he says as the beginning credits roll. “Emerson would never sit through a movie like this for me.”

“No big deal. I’ve seen just about everything Netflix and Prime have to offer. I’m not very picky,” I admit.

“Is this all you do for fun? Watch TV? Surf the net?”

“Don’t forget sleep,” I tease.

“Can’t forget that.” After placing his plate on the coffee table, he says, “We forgot drinks. Want a beer?”

“No thanks,” I tell him.

“Are you a wine girl?”

I crinkle my nose. “Ew, no. A water would be great, though.”

I hit pause on the remote until he gets back.

“Don’t tell me,” he says, handing me a bottle of water, “you aren’t a hard liquor kind of chick, are you?”

“I don’t drink.”

“At all? How is that even possible?”

I press play on the movie. “Just never been my thing. I figured drugs and alcohol are dangerous since I sort of have an addictive personality. I’ve always been afraid if I start, I may not be able to stop.”

“That makes sense,” he says, but the look on his face tells a different story.

“Tell me more about your sister.”

“She’s a huge pain in my ass,” he complains, but the smile never leaves his face. We have an older brother too, but there’s a fourteen-year difference between us and Josh. He was in college by the time we were old enough to start school.”

“Damn, it’s like your parents started over from scratch.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, my mom said we were the most exhausting surprise ever. Apparently, what happened in Tahiti didn’t stay there. What about you? Brothers or sisters?”

“Only child.”

“My dad is an antique dealer and my mom sells insurance. What do your folks do?”

“My mom is a house wife. That’s code for she doesn’t work and has hired help at home. My dad is a very lucky business man. Everything he’s ventured into has become insanely profitable.” I shrug. “They’re great people, but my dad traveled a lot when I was a kid, and my mother and I have grown apart over the last couple years.”

“Did you guys have a falling out? You seemed okay yesterday.”

“Twenty questions?” I smile at him. He watches me until I answer. “I think I was just tired of being at home. I was ready to spread my wings after high school. She blamed Duncan.”

“What is he like?”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry. Duncan is not a subject I’m comfortable talking to anyone about.”

“Is he abusive?” he presses. “Is that why your mother doesn’t like him?”

“What? No!” I stand from the couch to take my plate to the kitchen. “Like I said, I don’t want to talk about it.”

I take a few minutes longer than necessary to clean up, trying my best to gain some composure before going back to the living room. The jolly mood I was pretending to feel earlier crumbled at the first mention of Duncan.

Even though I don’t want to, I force myself to sit on the couch and finish the movie with Bryson. Thankfully, my alarm goes off.

“Do I need to leave?” Bryson asks as I stand to head into my room. I tilt my head in confusion. “You know, so you guys can have some privacy without being overheard?”

His mood has soured too. “That’s not necessary. It’s not that kind of night.”

His comment about being overheard makes me wonder just how many of my chats have filtered through the wall.