More Than a Memory (9 page)

S
he was
mad because the bathroom was messy?

She was mad because the girl sucked my dick in the shower and not in the privacy of my room?

She was angry about seminal fluids in the community tub?

That’s
what she was angry about?

Her ire was due to the location of the blow job and not that I was getting one from another girl?

I had to leave her in the kitchen. If I hadn’t, I would have said more things I’d regret later. I could see the jealousy in her eyes that morning, it was rolling off her in waves. I knew I had to test her. That’s why I came back out still damp without a shirt on. Well, and because my ego took a massive hit with her words.

She tried to hide it, but I saw the slight drop of her jaw when I reentered, caught the tip of her tongue when it snaked out onto her bottom lip. With my ego restored, and only slightly bruised, I knew the rest of the evening would be great. It always is when she lets her walls down and actually sits and talks to me.

I can admit we’re building a friendship. I’m also confident enough in myself to confess I seriously like this girl, and I can’t even pinpoint the reason. She’s beautiful, so that helps, but there are beautiful girls all over campus. For some reason, I’m drawn to her, but her having a boyfriend seriously puts a damper on my mood, especially when that damn phone goes off and she leaves.

Duncan’s raised voice echoes around the small apartment less than a minute later. Curious, I get off the couch and stand at her bedroom door. Normally, I would have to lean in closer, put my ear to the cold wood, but tonight, it’s not necessary.

“Even your mother likes him, Ollie. That’s saying something.”

She
has
told him about me? Why didn’t she just admit to that when I was clearly upset and assuming she hadn’t?

“He’s not who I want, Duncan. I want you. I need
you
. Not a stand in.”
Ouch.
Her voice cracks as she pleads with him, and the sorrow flowing out of her nearly breaks my heart.

“You know that’s not going to happen. Don’t cry, sweet cheeks. Your tears slay me.” The way his voice is filled with emotion, his love for her is apparent, even though he’s hurting her right now.

“I’ll never recover from this.”

“You will. I promise. You have to.” Her sobs hit me right in the chest. “Everything I’m doing is for you. You have to move on.”

“Fight, Duncan. Fight for me. Fight for
us
.”

“Ollie,” he says, exasperated pain filling his tone, “I’ve been fighting for us for years. It’s over, baby. You have to accept it.”

“I won’t,” she sobs, and her pain nearly has me reaching for the doorknob. I’ll make sure he knows I’ll be here to catch her when she falls.

“No more video chats. I won’t answer.”

“No! You can’t do that to me. Can’t you see that you’re breaking my heart?”

“I’m breaking my own heart, sweet cheeks.”

I walk away from the door, unable to listen to her beg for him. Breaking up, I thought, would come as a relief for me, but it’s clear she loves him and I wouldn’t wish that kind of heartache on any one.

Five minutes. Five minutes is all I can take of pacing my room, wringing my hands together before the sound of her muffled sobs through the wall destroy me. You’d think I’d be used to women crying, having grown up with a female twin, but I’ve never been able to tolerate tears without the urge to hold and comfort. I tug on a t-shirt and leave my room.

Not even bothering to knock on her door, I push it open and go to her on the bed. Curled up in a tiny ball, Olivia’s shoulders shake as her crying continues. Closing her laptop, I place it on her bedside table before scooping her up in my arms. I position myself against the headboard and hold her to my chest.

She doesn’t pull away from me, and I don’t speak a word as she cries, her tears dampening my t-shirt.

She’s heartbroken, yet clings to me, and I can’t stop the way my body responds to her proximity. She smells amazing and the heat from her skin warms me to the point of arousal. There’s no way to hide or stop my reaction, no matter how inappropriate it is right now.

I would prefer the first time she’s in my arms to be about us, not
him
, but I’ll take what I can get. The next time I hold her will be different—and there has to be a next time. She fits perfectly against me, and there’s nowhere I would rather be in this moment than right here with her—even with her snot soaking my shirt.

After a few minutes, her sobs begin to weaken, and hope that I’m helping ease some of her pain by holding her swells within me. Her arms have managed to wind their way around my body, one behind my back, and the other around my neck. Stroking her hair, I whisper soothing words in her ear.

She pulls her head from my shoulder, and I immediately miss her body heat against me. The redness and swelling in her eyes somehow makes her even more beautiful.

“Hey,” I whisper, sweeping a lock of damp hair from her face, “you going to be okay?”

She shakes her head from side to side, lowering her gaze to my chest. “No,” she sniffs.

I cup her face in both hands, urging her face up, and look into her eyes. “You will,” I say, wanting her to really hear my words. My eyes dart back and forth as I will some of my strength into her.

Her eyes fall to my lips, and her pink tongue swipes at her bottom lip. My pulse pounds in my ears as I thicken further. Even though I know this isn’t the time or place for an erection, I can’t seem to control my body when I’m around her.

She leans in an inch closer. “Please.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat as my thumb skates over her lip, tugging it softly. My mind and body are at war with one another, but whichever one I side with will only leave me with regret.

I rest my forehead against hers, relishing the way her breath gusts across my mouth. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Her hand releases my neck, lowering to fist the front of my shirt. “Please,” she pleads, desperate, but her urgency isn’t for me—it’s a demand to ease the pain she’s feeling.

I pull my head away and close my eyes against the need radiating from her. Any other time, I wouldn’t mind being a rebound, but the rebound guy never sticks. They’re tossed aside once the deed is done and remorse takes over, and I can’t be that guy for Olivia.

“Bryson,” she sighs as she shifts her hips, bringing my attention back to the fact that she’s sitting on my lap. “Please.”

She’s said that word three times, and each plea breaks my resolve just a little more.

“I know breakups are hard, Olivia, but this isn’t truly what you want right now.” I kiss her cheek, already regretting not putting my mouth on hers. “If you still want me next week, I’m yours.”

Fresh tears spring to her blue eyes and fight one another on the path down her cheeks.

My phone rings, echoing the song Emerson assigned as her ringtone around the small apartment.

“I have to get that,” I say, holding in the sigh of relief at how thankful I am for the distraction. I place her back on her bed and stand with my back to her so I can adjust my erection. “Sleep well.”

Before I make it over the threshold, she insists, “We didn’t break up.”

Anger sparks in fiery licks through my veins as my jaw tenses. Forcing myself not to respond, I pull the door closed behind me, shutting it with more force than I intended, but inwardly praising myself for walking away. Hundreds of retorts and thoughts war within my brain, but I keep my mouth shut. If she’s delusional about the conversation I overheard, the last thing I need is to get tangled up in that situation.

I force my shoes on and grab my phone before leaving the apartment. Staying in that small living space with her while trying to process all of my emotions is not an option. Even with as angry as I am, I know I’ll end up in her room, in
her
, if I sit and think about it too long, and that’s not going to do anything for either of us but scratch an itch. I still have to live here, and some lines shouldn’t be crossed.

Hitting the sidewalk in front of the apartment, I check the voicemail from Emerson and calm my breathing, forcing my body to relax after being so close to Olivia while my sister drones in my ear about wanting to come visit. Labor Day is next week, and she has no desire to stay at school. At least, that’s what her message says. I can read between the lines, though. This is the first time we’ve been separated for this long since birth and she misses me.

I pause in front of the student union building and type out a text to Emerson. As much as I miss her, telling her I’d love for her to visit is double-edged. I’m also hoping having her around for a long weekend will help Olivia come out of her shell a little.

I
stumble
to the coffee pot, my head pounding harder than it has in some time. Ignoring the unwashed plate in the sink, I scoop double the amount of grounds into the filter and stand watch as the machine brews enough for my first cup.

Last night was brutal. Bryson’s rejection, even though I know he did the right thing, hurt more than I thought it would when he walked out of my room. I wrap my arms around my stomach, remembering how I felt in his arms. Having gone so long without a masculine touch, I wanted to crawl inside him and live there. I felt protected, even though the pain in my heart was only eased temporarily.

“Make enough for two?” I jolt as Bryson enters the kitchen, startling me. He places a warm, comforting hand on my back. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

I shift away from his touch, and instantly regret it when his face falls at the rejection.

“Hungry?” he asks, not putting a voice to the elephant in the room.

I pour both of us a cup of coffee as he tugs open the refrigerator door and peers inside. He sighs out loud as he closes the door, still empty-handed.

“I need to go grocery shopping,” he mutters before taking the cup I’m holding out to him.

“My mom got stuff to make sandwiches. You’re more than welcome to any of it.” I point to the plate left in the sink. “So long as you clean up after yourself.”

“Old habits die hard,” he mutters, stepping up beside me to wash the plate.

I shift away from him as a tingle of awareness washes over me. The heat of his body that close to mine is dangerous. The scent of his skin hitting my nose threatens the precarious hold I have on my emotions.

“My sister told me this place was the perfect fit,” he says after rinsing the plate and putting it in the dishwasher. “She said it was messy, just like I tend to be.”

I can’t help but laugh, but don’t regret trashing the apartment before Emerson came to look at it if it’s what got him here in the first place.

“That would be my fault,” I confess.

I smile at the look of confusion in his eyes as he brings the cup to his lips.

“Shit, this is strong,” he says with a grimace.

“That’s my fault, too. I needed something strong after last night.”

He nods in understanding, but I’m grateful he doesn’t bring up our almost kiss, or the fact that I begged him for it.

“I sort of trashed the apartment before she got here. I didn’t want a roommate.”

“I thought you just didn’t want a guy living here,” he says, a smirk on his perfect lips.

I drop my eyes, peering into my coffee.

“I didn’t want
anyone
living here. My mother forced me to get a roommate. I was against it from the beginning.”

He places his coffee on the counter before crossing his arms over his chest. “If you seriously don’t want me here—”

I hold my hand up to stop him.

“Like I’ll believe for a second you’re willing to leave. You’ve mentioned more than once this was the only place you could find.”

Amusement sparks in his eyes. “True. You’re stuck with me, Olivia.”

I tilt my cup up to hide my reaction at his words, reading into them more than I’m sure he means. Closing my eyes as the strong coffee infiltrates my groggy brain, I feel the air around us shift and do my best to ignore it. Having feelings for him does nothing to help anyone involved.

“Let’s go to brunch,” he offers.

My eyes snap open to find him directly in front of me. Shaking my head, I reply, “That’s not a good idea. There’s food here.”

“There isn’t breakfast food here. I can’t start my day with a sandwich. I need bacon and pancakes covered in warm maple syrup.” He pulls my coffee cup from my hands and places it in the sink.

My stomach betrays me, grumbling in protest at the mention of pancakes. “I can’t leave, Bryson.”

“You can.”

I shake my head from side to side. “I haven’t left in a long time, and I don’t want to.”

“Tell me why,” he insists.

“I just can’t leave.”

“Not good enough, Olivia.” He takes a step closer, and I take a step back, but my back makes contact with the counter, trapping me. “Tell me why you can’t leave or go get dressed.”

“An ultimatum? You may not know this about me, but I don’t do very well with those.”

A knowing grin marks his face as his eyes dart down to my mouth. “Oh, I know you’re stubborn. So, what’s it going to be?”

I watch his perfect lips turn up in a smirk without responding, until he clears his throat and steps away. I don’t miss the subtle way he tries to adjust himself. He’s wearing sweats, so hiding how he’s feeling really isn’t an option. A sense of feminine triumph I shouldn’t feel sends shivers down my spine.

“Don’t make me eat alone,” he pouts, his bottom lip protruding in a cartoonish way.

I huff. “I’m sure you have a ton of friends already, Bryson. Call that chick who
swallowed every drop
. I’m sure she’d love to spend more time with you.”

I regret the words as soon as they come out of my mouth, and seeing his playfulness turn to disappointment makes me feel even worse.

“I’m sure she’s busy with one of the other teammates. Besides,” he says as he moves beside me, busying himself with washing our coffee cups, “I’d rather spend time with you over her any day. It’s just pancakes.”

It’s just pancakes for you. For me, it’s walking out into a world I deserted months ago.

“Don’t you have school?” I bargain.

He shrugs, continuing to wash the dirty dishes. “I can go after.”

My stomach growls again and he turns, giving me a pointed look. My hands tremble just considering the idea, but the look on his face concretes my decision. “Fine. But I need a shower first.”

* * *

“
T
his will be fun
,” Bryson says as he opens the door of his truck so I can climb in.

“Fun,” I mumble as he closes me in. “More like torture and a futile exercise in trying not to freak out.”

I fake a smile when he opens the driver’s side door and climbs into the cab. He wastes no time putting the vehicle in gear and driving toward our destination.

“I love this song,” Bryson says, turning up the volume when
My Wish
by Rascal Flatts begins to play.

Tears sting my eyes as he sings along. I make it to the first line of the chorus before I have to reach over and turn the radio off completely.

“Too early for music,” I explain, trying to hide the emotion in my voice.

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one.” He grins at me, but leaves the radio off, and I turn toward the window, not wanting him to see how much it affected me.

Within minutes, Bryson pulls up outside a small diner. I’ve been here dozens of times before, but my whole body is shaking knowing I’m about to walk in to a place frequented by most students who go to Oregon State. I swipe at the few tears staining my cheeks and take in the biggest breath of my life.

Like a gentleman, Bryson gets out of the truck and opens my door for me.

“Come on,” he says, offering his hand while I just stare at the front of the restaurant. His fingers open and close several times, urging me to get out and join him.

Relenting, I place my shaking hand in his.

“I’m thinking strawberry banana pancakes and thick cut maple bacon. What about you?” he asks, ignoring the tremor in my hand.

I give him a weak smile, but don’t answer. Fear and emotion lodge in my throat, making it impossible to form words.

“You look like a blueberry pancake kind of girl,” he continues, pulling open the door with his free hand.

“I’m allergic,” I manage to say as my pulse pounds in my ears.

“That sucks. Blueberries are awesome.” Bryson doesn’t seem to notice the hush falling over the diners as they turn to see who’s entering.

He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze when I try to pull it from his, refusing to let go. How I can be both grateful and annoyed at his insistence is beyond me.

The hostess seats us quickly, and Bryson chooses the seat with his back to the majority of the patrons, forcing me to face them. Whispers and darting glances are thrown my way by several people who recognize me, and I stick my nose in the menu to avoid the attention.

“The cheesecake crepes look really good. Want to try those?” I nod my head and hand him my menu as the waitress returns with coffee and glasses of water.

Bryson orders for both of us while I busy myself pouring coffee.

“This place is busier than I anticipated on a week day,” he says, looking over his shoulder.

“It’s always busy,” I say, keeping my eyes focused on him.

“Oh,” he says, swinging his head back in my direction, “Emerson wants to come down this weekend. I know I should’ve asked first, but I already told her it would be fine.”

I focus on his words, attempting to ignore the buzz in the diner that feels like it’s directed only at me.

“That’s okay, right?” he asks when I fail to respond.

“Sure,” I answer.

“You don’t sound sure,” he teases. “If it’s a problem, I can text and cancel.”

Reaching out, I place my hand over his as he picks up his phone from the table. “Seriously, it’s fine. Maybe you’ll be cleaner while she’s around.”

“Doubtful,” he says, twining his fingers with mine.

My phone rings in my pocket just as the waitress begins to pile our plates on the table, giving me the excuse I was looking for to pull my hand from his. After seeing it’s Duncan’s mom calling, I send it to voicemail, then delete that as soon as it dings the alert. I’m still angry at his parents, and have absolutely nothing to say to either of them. I wish they’d stop trying to call me altogether.

Thankfully, brunch is uneventful, filled with small talk and warnings from Bryson about his meddling sister. I love how his face lights up when he speaks about her. He may pretend she’s annoying, but the sparkle in his eyes is undeniable.

Things are going fine and the novelty of me sitting in the diner seems to be wearing off, until the woman he brought home the other night saunters her lean body up to our table.

“Hey, handsome,” she purrs, practically sitting in his lap.

“Simone,” he says, a hint of irritation in his voice. “You remember my roommate, Olivia.”

“Not really,” she says without a glance in my direction.

I hate how his identification of me stings, even though I know it shouldn’t bother me at all. I turn my eyes away from them and look out the window, but my awareness of their conversation never falters.

“We’re having breakfast. Can I help you with something?” he bites out, the hint of annoyance in his voice turning to obvious anger. Well, obvious to me. Simone seems oblivious as she coos in his ear and rakes her fake nails over his chest.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice stern as he grabs her hand, urging her away.

“Fine,” she says, her tone bitter. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

A devious smile hits her lips. With a broad sweep of her hand, she intentionally tries to knock over my glass of ice water, but Bryson seems to have predicted her reaction and already has his hand wrapped around it.

“Enough, Simone,” he warns.

She narrows her eyes at me, then turns back to Bryson. “Whenever you’re over this little obsession with the hermit, you know where to find me.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before turning his dark gaze back to me.

“Real winner you have there,” I say, deadpan.

Ignoring my words, he pulls cash from his wallet, leaves it on the table, and stands from the booth. I grab my things and follow his lead. We walk to the truck in silence, but even in his annoyed state, he opens the door for me and closes it with a soft snick once I settle inside.

“I have a few errands to run before heading back,” he informs me a few minutes later as he puts the truck in park in front of the student bookstore. “You coming?”

“Not a chance,” I say, trepidation settling in my bones.

“I’ll leave it running,” he says before climbing out and walking away.

The perfect fit of his jeans does not go unnoticed by myself or the small group of girls standing near the entrance. I chuckle under my breath when all four track him with their eyes until he disappears inside. Seems everyone on campus wants a piece of Bryson Daniels.