Yes, he certainly looks capable of murder.
His expression is pinched—eyes destructive as he stares at me with an unwarranted rage.
“No, I’m not. It’s complicated.”
“Well, I’m here if the complication doesn’t kill me first,” he teases.
I touch his arm, thanking him before Aubrey pulls me off the dance floor for a bathroom break.
“Oh, honey, you’re playing with fire,” she voices as soon as we’re in the bathroom.
“How can I be playing with fire? Oliver and I are nothing. Therefore, any fire is his doing and his problem.”
“Piece of advice?” Aubrey asks behind the cubicle door. “Don’t wait until it’s too late. Until you’ve both hurt each other, and there’s no turning back.”
She flushes and exits, washing her hands and quickly checking her makeup.
Back in the bar area, Aubrey walks straight back to where Chance and Oliver are seated. Chance leans into her, whispering something which makes her giggle. Chance adores Aubrey, and I wonder if I will ever have what they do. This unconditional love which appears so effortless to them.
I call for the bartender to serve me another drink, something extra hard.
“So I was thinking,” Aubrey says, a knowing grin plastered on her face as she positions herself between Oliver and me, pulling us closer in. “Olly has to go to Colorado. Who knows Colorado better than you? Why don’t you make it a road trip? The two of you. It’s a great way to cement a friendship. Iron out all the kinks… if you know what I mean? And besides, did Chance ever tell you that’s how we met?”
“He didn’t,” I mumble, thrown off by the suggestion.
“Over a broken bobblehead.”
The two of them laugh. Meanwhile, my eyes carelessly drift toward Oliver.
His expression shifts, the tilt of his head giving me a full view of the half-smile currently gracing his lips. I slide him a shot, count to three until we both down it in one go.
“So, what do you think?” I tell him, ignoring the burn running through my throat. “Road trip… just you and me? Cement the so-called friendship and iron out the kinks.”
“You’d be willing to go back home?”
I haven’t given it a thought, jumping at the chance to ‘cement our friendship.’ The thought of going home so early comes with mixed feelings. My father will wave his ‘I told you, you wouldn’t make it,’ finger. Yet, suddenly, surrounded by good and loyal friends, I have this burst of confidence.
This is my life.
Everyone around me lives life on their terms, so why am I any different?
I can do this.
Stand up to my family once and for all.
“Yes,” I announce proudly.
Oliver would have a face of an angel if his lips broke further apart and weren’t illuminated with a mischievous grin. Lifting another shot glass to his lips, he downs it in one go, sliding his tongue along the rim, tasting the salt while his gaze remains fixated on me. He has no idea what he’s doing to me—breaking down every wall inside me with the sheer movement of his tongue.
“Fine, but I’m driving,” he demands, sliding another shot toward me. “Ain’t no girl behind my wheel.”
Asshole.
“Whatever! I don’t want to drive your penis mobile, anyway.”
It goads a reaction from him, a smirk as he gestures for me to drink my shot.
“Get ready, Gabs. You’re either going to love me, or hate me, once we’ve reached Colorado.”
The scary part is, I know this will go only one way.
I can’t hate him.
Nothing could make me hate him.
It will only be a matter of time when it sways the other way.
And the worst part is, we’re halfway there already.
Oliver
I toot the horn again, yelling for Gabriella to hurry the hell up.
Why women, in general, take forever to do things is beyond me. I have one bag packed—the bare essentials. At the rate she’s going, everything but the kitchen sink will need to be loaded into the back of this Jeep.
She yells back, informing me she’ll be ready in a minute. That minute, already an extension from the fifteen minutes, she asked for an hour ago.
Women are pains in the asses.
A brown van marked with the name UPS pulls into the curb. Jumping out of his seat, the driver, in his questionable short shorts, throws me a package then asks me for a signature.
“I guess you’re not Gabriella?” he asks with a snicker.
“She’s inside, packing for our honeymoon,” I boast, happy to entertain a lie. “We just got hitched, so time to start a family. You know how it is, mate.”
His expression falls. The wanker needs to back the fuck off, and judging by my arrogant tone, he realizes and doesn’t say another word, heading back to his van and taking off in a hurry.
I make my way inside the house, finding Gabriella walking around in circles, talking to herself while making mental lists. All I can hear is the word check repeated several times. She stops at the kitchen, instantly noticing the brown package in my hand.
“Let’s get on the road.”
She quickly shifts subjects, ignoring the parcel, rummaging through her purse one more time.
“Don’t you want to see what’s in the package?”
“It can wait until I’m back.”
“Why won’t you open it?” I ask, curious as to what Prince Charming has sent her now. “What do you have to hide?”
“Fine,” she argues back, tearing the tape open.
Inside sits another box. She tears that one open as well and inside sits another box. Jesus Christ. She pulls off the ribbon to reveal a small blue box with the name Tiffany & Co. printed on it.
Opening the card, she reads it, slow and steady. I’m watching her closely, every expression trying to read her thoughts because the woman is killing me little by little, and my unwarranted jealousy is rearing its ugly head again. The burn is agonizingly slow. It’s crawling through the walls and into my chest, knife in hand ready to stab my heart into a million
