I glance down at myself. Crap, I’m still wearing exactly what I slept in: tiny pink boy shorts and the matching pale tank top, almost transparent from years of washing. I wince. Oliver can probably see my nipples. And with the morning chill, the hard peaks poke the cotton. I’ve had these pajamas since I was a kid. They’re too tight, and I should trash them, but I love their softness.
I cross my arms over my chest for modesty. After all, inadvertently flashing Oliver is obviously making him uncomfortable. No surprise since he probably sees me as a sister. He’s behaved like my second big brother for years.
I’ve always had a secret crush on him. But he doesn’t know—or care. And this morning, he’s so distant I worry he’ll leave without a word if I disappear long enough to find a robe.
Why is he going all the way to London? It’s where he grew up, but it’s also very far away. Did he fall for another woman when he flew back to see his parents for the holidays? If he did, he never said a word. Then again, he doesn’t confide in me about his sex life. I know he has one. Women talk, and I’ve heard the sound bites. In bed, he’s supposedly creative, talented, long-lasting…and kinky.
I’m jealous. I have no right to feel that way, but the hard knot in my stomach every time I think about him with someone else hurts.
“My flight is at five thirty this evening.” He hazards a glance at me again, then curses under his breath. “Sorry.”
With that clipped apology, he brushes past me and heads toward his bedroom once more, presumably to collect another of his suitcases.
As I watch him go, I squeeze my eyes shut and resist the urge to cry. Once he boards that plane, will I see him again? Other than my friend Perrie, who’s graduating with me before heading back to Phoenix, I’ll have no one. Oliver is the person I’ve relied on most, the one I’ve always counted on. I know it’s not fair, but it feels as if he’s abandoning me.
Dejected, I slog to the bathroom to brush my teeth and hair. Selfish or not, I scour my head for a plan to make him stay. He’s always been happy here. If I put my mind to it, maybe I can find a way for him to be again. Or I could offer to go with him. But something about the way he’s behaving feels less like he’s leaving to start a new future and more like he’s running away from me.
Two minutes and sparkling white teeth later, I still have no idea what to do. After tearing out my sloppy bun, I quickly swipe a paddle brush through my long hair. The thick curls caress my shoulders, cutting dark swaths over my tank and ending at my waist.
Oliver said once that he liked it loose and down. Okay, it’s a lame start, but until I can figure out how else to persuade him not to leave the house, job, and people he’s enjoyed for the last three years, I can try small ways to make him happy.
Unfortunately, I only have a handful of hours to think of some big ways—or I’ll lose him forever.
Oliver
Fuck.
I stomp my way back to the kitchen and scrub a hand down my face. My transport to the airport is supposed to pick me up in four hours. I’ve managed—somehow—to keep my hands off my best friend’s little sister for the past three years. But if she keeps prancing around the house wearing next to nothing, with her bloody tempting nipples on display under that fucking transparent tank, I will tear it off her saucy little body, pluck those sweet berries in my mouth, and fuck her senseless.
But I can’t. The day Shane introduced me to Kayla, he made me promise I would never touch her. I can’t dishonor his wishes now.
With a curse, I reach for the coffeemaker and spot the steaming mug Kayla left behind. I hear her at the back of the house. I should be a friend and take it to her. But I don’t think my self-control can handle the view of her half-naked anymore. Restraint only goes so far.
Since she hasn’t doctored the brew with heaping teaspoons of sugar and that dreadful flavored creamer yet, I lift her Messy Hair, Don’t Care mug and down a scalding swallow. Caffeine is good. The sting of the burn is better. It takes my mind off her—and the way she looked at me as if I’m ripping her heart out.
She’s driving me utterly mad.
On the counter beside the coffeemaker, I hear a ding and glance down to see Kayla’s phone. I don’t intend to pry, but a message from her good friend Perrie pops up, asking if she’s talked to Justin since last night.
Who the devil is Justin? Someone Kayla is dating? Someone she’s now shagging? And what happened last night?
The phone dings again. Up pops a message from the aforementioned Justin that reads: You look so fucking hot. Feel like giving me a bite of those, baby?
A bite of what?
I shouldn’t peek. I know that quite well. But if some deadbeat thinks he’s going to hustle Kayla into bed…
Who will stop fuckwits like him when you’re gone?
I have no answer, but I’m determined to deal with the situation while I’m still here.
Grinding my teeth together, I launch Kayla’s messages. I’ve told her a hundred times to put a passcode on her phone. She never has, and now I’m using that to my advantage.
I don’t bother reading her string of messages with Perrie. Her university friend is very sweet and would never intentionally lead Kayla into trouble. But whoever this Justin is, he sounds as if he needs a fist in his face. I’m convinced he does the moment I open his message.
The photo he sent doesn’t merely make me mad. It makes me
