Collide (Off-Limits Book 2) Page 10

  I wake to the sight of her already stirring next to me, her bare shoulder sticking above the white covers of my former bedroom.

  It held a lot of bad memories, but I can’t remember even one of them in this moment.

  “How amazing is my hair?” she murmurs sleepily.

  “Indescribable.”

  She starts to fix it and I pin her hands to the pillow, rolling over the top of her.

  “You’re perfect.”

  “A perfect mess.”

  I kiss her, because I can’t do anything else.

  Our relationship shifted last night.

  I was already falling for her, but the way she looked at me…it wasn’t only about her proving something.

  All those promises my life would be better one day felt hollow until now. I spent my life trying to design and build something that would satisfy me, but never could.

  Now I know why.

  Because what I needed was flesh and blood.

  “Tell me about your watch?” she asks as I start to fasten it on.

  My fingers still on the leather band.

  Whenever anyone’s asked, I’ve said it was custom and let them wonder.

  Now, my heart thuds in my ears.

  “It’s a piece of stone from the Brooklyn Bridge. It’s where my mom…she died there.” My chest tightens as I take in the lettering on the face. “It says, ‘We choose.’”

  Her cool hand on my cheek lifts my gaze and I stare at her earnest face.

  “As a kid, I used to keep rocks from all over the place.”

  Shifting toward the edge of the bed, I reach into the nightstand of my childhood room and pull out a box.

  When I lift the lid, she peers inside. Her lips curve. “Nice collection.”

  “They were something I could get when I was a foster kid. It didn’t have extrinsic value. So I took one from every place I stayed.”

  From a garden or a shed or a corner. Unseen, undesired.

  To me, they mattered.

  She reaches into the box and takes a small pink stone, turning it in her fingers as if it’s precious.

  “You wanted a home. Some place you were loved and accepted for who you are. Is that why you want to give me the same thing?”

  My chest cracks.

  I want her to spend the entire weekend between these sheets, I want her to tell me all about the fish, I want to see if I can get an encore performance of that dance from last night that might ensure my cock stays in the upright and locked position for the rest of my life.

  “I need to study,” Olivia says against my lips when she pulls away to get dressed. “Also, a gallon of coffee first because someone didn’t let me sleep.”

  Evidently she had jeans and spare underwear in the gym bag—a shame, because I want to see her put on the fuck-hot dress she wore last night before stripping it off. But instead, she steps into skinny jeans and I have to satisfy myself with watching her curves as she wriggles into them.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “The realtor’s coming tomorrow and sent me a bunch of papers. I should at least look at them.”

  She pulls on a tank top, shooting me a glance over her shoulder that’s way too knowing for a twenty-year-old. “The realtor returns.”

  I snort, grabbing clean briefs and tugging them on, followed by jeans. “It’s her job. She’s coming over to do…something with the house.”

  Olivia crosses to me, grabbing my jeans in one hand before I can fasten them. “I know exactly what she wants to do with ‘the house,’” she breathes, making air quotes as her gaze runs up my body.

  My grin comes easily. “You’re cute when you’re possessive, Miss Barclay.”

  I want the possessive, and more than that.

  “Tell me something you haven’t told anyone else,” I say, impulsive, as I pin her against the window. It’s a throwback to the night we met and the glint in her eyes says she knows.

  Her attention skims over my shoulder, light dancing on her messily perfect hair. “Last night was the first time I’ve ever come in someone else’s bed.”

  “In that case, it was also the second. And the third, if memory serves.” My chest is warm, vibrating from the racing of my heart beneath my ribs. “You’re serious.”

  “Yeah. That was a dumb thing to say.” She tries to duck past me and hide her face, self-conscious, but I force her to look at me.

  “It’s not.”

  “Whatever. You’ve probably deflowered virgins in here.”

  This time she ducks under my arm, tripping toward the door and grabbing for a sweater in her bag.

  “Guess it’s my turn to tell you a secret,” I call after her.

  She pauses in the doorframe to pop her head through the neckhole of her sweater.

  “I never slept with my partner’s daughter. Never touched her. I’ve never been with anyone younger, before you.”

  She stills, her full lips parted. Shock blends with hope on her face. “You mean that.”

  I nod. It’s all I can do with how she’s looking at me. As if I’m holding the most precious gift out to her and asking if she wants it.

  I didn’t get why it meant so much to her, but right now, there’s no question it does.

  Remembering her task, she carefully pushes one arm through the sleeve, then the other.

  “So she lied?”

  “Her father pressured her. It was a ploy to push me out of my own company. I could’ve fought it harder, but she was an innocent caught in the crossfires and it would’ve gotten ugly.”

  She tugs the sweater down her ribs, the smooth cashmere skimming over her figure. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I wanted you to believe me first. Not to look at me with accusation, guilty until proven innocent.” I reach for a shirt, shrugging into it for an excuse to avoid her eyes. ”But perhaps at the same time, I didn’t feel like I deserved your belief.”

  When I look back up, she’s crossed the room to me.

  Her arms wrap around herself, but her eyes convey the vulnerability her posture denies. “When she hit on you, you didn’t even think about it? I don’t blame you if you did.”

  My head shakes. “She was a kid.”

  “And what am I?”

  The order to my chaos.

  The face of my downfall.

  The cause of my fucking heartbeat in my chest.

  “A woman who’s lived more than she pretends.”

  A flush crawls up her cheeks.

  I can’t help threading a hand in her hair as I draw her against me, all of her soft curves lining up with my hard edges.

  We make out like teenagers.

  Eventually, she pulls back. “We can’t do this all day,” she murmurs against my mouth.

  “We absolutely can.”

  But she grins, and I readjust my cock in my jeans.

  We pad downstairs, and the sound of two sets of footsteps has me happier than any noise has a right to make a man.

  In the living room she trips on a box. “What’s this?”

  “Telescope. I was cleaning out his things.”

  She bends over the dark, smooth metal. “Then why does it have your name etched into it? In very awkward writing, I might add.” Her lips twitch.

  I groan. “It might have been mine. I can hardly remember.”

  “Where are these boxes going for the open house?”

  I blink at her. “They don’t have to go anywhere.”

  She looks around the living room at the stacks of boxes, sighing. “Tell you what. You make coffee, I’ll start a list of what needs to be done.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a pink pen.

  “What needs to be done is you have to study,” I remind her. “I’ll move these boxes after you go.”

  “And what will be left after that? How will you arrange things?” I meet her question with a blank stare. “Studying can wait a few hours. This is important.”

  “School is important.”

  “Sawyer, this plac
e is a dump. Coffee.” Olivia points to the kitchen.

  My gaze narrows but I turn and start to do as she asks, my chest expanding for no good reason.

  “We need something for the table in the foyer,” she calls after me. “A focal point. Got anything for me?”

  I’m not about to tell her it’s cute how she takes charge. Cute and hot.

  Like last night, she was sexy as hell. Watching her seduce me, I noticed her confidence rise with every sinful sway of her hips.

  I enjoyed letting her have the upper hand.

  It’ll be that much more fun to go back the other way.

  Daniel: You’re joining me this afternoon at a house down the street.

  Sawyer: For what?

  Daniel: Integration into the local society.

  Sawyer: We’re too old to join a frat.

  Daniel: If my sparkling conversation isn’t enough, a few other faculty will be there.

  It would take my mind off selling this house and my other issues.

  I never invested much time in trying to make friends in a place because I was always leaving. But when Olivia texts to ask how the cleaning is going, I text back.

  Sawyer: All done. I’m going to someone else’s house tonight.

  Cherry: Better not be that realtor.

  Sawyer: Hah. No, friends of Daniel’s. Some guys have a kind of club.

  The next second, my phone rings.

  “What are you bringing?” Her breathy voice improves my mood immediately.

  “Myself.” I catch sight of myself in the mirror by the door. My hair’s stuck to my face, there’s dirt on my rolled-up shirtsleeves. “I might even shower and change.”

  “That’s not enough.”

  “Wow. Way to cut a guy’s ego.”

  Her laughter makes me smile, too. “Not what I meant. Bring food. Wine.”

  “Nope.”

  “Sawyer…” God, I love the way she says my name, like I’m a lost cause but she’s not willing to give up anyway.

  I head down the hall, taking in the work she helped me do to tidy the space. On the kitchen counter, just visible from the hallway, there’s a round pencil holder, with the pink pen she left here after making her list to help prioritize organizing.

  But my favorite is the centerpiece on the foyer table: a dull metal bowl, full of apples.

  “Why should I?” I tease, taking the stairs two at a time. “Because it’s this unspoken rule? We’ve established I’m not much for rules.”

  “It has nothing to do with rules. It shows you care.”

  “It’s transactional. I bring a fifty-dollar bottle so they let me in the door.”

  “It’s not about the price. Bring a ten-dollar bottle if you like. Pick a label with a funny name. The intention matters as much as the execution.”

  “You’re going to be a terrible engineer.”

  “Hey!”

  “Kidding. It’s like you and Daniel both want me to make friends here.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  Halfway to the top of the stairs, I stop. “Why is that?”

  Because she doesn’t want me to leave.

  I’ve been getting those vibes from her, but dammit, I want her to say it.

  She hesitates. “It helps having people on your side.”

  “You’re on my side.”

  “Of course. But Daniel and I can’t be the only ones. Making new friends is an important skill anywhere.”

  Right. My little do-gooder doesn’t want me to be alone. It’s not for any other reason.

  “Just take wine,” she pleads.

  In my room, I yank the shirt over my head, the fabric sticking to my chest. “No promises.”

  I show up with wine.

  Daniel’s been a friend, because he knows my damage. Other people aren’t nearly as cool with it. I’m not going to be friends with these people.

  But when the door opens, the guy inside makes my brows rise.

  He’s tattooed. “New guy. And he brought wine. Cute. Come on in.”

  “Sawyer.”

  “Zander.”

  “You teach here?”

  “Yeah. Literature.” He sees me noticing all the ink. “And yes, it was a fun job talk. All the old white guys stared a lot longer than you are.”

  I follow him down the hall. Inside the kitchen, Daniel’s standing with another guy who introduces himself as Ricardo and explains he’s in the fine arts department.

  “Now before we start, you gotta swear a vow of secrecy about what’s going down here tonight.”

  “You want a blood oath, you’re asking the wrong guy. My palms are cut up enough from working on the house.”

  Zander tosses the wine in the fridge and pulls out a cold beer, holding it up. I shrug and he opens it, handing it over. Daniel and Ricardo already have them, and Zander takes another for himself and opens it.

  “Mostly we keep it secret from Ric’s wife.”

  “You’re married.”

  Ricardo holds up a hand. “Happily.”

  “They’re newlyweds. Wait until it wears off,” Zander replies, and Ricardo throws a light punch at his shoulder that makes him wince, still grinning.

  “That must have been from her. I know you can’t hit like that.”

  We take our drinks into a TV room.

  Zander drops onto one end of the couch. Ricardo takes a chair, and Daniel sinks onto the floor, extending his legs. I take the remaining spot on the couch.

  I’m curious what they do here and don’t have to wait too long to find out as Zander clicks on the remote.

  The opening credits of a show filling the screen is vaguely familiar.

  “Reality TV,” I realize.

  “Rival teams of treasure hunters travel the world and compete to find the biggest hauls,” Ricardo confirms.

  “We’re highbrow by day, lowbrow by night,” Daniel tosses over his shoulder.

  “Your wife wouldn’t let you watch it?” I ask.

  “She’d let me but I’d never hear the end of it. Which is crazy because this is far more educational than Selling Sunset.”

  Ricardo grins and Zander smirks.

  It’s stupid and I like it.

  “So they tried to take my office,” Ricardo says at a commercial after Zander mutes the TV.

  “Ricardo’s getting the runaround on tenure,” Daniel supplies. “Power struggles.”

  “This place isn’t for me. The politics suck.”

  But Ricardo only grins.

  “What?”

  “It’s a game. I told them I’d turn down a teaching load.”

  The easy way these guys deal with the bullshit makes me think about mine in a new way.

  “But it’s still garbage.”

  “So? You can make your own way without being bitter about it. And working anywhere else has the same problems.”

  “You don’t get bored of assholes looking down on you?”

  Zander smirks and spreads his arms—even the undersides are completely covered with color. “I like it when they look.”

  “Don’t get attached,” Daniel warns. “Sawyer’s leaving.”

  “When?”

  “End of the semester,” Daniel looks at me to confirm.

  I shrug, because the end of the semester suddenly feels too soon. “I have an open house tomorrow, but the property could take a while to sell.”

  “You want another drink?”

  I said I’d come for one, but I’m in no hurry to leave.

  “Yeah, I’ll take another.”

  16

  Olivia

  The sociology text blurs together in front of my eyes.

  I get up and flick on an extra light in the corner of my room. My roommates are out for the night—Kat at a party, Jules at a theater club thing.

  Sawyer’s a mile away, but it might as well be another world.

  I’m rereading the underpinnings of capitalism so I can be in a position to graduate college in eighteen months while he’s selling a house with his eager
realtor at his side.

  I’m grumpy, both because she’s with him instead of me, and because I broke my own rules by playing house with him.

  The way he opened up to me made it impossible to deny how much I care about him.

  Earnest. I never expected this kind of earnestness from that man as when he told me about his ex-partner’s daughter.

  “I’ve never been with someone younger, before you.”

  He’s raw and real, imperfect and irresistible. I want him, but more than that, I want to know he’s mine and I’m his.

  All I can think is how easy it felt to spend a morning with him. To talk on the phone over a simple question like meeting up with friends.

  Telling him to make friends and bring wine…he probably thinks I’m crazy.

  But what’s even crazier is that I can’t spend a day without obsessing over him.

  Leaving his place to study was the hardest thing I’ve done in a long time.

  I wanted to climb back into bed with him, to lose myself in the way he touches me and makes me feel like no one ever has.

  I stare at my phone on the desk.

  Through some miracle it rings. I reach for it, hoping it’s Sawyer.

  It’s not.

  “Mom. Everything okay?”

  “Where are you?”

  “At home, studying.”

  I reach for another text on my bookshelf—the next one I’m going to hit up once I’ve finished prepping sociology.

  “On the weekend?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been slammed with lab work and I have a midterm coming up for my elective.”

  “Well. We need your car back.”

  The book thuds onto my desk as I release it. “What are you talking about? I paid for half of it with money from my internship last summer.”

  “Money from his company.”

  “But I earned it,” I press. “I need it to pay for tuition.”

  This car is the only thing I have of value besides what’s in my residence room.

  “Don’t take it out on me. The company is being investigated. All assets need to be accounted for.” She pauses. “Your father wanted it back in forty-eight hours, but I told him you wouldn’t have time given your school and social commitments. So do it by the end of the week.”