Chapter 12
The sunlight backlit Oliver, his gaze mapping the room before he rested it on me. “Hello.” It was the same gruff voice that had greeted me when I’d first arrived, leaving me to wonder if I had made up that brief flash of a truce between us.
I had zero interest in providing him with entertainment or whatever I was to him today. He had been through something, but that didn’t give him carte blanche to jerk me around.
“Goodbye.” I bent over the bucket, squeezing out the cloth.
He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, refusing to accept the hint. “Does that make it easier to take the wallpaper down?” He gave his chin a nod in the bucket’s direction.
“Shh, don’t say that.” I smoothed a palm over the delicate silk, appreciating each bump and thread. “Don’t listen to the mean man. I would never remove you. All you require is a little tender love.”
He shook his head. “You realize you’re talking to an inanimate object? It can’t talk back.”
“I resent that,” Bl8z3 chimed in. “Everything has a voice, but not everything communicates in a way you would expect.”
“Nice job, asshole.” It came out crueler than I meant, but that was safest. I was a bright, shiny, new thing to him; I could have been anyone that walked through that door. “I’m pretty busy in here, so if you don’t mind …”
He heaved a sigh, shifting to lean against the frame, crossing his arms. “I can’t figure out what to say to you.”
“Then say nothing.” It should be easy; it was his default setting.
His posture was stiff, muscles rigid. “I’m not a good guy.”
“You won’t get any argument from me.” Giving the cloth an extra squeeze, I gently pressed it to the antique silk.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
I closed my eyes. No one was asking him to do anything, least of all me. “Do what?”
“You confuse me.”
“Yeah, I make you angry, blah, blah.” Been there, done that, not looking for a repeat.
“No, it’s not—” His voice cracked with emotion, but it wasn’t anger. “You force me to feel … feel things I haven’t in a long time. It’s a lot to process.”
He truly enjoyed stunning me into silence.
“I’m sorry. I’m an ass.” His arms lifted for a moment before coming to rest at his sides, as if that was all he had to offer. Himself.
Embarrassment flushed my body at the memory of how I’d thrown myself into that kiss, held nothing back. The way my lips still tingled at the memory. But I couldn’t put myself out on another limb. Not when he’d so easily walked away.
I concentrated on the wallpaper. Something I was confident about, that didn’t leave me wondering if I was nauseous.
“The wallpaper isn’t ruined; it’s just seen better days. I’m restoring it.” Something uncurled in my stomach as his eyes widened in interest, nodding for me to keep talking. “You make the cloth damp, and carefully clean the fabric. It’s tedious and time-consuming, but worth it.” Dad had shown me the technique as a child. It kept me occupied in a place that had a million things a kid shouldn’t touch or could hurt themselves with. “I don’t just give up on things because they’re hard.”
His beard shifted incrementally, maybe his jaw clenching. “Can you teach me?” He didn’t move away from the door. Left the choice in my hands for what happened next.
“It’s slow, delicate work,” I hedged. I had zero interest in messing up my hard work just so he could feel better. I was here for a job and nothing else.
“Does that mean you don’t want me to help you?” A hint of a challenge lay in his eyes.
“I didn’t say that.”
“So, you want me to help?” He gently bit his lip, my body clenching in memory of the way his teeth felt on my skin, betraying me.
“I didn’t say that either.” Confused was an understatement for the feelings knotted up inside of me. But finding some sort of peace would ensure Sebastian wouldn’t try to pick a fight for the remainder of their visit.
“How about this? I’d like to help you.” Oliver lumbered over, hesitating, still giving me the out, reaching for another towel hanging off the side of the bucket, wringing it out before coming to stand by me.
Everything in my chest fluttered.
“This is my house. I should contribute.”
“Of course.” I had spent too much time listening to Finn wax poetic about love. My brain had been sucked into his world viewed with rose-colored glasses. My glasses were vintage and clear as day. This was better, be on the same team, reach the same goal. It was about the estate, it was always about the estate.
“You must be glad to have your friends here.”
I gasped, my fingers involuntarily releasing the cloth, which landed with a plop on the hardwood, my mouth gaping.
“What?” His eyebrows drew tightly together.
“Did you just willingly speak to me?” My wet fingers clutched at my chest.
“I have before.” He sounded offended, a breath huffing out, nose scrunching up in a way that was not adorable at all.
“Voluntarily ask me a personal question?”
“You make me sound like a—”
“Inquire how I’m doing?”
“All right, now you’re being—” He focused on his task, his shoulders hunched.
“Bl8z3, have you recorded this? It deserves to go down in the history books.” I couldn’t be stopped.
“I’m reaching out to the Library of Congress as we speak,” Bl8z3 promised.
I had zero interest in addressing what had happened in the library. Self-respect refused to allow me to ask what made him walk away. The point was, he had. I didn’t need more details about his rejection. Did he frustrate me, his ability to brush past it as if it hadn’t happened? Did the moment keep me up at night, a sweaty mess, tossing and turning in my bed sheets? Not at all.
“Hilarious.” He cringed. “Am I that bad?” The hunch in his shoulders had gotten worse, his back tensing.
“Bad?” I feigned ignorance, not inclined to make this easy on him.
“Rude?”
“I wouldn’t say you’ve been the friendliest person to me since I arrived.” Other than that time you took me into the library and kissed the heck out of me. But we don’t talk about that because of an unspoken agreement that I’m sure your attorneys will forward me any day now.
“Yeah. I guess I’m not used to people anymore.” He gestured to the room, the estate, the grounds. “Not that I was ever social.”
“You, the football stud?” I refused to glance in his direction.
“Being successful on the field does not mean you’re successful off it.” He gently, almost tenderly pressed his cloth to the wallpaper. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned you find me attractive.”
“Third, but who’s counting?”
“I am,” I thought I heard him mutter, but I was hearing what I wanted to.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve been difficult. You came here with a job to do.”
The sentiment was nice, but I would not leave him alone on the ledge. It had been a lot. Me showing up, the renovations, now the crew, all the changes. I couldn’t hold him to that charged moment. Offering his mother’s notebook, finding her ledger, I couldn’t pretend that was nothing. Even as I continued to think about it, let it sing through my veins. Our kiss had made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t in years.
“Truce,” I spoke up. “We agreed to a truce, and I will honor that. A parlay, if you will.”
“Parlay?” The tension in his features eased and so did part of the knot in my chest.
“Not into pirates either?” I had secondhand embarrassment for his lack of knowledge about films.
“Are you?”
“Can’t go wrong when a film involves a childhood crush pining for years, saying nothing because they think they’re not good enough.”
“I can understand that.” His gaze raked over me in what appeared to be a statement, a silent communication I was desperate to interpret but too scared to ask.
He stepped closer. “So, we’re …”
“Friends.” The word tasted wrong in my mouth, but it was the first one my brain supplied, so it would have to do.
His hand dragged down his scraggily beard, drawing my gaze to his lips. Those lips that had kissed me and made me moan. He could call me whatever with those lips. I could dislike him and still want to haul him to the library and do very inappropriate things to him, right? That was the type of friendship I wanted.
The idea of those lips made me rub my thighs together, fingers clutched to the hem of my shorts as I had to fight the temptation to see if he remembered.
I stayed up at night thinking, dreaming, wondering what would have happened if we hadn’t stopped. I was being haunted in this crumbling estate. But not by any ghosts, by this real-life man and his lips. Ass. Hole.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a friend.”
My heart squeezed at his words. If I wasn’t already on board, I was now. Who could say no to being his friend? Well, unless you couldn’t discount the grumpiness, tendency to speak in orders, and general lack of knowledge of social formalities.
“I’m wounded, sir.” Bl8z3 was pushing the bounds for what an AI was capable of outside of the movies. Sarcasm was part of its programming, apparently.
“Stop calling me sir.” He released that growl I knew, and, uh, thought absolutely nothing about, especially at night.
“It’s against my programming,” Oliver mouthed along with Bl8z3.
“Friend.” I twisted the word over in my mouth. “It’s nice to have a friend.”
He nodded, dipping his cloth in the water again. “I could still banish you if I wanted to.”
“Empty threat.” A smile broke out. “But as a friend I have to tell you”—I tried to cover my chuckle—“you are terrible at this.”
Oliver blew out a breath, rolling his eyes. “I’m dreadful at everything.”
Shaking my head, I shifted closer. “You’re being too gentle.” Placing my cloth next to his, I attempted to show him what I was talking about.
“Like this?”
I nibbled on my lip. “No, no.” Leaving my cloth at the edge of the bucket, I laid my fingers on top of his hand. Pressing down slightly, showing him how to move the cloth so as not to soak the silk.
Oliver’s thumb brushed mine, goose bumps breaking out in its wake.
We stood, shoulder to shoulder, slowly cleaning, mostly allowing our fingers to dance together, his skin brushing against my pulse point. I had to wonder if he could feel it.
When the cloth was too dry to clean any further, Oliver released my fingers long enough to turn his palm around and hold my hand for real. Tossing the cloth back into the bucket, he cupped my chin.
I waited another breath before I lifted my gaze to meet his. He gulped, gray eyes bright.
“Thank you.” His fingers squeezed mine, thumb pressed to my rapidly beating pulse point.
“For what?”
“Not giving up on me.”