31. When Push Comes To Shove
OLIVIA
“So you’re the girlfriend, huh?”
My gaze lifts, locking on Courtney’s in the mirror. I’m aware this is only the second thing she’s said to me ever, but I don’t think I like her very much.
I wave my hand in front of the sensor on the faucet, bringing on the cool water. “I’m the girlfriend.”
“It’s so nice to meet you, Ophelia.”
My reflection smiles at hers as I scrub my hands. “You too, Chloe.”
Her eyes narrow. “Courtney.”
“Pardon?”
“My name is Courtney.”
“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry.” Pulling a paper towel from the dispenser, I dry my hands. “I must have forgotten. It’s been such a long, busy week at work. What is it that you do?”
Her gaze coasts down my body, then back up. Leaning over the counter, she reapplies her crimson lipstick. “My boyfriend’s rich. I don’t need a job.”
Don’t think it, don’t think it, don’t think it.
Poor Adam.
Damnit. I thought it.
“I wouldn’t quit your job just yet,” Courtney gives me her unsolicited advice. “You wouldn’t want to make any rash decisions that you might regret later.”
“I don’t plan on quitting my job.”
She blows out a theatrical sigh of relief. “Oh thank God. It’s for the best, really, knowing Carter and all.”
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
Blue eyes flick to mine in the mirror. “You know, because you’re not his usual type.”
My jaw flexes as I swivel toward the door. Her voice stops me, my hand on the knob.
“So convenient how close his condo is to the arena and bar, right?” The corners of her mouth lift. “Great way to get all those girls he fucks back there quickly.”
Something angry and uncomfortable claws at my chest, and I work to keep my voice steady. “I’ve never been there, so I wouldn’t know. We spend our time together at his house.”
Courtney turns back to the mirror as if she hasn’t heard me, or maybe she simply doesn’t care. “Bye, Olive.”
“What a rude bitch,” I mutter beneath my breath as I exit the bathroom.
I pause outside the door to take a deep breath and shake away the fear she’s trying to feed me, the insecurities she’s trying to plant back in my head where I don’t want them.
She wants me to think I’m nothing special to Carter, that I’m the same as everyone who’s come before me.
She wants me to be as miserable as she clearly is, and I don’t know why.
I can’t imagine a life with someone as kind as Adam Lockwood being anything less than perfect, and life with Carter is shaping up to feel the same.
Though I’d prefer if I didn’t find him at the end of the hallway with a tall brunette.
My heart stutters and my stomach curls at the way she’s got her hands on him, and I press my teeth into my lower lip in an effort to stop the quiver that’s suddenly started.
I take a cautious step toward them, catching the tail end of their conversation, which happens to be something about being fucked up against a window.
My gaze moves between them as I quietly call his name. “Carter?”
A wave of relief runs through Carter as he exhales, and he reaches out to pull me into him, clutching me tightly. “Hi, baby,” he whispers, pressing his lips to my cheek.
“What’s going on?” It’s not me who asks; it’s the willowy brunette. “I thought we were going back to your place?” She looks me over. “Is she coming?”
“What? No?” Carter’s head wags rapidly. “Ollie, I didn’t say that, I swear. I went to get a drink of water and when I came back she was here and—” His brows pull together as he turns to look at her. “Who told you I was ready for seconds?”
Ready for seconds? A deep pit of jealousy opens in my stomach, the ache so raw, so ugly, I lay my hand over my belly, right where it hurts. He’s been with her before, this stunning woman with legs that go straight to heaven.
I hate this feeling. The envy is bitter, and I close my eyes as I try to wipe away the image of them together, the comparisons I’m already cataloging in my head as I study her.
I tell myself not to do this, not to deep dive into this hole.
I can’t live in a place where I’m constantly wondering if somebody else was better, if he kissed their lips while he brought them to the brink.
“She did,” the woman finally answers on a murmur, forehead creased as she watches Courtney emerge from the bathroom with nothing but a glance in our direction before she strides away.
The brunette presses her fingers to her forehead.
“Oh my God. I’m so dense. Courtney told me you were asking about me but couldn’t remember my name.
She said you were back here and I…” She closes her eyes and shakes her head.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers before she moves by us.
“Ollie.” Carter guides my gaze to his. “I promise I didn’t do anything. Courtney came back here and she was touching me and—”
“She was touching you? Without your permission?”
He nods. “I told her to leave me alone.”
My palm slides along his jaw, cupping his face. “I’m sorry, Carter. That’s not okay. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”
“I just want to go home.”
“Then let’s go home.”
Carter helps me into my coat and takes my hand, towing me through the bar. It takes me all of two seconds to spot the rude redhead that seems to be finding humor in our tired expressions.
“Leaving already?” Courtney purrs. “Shame.”
Carter tenses, his mouth opening, presumably to tell her to go fuck herself. That’s what I want to say, at least.
So I put my hand on his chest and beat him to it.
“You’re a bitch,” I tell Courtney, though I suspect she knows as much. “You’re rude and miserable and I don’t know what right you think you have to pull the shit you did.”
I step into her, undeterred by the many inches she has on me in her heels. Her teeth clack together, jaw tightening as her gaze flicks across the crowded bar to Adam. I can’t help but feel for that sweet man.
“Adam deserves so much better than you and I can only hope one day he realizes that. Touch my boyfriend without his consent again, sic one more unsuspecting female on him, and see what happens. It’ll be an entirely different conversation.”
I’m not entirely sure what I mean by that, but the threat lingers in the air regardless.
I’m not normally a physical person. I’ve only gotten into one fight in my life and it was on the ice.
I was fifteen years old and the victim of a plain old mean girl.
After two-and-a-half periods of dealing with her physical and verbal aggression, I finally let my temper get the best of me.
My point is this: girls can be nasty, and if push comes to shove, I can be nasty right back. I grew up with an older brother who never went easy on me. I was in a headlock 90 percent of my childhood.
Courtney’s gaze slants, blazing with ire. “Fuck y—”
“No,” Carter grinds out, yanking me away from her. “Fuck you , Courtney.”
We don’t stop to say our good-byes, and when we step outside I expect Carter to call for our ride.
Instead he starts pulling me down the street, through the falling snow and the howling wind as it slaps at our cheeks.
I’m struggling to keep up with his long strides, my sneakers slipping on the icy sidewalks, and Carter finally slows, tucking me into his side.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, pausing to press his lips to my cold nose.
He’s anxious and worked up; it’s not hard to tell.
The problem is that I am, too, and I’m afraid we’re about to feed off each other’s energy.
I’m angry. Angry for him, for having to put up with unwanted advances, unconsented touches.
I’m angry at Courtney for not appreciating what she has, for inserting herself where she doesn’t belong.
I’m angry at myself, because I can’t stop thinking about Carter’s upcoming road trip.
I can’t go to the bathroom without women throwing themselves at him.
It’s not a stretch to assume I’m going to be lying awake, wondering how many girls are propositioning him each night, trying to get him to sway, putting their hands on him.
It’s not until Carter swipes a key card through a slot on a sky-high building and we move into the elegant, marbled lobby that I realize where we are.
“Is this your condo?”
“Mhmm.” He sweeps me into an empty elevator and punches in a five-digit code before it springs to life.
The heat stacked in his gaze when he turns on me is new, and when he presses me against the wall and opens his mouth on mine, my heart starts skipping in a way I don’t like.
His touch is rough as he works my coat off, his kisses hungry and needy, and when the doors slide open, he walks me backward until my back hits a door.
I don’t have a chance to look around once we stumble into the apartment, because he kneels before me and tugs my shoes off, hoists me up to him and carries me down a long hallway.
He sets me down on a cold bed in a dark room, and all I hear is the clink of his belt buckle, the soft thud when his pants hit the floor, the heavy, jagged rise of my chest with each staggered inhale.
Fragments of silver moonlight slip through the window, casting shadows that only aid my unease. I make out the shape of a lamp on the bedside table, yanking the cord to bathe the room in a dim glow.
My heart races as I take in the room. Perfect, but empty. No pictures, no personal touches. Not lived-in and homey like his bedroom in his house. It’s sterile and white, pristinely kept, and I hate every cold inch of it.
There’s a starved look in Carter’s eyes as he grips my ankles and drags me toward him, like he can’t wait another second, like he’s been deprived for weeks on end.
Has he?
I close my eyes and shake my head, as if I can shake the notion right from it.
Carter rips my shirt overhead and jerks my jeans down my legs before wrapping them around his waist. Pressing himself against me, he groans, nipping my lip. “Fuck, baby, I want you. So badly.”