Chapter 3
THREE
KAT
By the time the waiter refills my wine glass for the second time, I’m ninety percent sure Vince and I have forgotten how to date.
The restaurant is gorgeous, and the food is incredible, but the conversation is struggling harder than the straps of my dress.
We have a year of dates under our belt, but it feels like we're cosplaying as a couple who know what they’re doing.
I glance up at Vince, the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, revealing the swirling colors of ink covering his forearms–a rose spans the back of his left hand that rests on my thigh under the table.
Not once has it ever been this…awkward. Even the day we met felt so fluid and natural.
I remember the last time we went out, Vince and Ollie had me in stitches when she…Holy shit.
Ollie.
I wrack my brain, trying to remember the last time we were on an actual date—just the two of us.
I think back.
And back.
And…nothing.
Vince and I have been together for a year, and his best friend is etched into every memory I have with him. Even the night we met has Ollie’s laughter attached to it.
Like a punch to the gut, it dawns on me that the only time we ever spend without Ollie is when we’re either getting ready to go see her or having just come home from seeing her.
Ollie Ashburn is like white noise. I never noticed how deeply her presence is woven into every breath we take, but once she’s gone, her absence is deafening and impossible to ignore. I can’t help but wonder if Vince feels it too. The way the air between us feels heavier.
“This place is beautiful,” Vince says, his voice a little too bright as he glances around at the other couples.
I nod, taking a heavy sip of wine, trying so hard to pretend I don’t notice the absence of her. “Yeah, it is. Ollie would hate it.”
Oh my god. I’m pathetic.
Vince snorts, genuine and pure. His hand tightens slightly on my thigh, his thumb tracing idle circles against my skin.
“She would fucking hate this place,” he agrees with a smile, but his smile fades slowly, replaced by something more contemplative.
A silence stretches, filled by the clink of silverware from other tables and the low hum of conversations that aren’t ours.
I should say something. Anything. But my tongue feels too thick, my thoughts too loud, so I just go for it. “You feel it too, don’t you?”
I’m practically holding my breath. Unsure if I’m just crossed a line or maybe–hopefully–erased it altogether. Wishful thinking.
Slowly, he nods his head like he’s afraid to speak his mind.
“I never really noticed how much time we spend with her,” I say.
Vince’s thumb freezes mid-circle on my thigh. His dark eyes flicker to mine. There’s something unreadable in his gaze that makes my pulse stutter–like he’s searching for something he’s not sure he wants to find.
“I’m sorry, Kat,” he finally says, his voice rough. “It wouldn’t be the first time it was an issue. I feel like an asshole for letting all this time pass without really talking with you about Ollie.”
“Oh?” I ask, a lump forming in my throat. Does he know? No. He can’t possibly know how I feel about her…can he?
“Every relationship has crashed and burned because of Ollie. No–” he corrects himself, shaking his head. “Because of my inability to distance myself from her.”
“Vince, I would never ask you to…” I start, immediately jumping on the defensive.
He squeezes my thigh, and his smile grows, “It’s okay. It’s totally fair for you to bring it up. I’m just sorry I didn’t check in with you myself. To be honest, I was afraid of losing you. Which is a bullshit excuse.”
“Vince…” I say trailing off, because what do I say?
Do I confess that I crave the way she makes me feel?
That I sometimes catch myself staring at her mouth when she laughs?
That I’ve spent the past year convincing myself that her eyes don’t linger on me when she thinks I’m not looking.
That I can’t stop picturing Ollie in that dammed bikini over the summer?
I realize all of those things culminate into one very simple statement.
“Ollie is very important to you,” I say, leaning forward, my wine forgotten. “She’s important to me, too.”
I take the most satisfying breath of my life as the burden of that confession is lifted from my chest.
“Really?” Vince asks, his voice hesitant.
“Really,” I confirm. “You’re stuck with me. I somehow managed to get an amazing boyfriend and a new best friend at the same time. Just don’t be surprised when she starts to like me more than you,” I tease.
“Starts?” Vince laughs, his grin turning playful. “She’s already wrapped around your finger.”
“It’s pathetic, but I actually kind of miss her right now, which feels… confusing to say out loud to you.”
His expression softens, the defensive tension in his shoulders melting away. “You don’t have to be confused with me. I miss her, too.” He pauses, swirling his water glass. “I was worried you’d think it meant I didn’t want to be here with you.”
“And I was worried you’d think me missing her meant I didn’t want to be here with you.” Saying it feels like unlocking a door I didn’t know existed.
A slow, understanding smile spreads across his face. “So we’re both just… fucking missing Ollie.”
“Yeah.” I match his smile, feeling a weird, giddy lightness. “We’re on a fancy date, and we’re both kind of wishing our best friend was here making inappropriate jokes.”
“She would make some sarcastic comment about the portion sizes or mock the way I’m holding my fork.”
We fall quiet again, but this time the silence feels different. Less awkward. More revealing. Like we’re both realizing, at the same painful speed, that Ollie isn’t the third wheel in our relationship.
She’s the glue.
The spark.
The gravitational pull we orbit without thinking.
Vince exhales, long and slow, like he's been holding his breath for years. "Yeah," he says softly. "For what it’s worth, I think you're important to her too.”
The thought of being anything significant to Ollie is a dangerous one. One that takes root exactly where I shouldn't want it.
I shift in my seat, the heat of his words settling between my thighs, and take a slow sip of wine, letting the rich flavor coat my tongue as I consider my next words.
“I still can’t believe in all the years you two have been friends, you only hooked up once.”
“There’s not much to it. It was college. We were stupid and stupidly drunk.”
I know Vince well enough to know that wasn’t the entire truth. The look in his eyes tells a very different story, and I can’t explain it, but the thought of him maybe wanting Ollie as much as I do sets my skin aflame.
“You know, I have to hand it to her for putting up with you for so long,” I say. “You’re kind of a pain in the ass sometimes.”
“Oh, you have no idea.”
Vince grips the chair leg and slides me closer to him. The hand on my thigh slides higher and higher until he's running his fingers along the damp fabric of my thong.
I swallow hard, my body betraying me as his touch sends a jolt of heat through my core. I glance around the restaurant, hyperaware of the other diners.
“Vince,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the hum of the room.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart. You’re looking a little flushed,” he whispers as he massages my clit through the lace. Slow and agonizing. “You’re so fucking wet,” he whispers, his voice rough with desire. “I can feel it through your panties.”
I bite my lip, torn between the thrill of his touch and the fear of being caught.
I grip onto his forearm for dear life as I feel the dam about to burst when the waiter appears with our dessert.
Quicker than lightning, Vince’s fingers are gone, and I’m left frazzled and on edge.
The waiter sets down a plate of chocolate lava cake between us, the warm scent of dark chocolate and vanilla wafting up. My thighs are still trembling, my pulse still racing, and the sudden absence of his touch is almost cruel.
“Enjoy your dessert,” the waiter says with a polite smile, utterly oblivious to the fact that I’m two seconds away from combusting.
“Mmm, this dessert is amazing,” he says, sucking on his finger, the lava cake on his plate untouched.
“You’re going to finish off this dessert, right?” I whisper, my voice shaky. “Right?”
###
We burst through the door of the cabin an hour later, my pussy still aching for friction. The smell of fresh-baked cookies dances in the air. We follow the scent to the kitchen, where Ollie is standing at the stove, gulping wine as she eats a cookie straight from the pan.
She’s wearing a black tank top and those ridiculous raccoon pajama pants I got her as a joke for her birthday a couple of months ago.
The waistband hangs low on her hips, revealing a smooth strip of her stomach, and the faint outline of her hipbones.
Her hair is damp, the mountain air pulling out a few curls behind her ears.
“Hey, you guys are back earlier than expected,” she says, with a mouth full of cookie.
“Not early enough,” I bark, plopping my purse on the empty chair at the kitchen island.
“Uh-oh,” Ollie says, turning to us with a cookie in each hand.
“Did you just eat cookies for dinner?” Vince accuses, taking the offered cookie, and setting the to-go container of cheesecake on the counter.
Ollie pulls her hand away quickly, a flush growing up her neck.
“She’s a grown ass woman. If she wants to eat cookies for dinner, she should be able to!” I say as if I’m defending her for some heinous crime.
“Dude! What the fuck did you do!” Ollie hisses at Vince, her eyes open wide.
“Nothing! I swear!” Vince says, holding his hands up in mock surrender.
“Exactly! You did nothing,” I say, taking the cookie from Ollie. “Loverboy here started fingering my bits under the table at the restaurant, and just when I was about to burst, the waiter came by with dessert. He refused to finish me off!”