19. Liv #2
“Again, Olivia, what about this makes you think I’m not getting anything from what’s between us?
From where I stand, or lie, I guess,” with a laugh, he leaned back against the headboard.
“I’m having fun. I like spending time with you.
I like you . And whatever you might think, I had as much fun as you did last night.
You’re funny and smart, and yeah, you’re a little snarky, but it’s half the fun.
You see past the muscles and the pretty face.
” He flashed his “Asher the Basher” grin, the one that didn’t reach his eyes.
“I mean you see the muscles, obviously.”
He flexed all of them at once, and suddenly I forgot what we were talking about.
My hand reached out, resting on an obscene number of ridges along his abdomen but slid up to trace along his cheekbones.
I stroked the smooth, warm skin, learning the contours of his face, enjoying the rumbly purring sound he made.
Something about the sound made me want to be closer to him, so I nestled in the space beside him, tucking beneath his outstretched arm.
I brought the blanket with me, holding it high to keep my bits covered.
“And then you do that. Do you know how long it’s been since someone other than Nana touched me without trying to grab my ass? And hugging my grandma does not count. I’m a dick on skates to most of the people I encounter.”
“Hell of an image, Wilder.” But my heart ached for him.
“I’m serious.” The full force of his dark gaze turned on me. “This,” he threaded his fingers through mine, “is what I get out of us.”
“I didn’t realize.”
“I know. So don’t think we’re uneven in anything.”
“We’re uneven in orgas?—”
“Don’t finish that sentence or you’re going to have more. And then you’ll never catch up.” His grin was evil in the early morning light.
“I thought you said it’s not a competition.”
“It’s not. But I will always win.”
I snorted.
“Ah-ah. I play games for a living. I win games for a living. I have an overdeveloped sense of competitiveness.”
“Is competitiveness a word?”
“I say it is.” He grasped my chin and tipped my face closer to his, the length of his body parallel to mine, the sheet dangerously low on his?—
“Oh my God, you’re naked.” Warmth spread along every nerve ending as I wrenched my eyes away.
“I am not . I wouldn’t climb into bed naked like some Neanderthal unless I asked first.” He pulled the sheet down further, and I wanted to stare and hide my eyes at the same time until he revealed an even lower pair of sweatpants barely concealing…anything.
It hit me that he’d kept his clothes on last night, and while I’d felt the shape of him against my back, I hadn’t gotten the full Ash experience.
And damn, did I want it. The vee of muscle over his hips tantalized me, drawing my eyes to the trail of dark hair leading beneath the pants, where a rather impressive tent formed.
“Oh, shit, sorry.” He tugged the blanket back up.
Was he blushing?
“Ash.”
“Yep?”
“Ash. Are you?—”
“Nope.” He seemed resolved not to say anything else.
“If I weren’t about to expire from a lack of caffeine, we’d talk about this more. But I don’t want to be late for lab hours today. Brad will blow something up if I’m not there.” I rolled my eyes as I sat up and stretched, cracking my neck.
“I hate that guy,” muttered Ash.
“Mmm—me too,” I said through a yawn. “But he’s a necessary evil.”
“You and he never…”
“Why, Ash Wilder, are you jealous?”
“I don’t like how he touches you and talks to you.”
“Isn’t that the definition of jealousy?”
“No, I’m not threatened by him. I don’t want him around you for your sake.” Damn, why was he so sweet it almost hurt?
“Well, we’re both shit out of luck because I don’t want to be around him, either, but we have to work together. We both have to suck it up.”
“Want me to come beat him up for you?” In the half-light, I couldn’t tell if he was joking.
“In my dreams, maybe. But I’d lose my job if you did it for real. And Brad aside, I mostly like my job.”
* * *
Brad was in rare form, showing up late and playing music without headphones. The phone in his jacket pocket blared unremarkable, bland frat-boy rock, loud enough to announce his presence from the other end of the hallway.
Seriously, what is his problem?
Deciding to head him off before he made it further down the hall and interrupted the meetings taking place, I left my office and strode toward him. The click of my heels was satisfying as I walked toward him, but the look he gave me was decidedly not satisfying. Ick.
“Lookin’ good, Livy Baby.”
“Shut up, Brad.” Oops. The snapped retort fell out of my mouth before I caught it. “I mean, good morning.”
Brad stared; his light brown eyes confused. “Morning?” The plastic bag in his hand was full to bursting, and I grabbed it, accidentally grabbing his fingers in the process.
“Let me help.”
“If you want to hold my hand so badly, all you had to do was ask.”
It was weird hearing something Ash would also say come out of Brad’s mouth. From Ash, it wasn’t gross, but from Brad, I wanted to claw his eyes out.
Maybe because Ash wasn’t creepy about it, didn’t grab my hand when I tried to snatch it away.
“You know what, here. Put it in your office and meet me in the lab. We need to run through some things before the meeting. Because you put it off until the last minute. Again.”
Our quarterly meeting with the company bigwigs always left me jittery, and Brad was no help. He moved so slowly , his steps taking a million years.
“Brad, chug one of those noxious energy drinks and come the fuck on .” Shit, I hadn’t meant to swear at work. If Dr. Hurst heard me, I’d have to deal with another ‘lack of professionalism at work’ speech. But fucking Brad .
“Damn, Livy, you want it bad.”
Was it possible to grind your teeth so hard you hit bone? But I didn’t have time for a lecture, so I let it slide. Again.
Instead, I memorized numbers and recited my pitch for potential outreach funding, how it was excellent for visibility, how students responded at the career fair, and the potential impact of scholarships and internships for future employees.
In the lab, I found yet another mess. Papers this time, scattered across the counter, and apparently, as my heel skidded on one, on the floor.
I finished scooping them up and shoved them into a folder when Brad sauntered in, neon can in hand.
The can made me want to crush his skull between my palms like the can crusher at the recycling plant.
But I didn’t have time to berate him and listen to his excuses.
So, I didn’t. We ran through data I knew he’d try to pass off as his own work, and Brad’s shit was more than I needed to deal with after the whole Alex-dumping business with Ash.
Honesty was the worst excuse. I wanted to warn him of what I was like, what he could look forward to if we stayed together.
You can’t fucking let yourself be happy, can you?
Words Alex hurled during one of my self-destructive bouts of melancholia, and words I’d internalized in the years since.
And the way Ash turned inward after my story… maybe he was upset. Something I said switched off the playful gleam in his eye, and I needed to figure it out to fix it, but now wasn’t the time to drown in my personal shit.
The meeting… did not go well, and my plans for the day collapsed in one fell swoop.
The Very Important Persons in the meeting included all the old men with the letter ‘C’ in their title, and they all treated the meeting like a boys’ club, joking with each other and Brad and asking me to make coffee.
I wished I had the guts to be more assertive in those situations, but I also had to navigate the delicate balance of being one of the few women in the company with care.
Any ‘outbursts’, AKA normal decibel level assertions, would have me deemed emotional in one spin of a centrifuge, and as much as I complained, I needed my job.
I brought up my outreach idea after presenting excellent data and growth projection, hoping my positive impact would give me a leg up.
Nope.
Instead, they bypassed me and asked Brad for further details about my data. I wanted to tear my hair out. Tear off their badly made hairpieces.
Seriously , that much money and that’s the toupee they all bought ? They all had the same fake hair glued to their foreheads.
The scraping of chairs announced the end of the meeting. Naturally, they invited Brad to lunch, leaving me behind to push their chairs back in place and toss their copies of my meticulous notes in the trash. At least there were a couple of donuts left, so I swiped those and headed to my office.
As I stuffed a Boston Creme in my mouth, I couldn’t help but overhear Brad’s overeager voice.
“—Knights game tonight. You know I met Ash Wilder? He’s a chill dude. We’re bros now.”
“Good on you, son. You should see if you can get tickets. Those Knights are tearing up the ice this season. I know it’s early, but they’re already talking about the playoffs on ESPN.” Richard, or Robert or whatever the fuck his old man name was, said. I wanted to smack Brad.
But he did give me an idea.