Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
SILAS
I haven’t slept well for the past three days.
All thanks to fucking Ollie.
I’m still pissed.
I’m pissed that she didn’t tell her boss to fuck off, and I’m even more pissed that she brought up Sarah. She has no fucking idea about the bullshit I went through with Sarah, so she shouldn’t be speaking a word about her.
Water bottle in hand, I walk into the weight room, knowing I’m not going to be alone, and head right to the wind bikes, where I set my drink down and hop on to warm up.
This is fucking ridiculous. I’m not even dating the fucking girl, and she’s driving me nuts.
I should just tell her the deal is off. I thought this was going to be a good idea, but I was wrong.
This is more than I think my mind can handle.
I’ve stayed up until the early morning hours going over our conversation in my head.
She claims she wasn’t going to write an exposé, but it almost seemed like she was seeing if I could be okay with it.
Never.
I would never be okay with it.
“Dude, you okay?” Posey asks. “You’re riding that bike pretty damn hard for a warm-up.”
I didn’t even realize. I slow down and say, “Looking for a good burn before I get started.”
“Brave,” Posey says. “I never look for a burn.”
He’s such a liar. Being one of our defenders, Posey is always in the weight room, trying to keep a leg up on the competition.
“Is Ollie excited about going to the sponsorship party tonight?” Posey asks.
“I don’t think she’s going to attend.”
“Oh . . .” He slows down his pace. “Is there something going on? Is that why you’ve been in a shit mood the last few days?”
Yes.
“No,” I answer. “I think she has other plans.”
“I see.” He pauses. “Dude, are you not bringing her because Sarah will be there? I hate to admit it, but Pacey said he saw how you looked at Sarah at the ice-skating event. He thought it was concerning, like . . . like you were still in love.”
I stop my bike. Sarah will be there tonight? Fuck. Why did I think she wouldn’t be a part of the event tonight? Of course she is. And then I register what Posey said after that.
I hop off the bike. “I’m not in love with her.”
Posey follows me over to the weight rack, trailing closely. “Are you sure? Ollie seems pretty cool, and I don’t want you hurting her.”
“I’m not going to hurt her,” I say as I stack weights for warm-up squats.
“Okay . . . because she seems really young.”
“She is,” I reply. Younger than I care to admit.
“And you can do damage to a girl that young if your head isn’t on straight.”
“What are you? Her fucking father? Jesus, Posey.”
“No, but I also know when your head is elsewhere, and that’s what’s been going on lately. I’m worried you’re thinking about Sarah.”
“I’m not fucking thinking about her,” I shout. “Now get off my back.”
Posey holds up his hands and takes a step back. “I’m just looking out for you.”
“No, you’re driving me nuts. I want nothing to do with Sarah.”
“You sure?” Posey asks and then glances around the nearly empty weight room. “Because . . .” He pauses and takes a step forward. “Because I overheard her at the ice-skating event after you left. She was excited to have the job so she could be close to you again.”
I lift my head. “She said that?”
“Yes, and the last thing I want to see is you getting back together with her. Hell, man, she hurt you so bad you still haven’t told us the truth about your breakup and everything that went down. I’m not sure you told anyone.”
I haven’t told a soul.
“It’s none of anyone’s business.”
“And then this summer, when you started talking to her again—”
“That was brief and won’t be happening again. Seriously, we’re done. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Okay, well, just watch your back because I don’t want you to get into a bunch of trouble because of Sarah.” He pats me on the back and returns to the bike, where he continues to warm up. See . . . he likes the burn.
As I rest the bar on my shoulders and take a step back from the rack to start my squats, all I can think about is how Sarah will be at that event tonight and that I don’t want to be alone with her.
I know how Sarah can be. Hell, I experienced it this summer.
She can be incredibly convincing, and for some stupid-as-shit reason, I’m easily convinced.
But one thing I do know for sure? I am not in love with her anymore. I will never love her again.
* * *
I know this is stupid.
I don’t need anyone judging me for what I’m about to do, but I thought about it all fucking day, and I don’t have any other options. So as I head off the elevator, I go straight to Ollie’s dorm room, ready to force her to go with me tonight.
And knowing her, she’ll put up a goddamn fight.
Have we spoken since our fight at my place?
Nope.
Not even a text message.
So she’s not going to be expecting me or my request.
Or my lack of apology . . .
Standing in front of her door, I give it two loud knocks, then stick my hands in my suit pockets.
I went with a forest-green suit tonight with a white button-up shirt and brown shoes with a matching belt.
I paired the outfit with my favorite brown leather-wrapped watch and my signature Tom Ford cologne.
It takes a few seconds, but when she answers the door, I’m subjected to another one of those goddamn crop tops . . . and an angry scowl.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“We have an event to go to, sweet cheeks,” I say, but my voice sounds more menacing than anything.
“You can fuck right off,” she says, attempting to shut the door, but I stop her and push my way into her dorm room.
She stumbles backward, shocked by my brazenness. Hands on her hips, she says, “Oh no, you did not just charge your way in here.”
I shut the door behind me and adjust the cuffs of my sleeves as I say, “A deal is a deal, Oliana, which means you need to get yourself dressed and come with me.”
“You said you didn’t want me to come with you tonight.”
“My plans changed. Now get dressed.”
“Do you really think you can come in here and boss me around?” Her nipples are hard now, and it’s next to impossible not to at least glance at them.
“I’m not bossing you around. I’m telling you that you signed a contract, and now I’m expecting you to live up to that.”
“It was a napkin. I could have wiped my nose with it if I wanted to.” She folds her arms together and poses in the most defiant stance I think I’ve ever witnessed.
“A deal is a deal. Now get fucking dressed before I do it for you.”
“And what if I don’t?” she asks.
I prepared for this question, knowing damn well she would put up a fight. And I hate to do this to her, but she needs to come with me tonight. I need the defense.
“If you don’t, then I’m going to go to the owner of the Agitators and tell him about the article.”
Her face falls, and her arms drop to her sides. “You wouldn’t.”
“You don’t want to test me.”
She stares me down for a few seconds before she huffs and turns toward her closet. “You realize I’m going to hate you until the end of time, right?”
“Whatever gets you dressed up, babe,” I say as I make my way into her dorm and sit on her bed. I watch as she digs around in her closet. She tosses a pair of black strappy heels toward the center of the room and then retrieves a long black outfit.
When I think she’s going to head into the bathroom to get changed, she doesn’t. With her back turned toward me, she pulls her crop top over her head before pushing her sweatpants down, revealing her thin black thong.
My mouth waters at the sight of that rear end again and her bare, muscular back with the rarest of glimpses of side boob as she fits her outfit on. She pulls it up, revealing a black one-piece of sorts with pant legs and a tight-fitted top.
“I need you to zip me up,” she says, her back still toward me.
Pushing off the bed, I walk up behind her.
I drape her long hair over one shoulder, then rest my hand on her waist. Her back stiffens, and as I grip the small black zipper, I move my hand up her rib cage until I pause right below her breast. Holding tightly, I slowly pull the zipper up, the entire time feeling her breath inflate and deflate her lungs until she’s all the way zipped up, and I pull away.
Without a word, she storms off into the bathroom and closes the door.
She wants to play with fire by stripping in front of me? She’s going to get it in return.
I sit on her bed again and pull out my phone.
I scroll through emails for the next ten minutes, and when she’s finally ready and opens the bathroom door, she emerges with her hair pulled back into a high ponytail, a heavy smoky eye, and what looks like fake eyelashes.
She topped the look off with bright red lipstick.
Yup . . . she’s fucking hot.
Not to mention, the neckline of her outfit cuts down to the spot just below her breasts, once again offering an abundance of cleavage for all to see. It must be her signature move, to show off her breasts whenever she gets a chance. And I’m going to tell you right now, it fucking works.
As she slips her shoes on, I realize one thing.
I hate that even though I’m mad at her, I still think she’s hot.
I don’t want to be attracted to her, but it’s inevitable.
I can’t stop it. And I can’t stop the way my eyes scan her, resting for a moment too long on her breasts, on her lips, on those eyes.
She stands tall, flips her ponytail over her shoulder, and snatches a clutch from her closet before stuffing her phone, wallet, lipstick, and key in it. She tucks the clutch under her arm and says, “Let’s go, master.”
Better than fart face. Guess I’ll take it.
We’re silent the entire trip out of the dorm. I honestly expected nothing less than her glacial attitude.
When we reach my car, I open the door for her and watch her get in, then, taking her seat belt, I loop it over her and click it in. When I pull back, I hear her sharp inhale, only for her eyes to connect with mine in confusion.