Chapter 18 Olive
Chapter eighteen
Olive
"Oh my God, tell us everything," a wife of one of Avery’s teammates asks.
I think she’s married. Her hands have been moving around far too much for me to be able to look for any sign of a wedding band on her finger, but the man beside her is sporting a ring on his left hand. I guess it’s safe to assume.
It’s been hard to ignore his looming presence while he stares daggers at the man next to me. I don’t think Avery has paid him much attention, though. His fingertip has been tracing circles along my lower back since the moment we sat down.
Listening, but not a part of the conversation.
"Uh, what do you want to know?" I shift awkwardly in my seat, my shoulder brushing against Avery’s as I inch closer to him at our round table. I’ve never been in a room with so many athletes before, and they all just ooze arrogance.
Not that musicians are any better. They might actually be worse, but this type of cockiness isn’t what I’m used to.
"How did you guys meet?" she asks. I think her name is Tori.
Avery’s calloused palm pulls away from behind me, taking up residence on my thigh before he squeezes it, and I know it’s his way of telling me to tell the story of how we ‘met’ my own way. He’ll follow if I choose to lead.
Since the little incident earlier, he hasn’t left my side all night. His big, rough hands have been touching me in some way or another. And if they’re not, I cling to him like he’s my life raft.
Though, by the way all the men but one at this table are staring at him, I think he might need me more than I need him.
I hear Avery’s voice before I look in his direction, my eyes too focused on his long fingers wrapping around my thigh easily.
First, it was a gentle touch on the back of my neck, then tracing soft circles on my lower back.
Now it’s rough, gripping my leg.
And it still isn’t enough. I need him to touch me more.
But when he moves his hand away, I flinch at the loss of contact. And then I feel him draping it over my shoulder, and I sigh a breath of relief.
"Do you want me to take this one?" he asks, no doubt sensing my discomfort about being put on the spot. He’s the one who didn’t want to come up with a backstory in the first place, so it's his fault I'm not prepared. He places a gentle kiss on my temple, and I nod once as I look up at him. That’s all he needs to take over.
I exhale calmly and turn away from Tori, with my attention solely on Avery.
"You’d think, given Olive is a storyteller with her lyrics, she’d know exactly how to put into words the day that we met.
But she’s never really been able to figure out how.
" He smiles at Tori, winks at me, and I feel something funny in my stomach, but I move on from it quickly, eager to hear what he’s going to say.
"I heard about her music a little while ago. I did some research and found out she was a small-town girl, and drop dead fucking gorgeous. When I was in the hospital having surgery on my wrist, they gave me something for the pain, and it turned my brain to mush. Orlando asked what he could do to make my hospital stay more comfortable, and apparently, my subconscious remembered her. I asked Orlando if he could fly her down to New York." His smile lines appear, and they look…genuine. Yet, he’s pulling this story completely out of his ass, and I’m so incredibly invested in where this might go, but feel the need to chime in.
"Right. And unfortunately, I was busy in the studio back in my hometown, so I couldn’t get away." I nudge his ribs gently before he pulls me closer.
His fingertips draw patterns on my bare shoulders, and I feel his laughter vibrate from his chest through my back when he notices how I squirm myself free.
Goosebumps be damned.
"So, I had to deal with getting to know her on video call for a while. Eventually, we met up and started dating in private. I flew to her hometown, met her family, and she’s been here to meet mine.
It’s been…" He trails off, probably thinking he’s said too much, but Tori doesn’t notice. She’s staring at us in awe.
"That’s so beautiful," she gushes, her eyes welling with tears as they float between Avery and I.
That story sounded like a total lie, but dammit, she is gullible.
"Yeah, she is." I look at him over my shoulder, only to realize he’s said that to me, and only me, igniting a part of me that shouldn’t have gotten excited over such a simple compliment.
Two weeks ago, I could’ve sworn he hated me.
Either, he’s a fantastic actor, or he really just wants to fuck me.
"And don’t think I haven’t noticed that beautiful necklace.
It looks expensive." Tori wiggles her brows at me, and my hand reaches for it, resting in the place he intended for it to stay. "I saw the articles about you shutting down Amore’s, Jones. I must admit, I hoped I’d see something on her finger.
" She challenges with a sly grin, but Avery keeps his cool, moving his hand to my lap where mine rests.
He threads his fingers through my left hand before bringing it up to his lips to kiss. "It’ll be a ring next if she keeps wearing dresses like this." He fiddles with the thin strap over my shoulder.
Goosebumps prickle my skin, and a slight shiver runs through me from his words, his touch. I pick up the glass of champagne that’s been sitting in front of me, untouched for the last hour, and take a sip
"Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Avery," I tease.
His eyebrows pinch together, something that looks a lot like determination flashing across his face.
I can feel Tori’s stare burning a hole in the sides of my face while I search his eyes.
Dark blue circles are around his irises, a soft, sky blue fills the center with subtle streaks of green that you would only be able to see if you were as close as I am right now.
"If a ring is what will keep you by my side, and I get to call you ‘my wife’, then the next time you see us, Terri, mark my words, she’ll have a rock on her ring finger, and Jones on every legal document."
Terri. That’s her name.
I ignore the way warmth pools between my legs at his arrogant statement, and shove down the butterflies in my stomach.
He kisses the back of my hand again, excuses himself from the table, and heads toward the bar. His teammate, Ryder York, falls into step right beside him as he goes to get another glass of icy, chilled water, I assume.
"I’ll let you in on a little bit of a secret, Olive," Terri says, curling her finger toward me for me to come closer.
"A lot of the team has a bet going to see how long this lasts.
Avery has never been serious about anybody before.
Not really, anyway." She smiles, taking my hand in hers.
"Happiness looks good on him. And I know we just met, but after seeing him upload a snippet of your last show in NYC on his Instagram, with ‘Proud’ as the caption, the guy is totally smitten. I just hope he doesn’t mess it up. "
I make a mental note to check his Instagram later, while forcing myself to swallow the rest of this champagne to drown my discomfort.
Avery is no longer by my side to hold my hand. I’m not alone, yet I feel lonely. And I know deep down that when this all goes to shit, he’s going to get the blame, even though it should fall on me.
We spend the rest of the night hand in hand, arm in arm, trading simple kisses, but only when people are watching, and where our boundaries allow.
Our boundaries that appeared out of nowhere, completely unspoken.
I’d tell him to kiss me, and he would.
On the back of the hand.
Forehead.
Temple.
Corner of the mouth.
My Goddamn shoulder.
But never on my lips
And I’m over it.
Hearing the completely made-up version of our story he spun…God, it did something to me. Softened me in a way I didn’t expect. I found myself clinging to him. For protection, maybe. But it felt like something more to me.
All night, I’ve been telling him how to touch me, when to touch me, and where. At first, he was a little hesitant, but as the night progressed, he became much more comfortable and did things his way.
But it isn’t enough.
Not anymore, anyway. So, when I see his coach make his way over to us, I take the opportunity and grab it by the metaphorical balls.
"Quick. Your coach is on his way over," I say in whispered hiss. "Kiss me. Touch me. Make it look like you want me. The night’s nearly over, you only have to play pretend for a little while longer."
"Olive, baby," he says through a tightly clenched jaw, his voice sending a rush of adrenaline over my entire body. "It’s taking all of my restraint to not fuck you in the middle of this dance floor, but I don’t want these people to see me take what I want. You think you’re calling the shots?
" he asks, and I swallow hard as I look up into his sapphire eyes, grateful his coach was stopped on his way over to us.
He could tell me to get on my knees right now, and I would be on them in half a second, flat.
"When you’re in my home, it’ll be me telling you where to kiss me. Me telling you how and where to touch me. Me telling you when you can touch yourself. Got it?" he asks, his voice low and gravelly, his expression firm but flirty.
"If I were wearing any underwear right now, Avery, they would be fucking soaking wet," I breathe against his cheek, his forehead falling hard against mine as he nips my bottom lip.
"None at all?" he asks, and I shake my head.
"You going to tell me I’m a good girl with the way I take your cock later? Tell me how pretty I am when you fuck me?" I whisper, planting a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth, right as his coach clears his throat, ripping our attention from each other and onto him.
My heart is galloping so fast in my throat, it’s a miracle I’m able to keep a straight face. If the lights weren’t so dim in here, and the music wasn’t so loud, his coach would know everything that was just said between us.
"Jones." He nods, his hand extended to Avery.
"Hey, Coach," Avery says, shaking his hand casually, like I didn’t just beg him to praise me when he fucks me. "This is my girlfriend, Olive Herring."
"Words I never expected to hear you say." His eyes look to me, and he smiles. "It’s nice to meet you, Olive."
I nod, smiling politely. "You too, sir."
His gaze returns to Avery, and he straightens his spine. "Just wanted to officially meet the woman who seems to have tamed you. Well done, Jones. Don't fuck this up. I’ll leave you to it."
The coach walks away, and I’m left with one thought: If this is fake, why do I want Avery Jones the way that I do?