Chapter 21 OLIVE
OLIVE
Worst Fake Fiancé
The doorbell rings, followed by Liam’s unmistakable voice calling through the door.
“Olive? You home?”
Shit.
I whirl around and spot Ash heading toward the foyer with absolutely zero urgency, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s even smirking, the jerk.
I dart across the hall, grab his arm, and yank him into the mud room. He stumbles in after me, caught off guard, and the second the door shuts behind us, I whirl on him.
“Do not touch me,” I whisper-shout, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Not a single sultry glance, not a smirk, not one of your stupid sexy eyebrow raises—nothing.”
His lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. “Sexy eyebrow raises?”
“I’m serious, Ash,” I hiss, panic rising in my throat. “If Liam finds out we’re sleeping together, he’ll explode. Or implode. Or worse—intervene. And this time, he’s sober and sharp.”
Ash cocks his head, thoroughly enjoying himself. “Sleeping together? That’s what we’re calling it now?”
“Shut up.” My cheeks are on fire. “Just behave. Be normal. Keep your hands to yourself and your mouth—”
“Only after this,” he murmurs.
And before I can stop him—before I can even blink—he pulls me in and kisses me.
It’s a kiss that melts my spine and erases all rational thought.
His hands cradle my jaw, his mouth slanting over mine like he owns it, like I’m his. I feel myself lean into him, just a little. Just enough to betray every word I said two seconds ago.
When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless and boneless and seriously contemplating murder.
I blink up at him, dazed. “What the hell was that?”
He grins. “Insurance.”
“Insurance?”
“For good behavior. You said I can’t touch you. So I figured I’d get my fix in now.”
I shove his chest—pointlessly, because it’s like shoving a brick wall. “You’re infuriating.”
He winks. “You love it.”
I inhale, hands on hips, trying to slow my pulse. “Okay. Deep breath. Reset. We’re just friends. You’re my fake fiancé. Liam’s best friend. We’re going to play it cool.”
He presses his lips together like he’s trying not to laugh. “Whatever you say, sunshine.”
I smooth down my hair, take a deep breath, and crack open the front door.
Liam’s standing outside, frowning. “What the hell took you so long? Did you guys get lost in your own mansion?”
I step out quickly, trying to wedge myself between him and Ash. “Sorry! I, um… dropped something. In the mudroom.”
Liam lifts a brow. “Did it roll under the floorboards or what?”
Behind me, Ash lets out a suspicious-sounding cough—half laugh, half I just made out with your sister in a supply closet.
I shoot him a warning glare and elbow him in the ribs.
He grunts, but the smirk stays firmly on his stupidly perfect face.
Liam brushes past me. “Anyway—I came to check on you.”
“Me?” I blink.
“Yeah. Wanted to make sure you’re okay after yesterday. Figured you might want some company.”
My heart stutters. For all the ways Liam drives me nuts, he always shows up when it counts.
“I’m fine,” I say, waving it off—though my voice betrays me with the slightest crack.
Ash slides past me. “We’ve got pizza on the way too,” he says.
“Perfect,” Liam says, flopping onto the couch. “Then it’s settled. We’re having a chill night in. No drama, no reporters, just beer, carbs, and maybe a bad action movie.”
He clicks on the TV.
Ash shoots me a sideways glance, lips twitching like he’s dying to make another comment. I shoot him a look that says don’t you dare.
***
It turns into one of those unexpectedly good evenings—the kind that feel like a warm blanket after a storm.
Liam’s sprawled on the couch with a beer in hand, cracking jokes and making Ash groan with secondhand embarrassment from old tour stories.
I curl up on the opposite end, laughing more than I have all week.
The pizza arrives just after seven. Ash brings it into the living room with a flourish like it’s a five-star meal, and Liam immediately starts inhaling slices like he hasn’t eaten in days.
We sit around the coffee table with paper plates and fizzy drinks, the TV humming some background noise none of us are paying attention to. It’s comfortable. Easy. Normal.
I’m mid-bite when a gooey strand of mozzarella slithers off my pizza and lands squarely on the front of my shirt.
“Ugh,” I groan, brushing at it uselessly.
Without thinking, Ash leans forward and swipes it off for me, fingers skimming the curve of my chest.
He freezes.
I freeze.
Time definitely freezes.
His hand is still there—just resting, a little too low, a little too long. His thumb moves like it has a mind of its own, brushing over the fabric once more before he snatches it back like he’s been electrocuted.
Our eyes lock. My breath catches. My face heats. His jaw tightens.
And then—
“You okay, bro?” Liam asks, around a mouthful of crust. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
Ash clears his throat, dropping his hand into his lap like he’s hiding a weapon. “Fine. Just—hot cheese. Got startled.”
“Hot cheese,” I repeat faintly, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting out laughing or combusting on the spot.
Liam shrugs, completely unfazed, and launches into a story about a bachelor party in Vegas that involved a trampoline and an inflatable llama.
I don’t look at Ash again for a solid ten minutes.
And I absolutely don’t think about the feel of his fingers against my skin.
Not even a little.
Instead I pull a blanket over my lap, trying very hard to appear normal. Calm. Friendly-but-not-too-friendly. You know—exactly the kind of vibe you give off when your older brother is sitting right there and your fake fiancé is trying to undo you with every stolen glance.
Ash is sitting next to me, way too relaxed, his thigh warm against mine and his body radiating that infuriating mix of lazy amusement and smoldering heat.
He does a slow, casual stretch—like a yawn might follow next. His arm goes up behind me along the back of the couch.
Classic move.
I stiffen instantly. My eyes cut sideways, daring him.
Don’t you dare.
He doesn’t look at me. Just keeps staring at the screen like Vin Diesel’s monologue is life-altering. But I see the smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.
Then his hand moves. Slipping down. Inch by inch. Like we’re in the freaking eighth grade and he’s trying the oldest move in the book.
My jaw drops. I slap his hand away under the blanket—hard.
He jerks, more amused than injured, biting back a laugh.
I narrow my eyes and whisper, “What are you doing?”
He leans in, voice low and maddening. “Trying to see if you’ll let me second base you in front of your brother.”
My entire body heats. “Ash.”
“Just testing your reflexes.”
I glare. “They work fine, thanks.”
Liam doesn’t notice. He’s too caught up in the movie, chuckling at the screen. “If I ever got caught sneaking into a government facility,” he says, “I’d at least wear a better outfit.”
Ash turns back toward the TV, smug and innocent. Like he didn’t just try to grope me five inches from my sibling.
I cross my arms and force my gaze back to the movie.
He rests his hand just a little too close to my thigh.
I don’t move it.
And I’m definitely not sneaking glances at the way his forearms flex as he tears off another slice. Not noticing the faint ink smudges near his elbow or the way the veins trace down like a road map to sin.
Nope. Not at all.
I’m a pillar of self-control.
A paragon of restraint.
Except… I know what that mouth of his can do. That mouth—currently chewing on a slice of pepperoni like it hasn’t whispered the filthiest things I’ve ever heard. That mouth has been on me. Every inch. Worshipping, teasing, tasting.
I shift in my seat.
Focus, Olive.
Ash chuckles at something Liam says, and I swear—swear—the way his eyes flick to mine for half a second is intentional. Like he knows what I’m thinking about.
I grab my drink and sip it like hydration is the answer to everything that’s currently wrong with my life. The glass nearly slips from my hand because my palms are suddenly sweating. Great. Cool. Love that for me.
I can feel Ash's smirk without even looking.
When the credits roll Liam lets out a long yawn and stretches like a cat who just won a battle with gravity. “That was solid,” he declares. “I’d give it a seven. Could’ve used more explosions.”
I snort. “Next time we’re watching a rom-com.”
“Fine,” he says. “As long as it has grenades.”
Ash smirks, then gets up and strolls over to grab his guitar from the corner, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he doesn’t know that me and my entire nervous system are already frayed from an evening of secret touches.
He strums a few soft chords, the sound instantly filling the space—warm, effortless, addictive. Liam leans back, eyes half-lidded, like he’s about to fall asleep to a private concert.
“I wrote something new,” Ash murmurs casually, adjusting the strap. “It’s called After the Photoshoot.”
My heart slams into my ribs like a car crash.
He glances at me, all innocent mischief and maddening restraint. His mouth quirks like he’s daring me to react.
Kill me.
Just kill me now.
He starts to sing, voice low and sinful:
Lips exploring like whispered fire,
Hands roaming with aching desire.
Heated bodies in tangled grace,
Riding waves of pleasure, face to face.
My mouth drops open.
I’m going to combust.
Liam chuckles sleepily. “Damn, man. That’s hot.”
You have no idea.
He finishes the last chord with a flourish and looks directly at me, eyes dancing.
“Just a rough draft,” he says smoothly, like he didn’t just strip me emotionally naked in front of my brother.
Liam yawns again. “You’re getting sappy in your old age, man.” He stretches, then adds, “Anyway, this was fun. We should do this more often.”
I glance sideways at Ash, who’s lounging at the other end of the couch, strumming his guitar in the lazy way he does when he’s relaxed—and also when he’s being infuriatingly smug.