Chapter Eleven
Allison
After a night of dancing and laughing, Daveed walks me back to my apartment.
“Would you like to come up?”
“Oh, yes,” he purrs.
I tell him to take a seat on the couch while I grab some wine.
“Do you mind if I use your bathroom? I’d like to freshen up a bit,” he says.
“Oh sure, second door on the left,” I tell him and pick out my favorite bottle of red wine from the rack on my kitchen counter.
I can’t find my bottle opener right away so I’m still rummaging around in the drawers when I hear him come back out into the living room.
“I’ll be right there. Just looking for the bottle opener,” I call out.
“Take your time.”
I finally find it and open the bottle then grab two glasses. It will need to breathe a bit, so I have the bottle in one hand and the glasses in the other when I exit the kitchen. What I see next causes everything I’m holding to crash to the floor.
Standing before me is Daveed in all his naked glory. And hello, it is glorious! BUT no way is this happening! This is not the way to my heart. Or any other place for that matter.
“What are you doing?!” I screech.
“You asked me for wine. You want me, no?” Daveed asks confidently with his hands on his hips. Dare I say he even swivels them a bit?
“No, no, no, not even a little bit! Get out. Get out. Get out!” I shout motioning him to the door.
In shock, he scrambles to get dressed. While he’s zipping his pants, I grab his shoes and shirt and throw them at his chest as I push him out the door.
“But…but…but…”
“No buts. Get out.” I push him one last time and slam the door behind me. Resting my back against it, I let out a low growl.
“Bella…”
“Go, Daveed,” I say. From the other side of the door, he sighs and walks away.
I’ve just about calmed my breathing when the door vibrates against my back from a loud knock. In frustration, I swing open the door ready to give Daveed a piece of my mind, assuming he’s decided not to give up.
“I said…”
“What?”
Oliver is standing in front of me and I’m dumbstruck for a minute.
“I said…hello Oliver. What are you doing here?” I ask, smoothing my hair and taking another calming breath.
“I just came by to say I’m not bowing out. Date us both, if you want, until I prove to you that I’m the right choice.” I blink several times while trying to take in what just happened and what Oliver is saying. I shift my stance while I gather my wits.
“I’ll take that into consideration, but I don’t think Daveed will be in the picture anymore.” Oliver glances over my shoulder and gasps.
“No? Why? What happened?” He sidesteps me and moves to the dark pool of red liquid now soaked deeply into my beige carpet. Then he turns to look me up and down. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” I huff and shut the door.
“Okay. Good. You’re okay. Good,” he repeats, patting my shoulders. “Now, where’s the body?”
“What body?” I ask.
“David…Daveed…whatever. You should have kept it here and just rolled him in the carpet. It’s ruined anyway.” He looks around, for what I have no idea.
“What are you looking for?”
“A trail of blood. I don’t see one. Good. You got it cleaned up. Good. Now is there anything he could have left behind that we have to worry about the police finding?” He’s looking around, rubbing his chin.
“Police? What are you talking about? This isn’t one of your murder books. I spilled the wine!”
“Oh.” Without skipping a beat, he whips out his cell phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Goggling how to get red wine out of a carpet. Blood I know, wine I don’t.”
“Stop. Hold on.” I walk toward him into the living room waving my hands. “First you think I’m a murderer, and then you know how to get blood out of a carpet? Why are you even here if you think I’d be capable of such a thing?” He laughs, and now I’m worried he may be a murderer. I slowly walk backward to the door, keeping my eyes on him. He puts his phone back in his pocket and smiles at me.
“I’m just messing with you. I saw the half-naked man running from your apartment. Want to tell me what really happened?” he asks, putting is hands on his hips.
I cross my arms and stomp my foot. “No, I do not. I don’t think we’re at a point where I need to explain my actions to you.”
I’m an independent woman who doesn’t need a man’s help. Plus, this guy is confusing the hell out of me. First, he flirts, then he doesn’t fight for me. Then he says he’s willing to let me decide which guy I want. Then he thinks I’m a murderer. Hello, can you say emotional whiplash?
“Fine. I’ll just help you clean this up then. The website says, I need a towel to blot and then peroxide and dish soap.” And now he’s being sweet. I want to stomp my foot again but I refrain, trying to keep the appearance of the mature woman I claim to be.
I uncross my arms, no longer in annoyed defiance, and turn to gather the items. When we’re done and I can barely tell where the stain was, I thank him.
“Thank you.”
“For helping you or for coming back?”
I squint at his cockiness then relent to the feelings bubbling up inside. “Both,” I answer honestly.
He rises from the floor and steps closer. I move in closer and stare at his lips. He places his hands on my waist and pulls me close. I gently lay my hands on his chest, and we stare into each other’s eyes. I know I want to kiss him, and I know he wants to kiss me, but I’m not sure if this is the right time. This evening has been one crazy whirlwind from the moment I opened the door to two handsome men. I pull back.
“I better get these things put away. I like to keep things tidy,” I blurt out. Oliver steps back and allows me to pass to get around the sofa. When I come back to the living room, he’s not where I left him. He’s pacing by the door.
“I should go, but are you free for dinner Tuesday?” he asks.
“I would love to go to dinner with you,” I say, holding the door open for him.
“I’ll pick you up at six?”
“I’ll be ready.”
“See ya.” He lingers in the doorway and looks at my lips then abruptly turns and walks down the steps.
I softly close the door and lean on it. Then bang my head against it in frustration. Why didn’t I kiss him? I turn, shut off all the lights, then shuffle to my bed and flop onto my fluffy covers, falling asleep in my clothes.