So Much More (Made for Love #3) (3 page)

“I’m irreplaceable,” she says with a playful shrug. “Stop looking for another partner-in-crime and just settle for someone who will get the job done. Don’t kill yourself while on the hunt for
the perfect fit
. I know that Little Bird is now your baby, but I can tell your battery is running pretty low. School will start in a couple weeks and you’ll be slammed.”

“Yeah,” I say with a shrug. “I’m sure someone will turn up.”

As if right on cue, the bell above the door sounds as someone enters. I look up casually and immediately my blood turns ice cold at the sight of her.

She’s dressed for the hot day reported in today’s forecast, but she still looks boardroom ready, in spite of the fact that it’s barely eight o’clock on a Saturday morning. She’s in a pair of tan heels that can be no shorter than four inches, accentuating her toned legs and boosting her closer to five-seven, as opposed to the five-foot-three inches she’s complained about for as long as I’ve known her. The sleeveless purple dress she has on clings to every delicate curve she owns, reminding me of the shape of her breasts, her waist, her hips, her ass. I curse my mind for conjuring up memories of her body beneath mine, her back arched, begging me to taste the hardened buds that seem to be anxiously waiting as her mouth opens in the perfect
O,
her orgasm on the brink of unraveling us both.

I press my lips into a thin line, agitated with my dick for even
thinking
about getting hard right now.
What the hell is the matter with me?

She catches me staring before I can bring myself to look away and I abhor the smirk that tugs at the corner of her sexy mouth. I don’t mistake the mischievous glint in her brown eyes for a spark of friendly affection. I’m smarter than that. Nevertheless, I cannot deny that she looks as gorgeous as ever—her pixie haircut leaving her face completely exposed. She looks exactly as I remember her last. A whole fucking year ago. I’m less than thrilled to see her now, making her way toward our table.

“Hey, Stranger,” she says, stopping just beside me.

I look at Daphne before I reply. I can tell by her arched eyebrow that she’s her own version of surprised and pissed right now. There’s also a warning in her eye. She’s challenging me not to cave—not to give in—not to be the weak-willed-pathetic-excuse-of-a-man version of myself that I become whenever Olivia Bennett reenters my world.

“Olive,” I force myself to speak as I look up at her from where I sit. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t be like that, Bran. Don’t be mean.”

“What are you doing here?” I repeat.

She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she pulls a chair up to our table and invites herself to sit. As if she’s just now noticing that I’m not alone, she casts a quick glance in Daphne’s direction before turning to address me. “Don’t mean to interrupt—”

“Sure you do,” Daphne says before bringing her latte to her lips.

Olivia turns to do a double take and gasps softly. “
Daphne?
” I roll my eyes, knowing good and well she knows who Daphne is.

“What gave me away?” she jeers.

“I didn’t—is that your baby?” she asks, pointing at the stroller.

“Well, she’s certainly not a puppy.”

“I didn’t know—”

“And why would you? Why would you know anything about anyone in this town?” I cut in. “You haven’t been seen or heard from in over a year.”

“Bran, I’m sorry.”

“I’ve heard that before,” I say with a nod. “Doesn’t mean much.”

“Look—I can’t stay for long. It’s William’s birthday. That’s why I’m here. I’ll be in town until Monday. I was really hoping we could catch up.” She opens her purse and pulls out a keycard, sliding it toward me across the table. “I’m staying at The Archibald. Room five-eleven. I have to go for now, but I really want to see you. I miss you and I can tell we have a lot to talk about. I hope I’ll see you.”

I push the key away from me and ignore the hurt look in her eyes.
It’s an act. It’s an act. It’s an act
, I tell myself.

She stands but doesn’t reach for the key. “You’re my best friend. You won’t say no. You never do.” She walks out without a backwards glance.

I stare at the abandoned key that sits between Daphne and me and will the blood that’s rushing through my veins to stay cold—cold—ice cold. I try and convince myself that I’m doing the right thing. Staying away, keeping my distance, protecting myself—it’s the right thing. I try to ignore the questions that are crawling out of the dark crevice I shoved them into months ago; I try to squash that irritating need to know
why
; I try to bury that little part of me that has her name written all over it.

“Brandon? Brandon!”

My eyes flick up to meet Daphne’s.

“Don’t. It’s not worth it.
She’s
not worth it. Don’t touch that key.”

You’re my best friend. You won’t say no. You never do
.

As I reach for the key, I convince myself that I won’t use it. I tell myself that when I drop by the hotel tonight, it’ll only be to return a lost key. I persuade myself into thinking it’s the responsible thing to do.

I lie
.

“I should probably get back to work,” I murmur as I stand. The look Daphne gives me makes me feel like shit. Her eyes are filled with sympathy and compassion that I don’t deserve.

“Call me later if you want, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

S
UMMER 2016. BEST. PITY
party. Ever.

Two days after Beck and Addie’s wedding, I was in Georgia. That Tuesday, over a pizza and a significant amount of liquid courage, I came clean to Jack and Claire about everything. Micah. Luke. The
Red Coat Incident.
It was almost as humiliating to confess as it had been to live it in the first place. I had only ever told one other person before—Harper.

Add her to the list of people/things I’ll miss seeing everyday.

Anyway, once the Davis’ knew the truth, they took pity on me. I didn’t deserve it, but I didn’t have the strength to turn it down. Somehow, my two week vacation turned into a two month extended leave. For the first month, they did their best to try and get me out. I met a lot of their friends and saw a lot of their beautiful state. After a few weeks, I decided that if I was going to stay, I needed a little work. There was a coffee shop around the corner from where they lived and I picked up a few hours every week. It made me feel like less of a mooch.

When Jack and Claire were busy living their normal, functional lives, working their legitimate, college-education-required day jobs, I’d stay holed up in my room. Reading. My Kindle has seen more action than a two dollar hooker this summer. Far more than me, that’s for sure. I’m not ashamed to say that I fed my new smut addiction with a fiery frenzy. All it took was one random find and I was hooked. J.Daniels introduced me to a man named Reese Carroll and that
Sweet Addiction
ignited an insatiable desire to lose myself in other people’s love stories. I must have read close to forty books while I was away.

Yeah—that one click addiction people talk about? It’s for real
.

While some might call my indulgence unhealthy, I call it bliss. It helps my aching heart. For as long as I am lost in someone else’s story, I can pretend she is me and I am her and the hero in the story loves
me.
Wants
me.
Needs
me
. The truth is, in the land of romance novels is the only place that can be my reality.

Claire tried to convince me to stay in Georgia. She told me I was welcome under their roof until I found a place of my own, but I knew I had to come back. Come home. I may have run away from my job like a pathetic little lap dog with my tail between my legs, but I couldn’t abandon the rest of my life. A captain goes down with his ship, right? Well, my port-of-call was in Colorado, so I made arrangements to return in the middle of August.

I was sure of only two things—two non-negotiables that I clung to with every bit of strength I managed to scrounge up. One: I was not going back to Westminster. I didn’t want to risk running into any of my old students at the grocery store or at the mall. I
certainly
didn’t want to see their parents; didn’t want to, couldn’t stand to—same difference. And the possibility of running into Luke? No. That just wouldn’t do.

Two: I refused to move back in with my parents. They live in Castle Rock, where I grew up, and just a hop, skip, and a jump away from the place I called home for the last year. I might feel completely directionless at this juncture in life, but I have enough sense to maintain that I refuse to move backwards.

Well, at least not that far backwards.

Fort Collins was the last place where I was happy. As an undergrad, I was so full of hope and excitement. My future was bright and I wholeheartedly believed that the plans God had for me were going to be better than I could dream of. There’s something about that naive sense of optimism that I miss. I wonder if moving back will help me wash away the bitter pessimism I seem to have acquired as of late.

I know that all the people that used to make it home have moved on with their lives, but the quaint little city seemed like a safe place for me to start over. When I asked Harper, who’s sister lives here, if she could help spread the word that I was in the market for a roommate, she had me matched up with someone in a week.

A week!

That girl is wickedly resourceful.

Millie, my new roommate, is a professor at the local community college. Apparently, she’s a friend of a friend
of a friend
of Harper’s sister. The last person to occupy the room in which I now stand was a grad student who has recently moved on to accomplish bigger and brighter things.

Good for her. And good for me, too, I suppose.

I don’t have a lot of stuff; mostly clothes and bedroom furniture. Oh—and my bakeware. I own a lot of bakeware. Molding brilliant little minds can be stressful and I’m not that girl who blows off steam buying shoes. Why splurge on shoes when you can buy that pretty, yellow, KitchenAid mixer you’ve always wanted? Or that deep-dish, stoneware pie plate? Anyway, with a teacher’s salary, it’s not as if I had the funds to accumulate much in terms of furniture over the last year. Besides, grading spelling tests on the floor worked just fine for me; it gave me plenty of room to spread out and stretch my legs.

Turns out, my lack of household goods isn’t a problem as Millie has filled the two bedroom apartment beautifully. In fact, it’s so neat and tidy, I’m afraid to touch anything. She told me to
make myself at home
in the two second introduction we managed as she was racing out the door this morning. She also made sure to inform me that our neighbors, Josh and Aria, knew of my arrival and were waiting for a knock to signal their cue to help.

Her brisk and unapologetic tone didn’t escape me. By the way she delivered the news, I couldn’t tell if they had
volunteered
or had been
commanded
to assist me.
I get the feeling people don’t often tell Millie no.
In any case, Josh and Aria were more than happy to help.

While we make trips up and down the two flights of stairs, back and forth between the U-haul and my new digs, I learn that Josh and Aria have been Millie’s neighbors for a couple years now. Josh, who is as strong as an ox, is two years older than me and a personal trainer at a gym on the north end of town. I’d have to be either blind or a man to not notice how attractive he is. I swear, even a lesbian would stop and drool over him if he passed her walking down the street. He’s not super tall or overly bulky and he’s got that dangerous combination of bright blue eyes and dark brown hair. He’d be distracting if I wasn’t totally and completely uninterested in men these days. But I am. Uninterested, that is.

Well, unless you count Maxton. My current book boyfriend. My Lord, Kaylee Ryan knows how to write a man. I wish I knew what it felt like to have him make
me
Levitate.

Anyway—my observation of the sum of Josh’s parts is strictly that. Purely fact. I’m not the least bit drawn to him for any other reason except that he can carry my mattress all by himself. Now
that’s
sexy.