So Much More (Made for Love #3) (5 page)

I was ready. I was willing.

I had decided…

Fucking piece-of-shit red coat.

I shove the despised article of clothing back into the box and kick it. It slides across the floor as if I’d given it a gentle push and I huff out an irritated sigh.

I need to bake something.
Now
.

I abandon that box for another. I unpack my KitchenAid mixer—the buttercup yellow one I spent months saving up for—and I march my way into the immaculate kitchen, praying that Millie has
something
that will enable me to throw together a batch of cookies. I’m in luck—
thank God—
and I’m able to scrounge up the necessary ingredients for chocolate chip cookies.

She’s even got walnuts!

I make a mental note of everything I use so that I can replace it when I go to the grocery store. I’ll just have to explain that it was an emergency. In the event of a near emotional breakdown, something sweet
must
be made.

I don’t need a recipe; and in an hour, I’m well on my way to having a plate full of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. While I munch on cookie dough and wait for the kitchen timer to buzz, I take a good look around. I open every cabinet and every drawer in an attempt to get the lay of the land. I also wonder if she’s got any room for me to house some of my bakeware. I find one empty cabinet that might hold a fraction of what I’ve brought.

Just as the timer sounds, I hear the front door open. I pull the cookie sheet from the oven and turn to go greet Millie with a hot treat when I see her standing in the kitchen doorway. The look on her face stops me dead in my tracks.

Aria was right. Millie is easy on the eyes. She’s got long, ashy brown hair that’s so light it looks like it’s shimmering. Her body has a slight build with a timelessly elegant face. I imagine that her green eyes are why people might find her charming—only, that’s more of a theory at this point. Currently, she looks like she’s ready to throw daggers at me.

“You’ve
got
to be fucking kidding me. A sloth? I live with a fucking
sloth
now?”

My jaw falls open in amazement. Before I can think of a single thing to say, she’s slamming cupboard doors shut as she stomps around the kitchen.

“
Clearly
we’re going to need rules. I can’t come home to this shit every day. If you hadn’t noticed, I don’t live like a fucking pig.” She gasps as she reaches for an empty bag of Ghirardelli chocolate chips. “Are these mine? You
steal
things, too? Un-fucking-beliveable.”

“It was an emergency,” I mutter lamely. There are so many other things in my head—explanations, apologies, reassurances—but she’s rendered me almost speechless.

Did she really call me a
sloth?

She scrunches her brow at me as if she can’t believe how stupid I am for making such a remark. Under her scrutinizing gaze, I’m almost inclined to agree with her.

“I sure as hell hope you can clean shit up as well as you fuck it up,” she grumbles as she storms off to her room.

That’s
my new roommate?

My nose tingles as I look around the room. Yeah—it’s a little messy. I’ve never really been good at cleaning as I go, but seriously? Did she have to yell at me?

I sure as hell hope you can clean shit up as well as you fuck it up.

I replay her words over and over. It doesn’t take long before I no longer associate them with the mess in the kitchen, but with the mess that is my life.

When I start crying, I resent Millie for robbing me of the happiness that comes with freshly baked cookies; I resent her for unknowingly and unkindly comparing the state of my life to the state of this kitchen; I resent her for calling me names—
a sloth? Really?
Great. Let me just add that to the list—right underneath
slut, another badge of honor I don’t deserve
.

It takes me an hour to clean up my mess, mostly because my tears slow me down. When I’m done, I make a list of all the things I need to pick up from the store to replace what I
stole
. Then, knowing that I can’t stand to be in the apartment when she decides to come out of her room, I grab the plate of cookies and go knock on Josh and Aria’s door. Josh answers and I can tell by the look he gives me that my face must still be blotchy from crying.

“Are you alright?”

“Can I hide out here for a little while? I come bearing cookies.”

“Did I hear someone say—” Aria’s eyes grow wide at the sight of the plate I hold in my hand. She reaches for a cookie before she even acknowledges that I’m the one holding the plate. It makes me smile.
This
is how people are supposed to act when I place a perfectly delicious baked good in front of their nose. “Oh, my god,” she groans, resting her head against Josh’s shoulder as she closes her eyes and chews. “You
made
these?”

“Yeah. And remember how you
swore
Millie was nice?”

She stops chewing and opens her eyes, the sound of my voice distracting her from her moment of indulgence. “Shit, what happened?” she asks before taking another huge bite. As I open my mouth to respond, she grabs my wrist and pulls me inside. “Hold that thought. I can’t think while I’m eating these.
Damn,
you know how to bake. Baby, you
have
to try one. Sarah—pop a squat. You’re not going anywhere.”

T
HE ROOM WAS EMPTY
when I let myself in. The light of activity from the streets of Old Town Fort Collins shown through the window as I waded through the shadows. I knew—
I knew
that her absence was a sign. It was a warning. It was my last chance. The empty room was a gift from God. He was giving me one more chance to grow a pair and leave before she returned. Instead, I let the memories of her and I pull me down until I was seated on the edge of the bed.

She had invaded my thoughts all day. I couldn’t escape her. I hated myself for being so weak, but deep down I knew—from the moment she walked into the coffee shop, I knew—I had to have her. My body ached with a craving only she could satisfy. I wanted her—I’ve always wanted her.
Olivia.
My battered heart and greedy dick have never wanted anyone else.

She spotted me as soon as she walked through the door. The light at her back coupled with the darkness of the room made it impossible for me to see the expression on her face; even still, I didn’t have to guess what
triumph
looked like in her eyes. I’d seen it too many times to count.

On her journey through the darkness from the door to the bed, she stripped away every piece of clothing she had on—save her lacy white panties. Those, she left for me. Not a word was spoken as she reached behind me to free my mane from the tie I always use to keep my long hair back. As she ran her fingers through it, slowly, gently, my lips sought out her breasts. She sucked in a breath when I traced my tongue around her hardened nipple and the soft sound seemed to ignite us both.

After showing each tit a fair amount of attention, I gripped my hands around her waist and threw her down onto the bed. She helped me out of my clothes, her fingers as hungry as my own to
touch—t
o
feel.
By the time I was completely bare, save condom number one, the only barrier between me and her sweet, wet pussy was a flimsy piece of lace. My cock was so hard it hurt. My impatience to be inside of her shredded her panties, and she begged for me as I tossed aside the useless garment.

We fucked in the bed. I took her against the wall. I ravaged her in the shower. I wasn’t gentle and she wasn’t sweet. All night, we spoke in grunts and groans of untamable passion. Nothing else was said—no further conversation was acceptable.

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

I
am
Olivia Bennett’s best friend. What we have is fucked up and dysfunctional, but it’s ours—held together by painful memories, bitter betrayals, and unrequited love.

Olivia Bennett is my worst nightmare. She’s the woman I hate to love; she’s the woman I love to hate.

We were paired together as lab partners in high school. Sophomore year. Mrs. Katz’s Biology. When I met her, I remember thinking I’d never seen someone like her before.
Otherworldly
was the only word I could think to describe her beauty. I don’t know if it was the pixie haircut or her big, round, brown eyes, or her wistful smile or all three—but I was drawn to her. It wasn’t just her face, either. She was also smart and funny with a tendency to be mischievous. It wasn’t long before I discovered that her mischievousness was spurred on by her sadness—she dared to be reckless in order to chase away the pain.

At first, it felt like we had nothing in common. She hated sports, knew nothing about cars, and preferred salty over sweet. After a few days, we came to realize we did share
one
thing not many people our age had to deal with; one thing that made us kindred spirits. She’d lost her dad the year before, too. Car accident. It happened so friggin’ fast.

Our relationship’s life source was trust. Nothing but. We didn’t share the same group of friends, hobbies, or interests—but we could trust each other with the burden of our loss. If I just needed someone to sit with me, someone to share the air with me in the house that was too lonely and empty, I could trust her to do just that. When she needed someone to listen, someone to hear that her heart was broken with disbelief and anger at the fact that her mom was dating again, she could trust that I’d
really
hear her.

Junior year, her mom remarried and Olivia didn’t take it well. Her stepdad was pretty clueless as to how to nurture any sort of relationship with his new stepdaughter, which only made matters worse. When she started acting out, he stopped trying and her mom got angry. That backfired, making Olivia more incorrigible than ever. Shit really hit the fan when she got the news that she was going to be a sister. For seventeen years, she had been an only child. The thought of a sibling—fathered by a man she wouldn’t accept as family—made her wild.

The night William was born was the first time Olivia and I had sex. She came to me in the middle of the night, crawling through my open window. I woke up to her small body snuggled up next to mine. She told me that she needed to be taken someplace else—she wanted to escape, to run away—and she wanted me to go with her. I didn’t know what she meant until she reached into my pants and wrapped her hand around my dick.

Our first time was about trust. Not love. Not lust. Just trust. She trusted me with her body and I trusted her with mine. We both trusted that we could go through with it without either of us regretting it in the morning. And we didn’t—regret it in the morning.

We did it again
.

With William in the house, she couldn’t sleep. He cried a lot. More than that, he was a reminder that life began just as quickly as it ended. She didn’t think it was right that her mother’s life had seemed to move forward at a pace that didn’t match her own. On nights that she couldn’t deal, she’d seek refuge in my bed. I learned her body well and she memorized mine. I didn’t realize that I was falling in love with her until it was done—the words falling from my lips, her insides clinching my cock and pulling me over the edge of bliss right along with her. The look in her eyes at my thoughtless admission was a proclamation that I had broken the rules.

We were best friends. We were confidants. We were fuck buddies. But we were
not
lovers. My slip of the tongue—
slip of the heart—
splintered her trust in me. Her response shattered my trust in her.

A week later, she was calling some other jerk-off her boyfriend. Then she had the audacity to speak to me as if nothing was different. It pissed me off. It was like she was trying to put me in my place—or the place she felt I belonged. I knew I deserved better. It wasn't even that she didn’t reciprocate my feelings, it was the way she ran away from what we had. She was scared and I knew it, but it hurt too much to stay. I wasn’t her pet, so I bailed.

It was only a couple weeks before I got pulled back into her life again.
Jerk-off
didn’t know her like I did; couldn’t handle her. When she let her wild side out, no doubt as an act of retaliation over something that happened at home, I was the one who saw her floundering. I was the one who had to save her from her reckless behavior.