she didn’t want to see my face again, she clearly meant it.
I should leave it be. What’s done is done, and if she can’t even stand the sight of me, there’s no way in hell she’ll accept some half-assed apology. I’m determined to do just that, until I spot her coming home from somewhere late one night.
She isn’t dressed in her usual scrub getup. Instead, she’s dressed like she had a night out with tight black pants that hug her curves in a delicious, almost obscene way with thin rips along the knee and tall black heels that, somehow, do nothing to improve her height. One side of her hair is pinned back and the rest is left down, framing her face in waves. Her blouse is a turquoise blue, and even from here, I can make out the lace bra beneath. It has me gritting my back teeth together. My attraction to her annoys me.
Throwing all caution to the wind, I cross our lawns, just as she’s making her way up the porch steps. As if sensing my presence, she freezes, her entire body locking up with tension.
“Olivia.”
She cranes her neck at the sound of her name. For a split second, I see the vulnerability there. The pain and hurt she’s worked so well to hide, since that day I spewed those vile words at her on our lawns. She glances down at the hot pink clutch that’s gripped tightly in her hand, almost as though she’s searching for strength. When she looks back up at me, composed and full of anger, I still see the sadness lingering in her eyes.
I hate myself for putting that look there.
“I’m sorry.” She freezes at the sound of my voice but doesn’t speak. She gives nothing away, as she drills holes into my skull with her glare. Biting back my insolence that is a constant as it runs through my veins, I cross the distance between us and stand behind her. I reach out to her, my hand hovering in the air, but I can’t bring myself to do it. To touch her. There’d be no going back.
“I’m sorry. For the other day. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”
I hear a sniff, her back stiffens, and she turns on me, facing me with a ferocity in her eyes that gives me pause. There’s a look plastered across her face, like she doesn’t care, but I know better. The longer I stare and search her hazel depths, the more of her I really start to see.
“You’re right. I was just getting you back. It wasn’t even real, for Christ’s sake. I didn’t know you were bringing a girl home. You were an asshole. No, you were bigger than an asshole, you were a dick. A big fucking dick.”
I raise my brows, impressed by her ire. I had no illusions that she’d cower away, but I definitely wasn’t expecting her to try to rip me a new one. My level of respect for her grows to new heights. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stifle my smile.
She’s got a fire in her. I like that—even when I wish I didn’t.
“Okay.” I nod. “I deserve that.”’
She frowns, more than likely expecting me to argue with her. She was probably anticipating more hostility, like the other day. Olivia glances down at the clutch in her hand and turns it, surveying the small thing, like she’s trying to decide if she wants to bash me over the head with it.
I raise a brow. A challenge of sorts. “Go for it.”
Her gaze shoots up to mine, and her eyes narrow. “It is so very tempting, trust me. But I’m afraid once I start, I may not be able to stop.”
“You want to bludgeon me to death with your purse?” I goad, unable to help myself.
The corner of her mouth twitches, like she wants to laugh, but she’s fighting it. “It’s a clutch. And it’s either that or I can cut the brakes on that deathtrap in your garage.”
This time, I can’t hold back the wry twist of my lips. “Not very creative, but thorough.”
An awkward silence descends between us. She shifts uncomfortably on her feet, as an adorable frown creases her brows, wiping away her amusement. I thrust my hands into my pockets and clear my throat.
“I really am sorry, Olivia. You didn’t deserve me taking my anger out on you.”
“Fine.” She sighs. “I still hate you. But I guess…I guess I’m sorry,