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Olivia

I t’s been years since I’ve dated someone. It’s been months since I’ve gone on a proper date, and at this rate, I’ll be dating until I’m dead.

Chase is nice… a nd interested , I remind myself as I swirl my water around my glass.

He’s had two drinks himself, and in the middle of his story about a recent crisis at work, he flags down the waiter for another.

“Can I get you anything else?” Chase asks again, and I force a smile.

“I’m tapped out. Thank you.”

He flashes an all-white smile, and I find myself looking at him again. He looks handsome. His dark hair is swept back but a few curls fall into his face. He’s clean-shaven and dressed in a suit that probably costs more than the thousand-dollar bottle of wine he’s steadily nursing. But when I look at him, I just feel… Tired.

He’s attractive and available- for god’s sake - and yet no matter how much I force it, I feel nothing. I focus on the cool glass in my palm, on the condensation dripping down the walls of it. The cold is grounding.

Real.

“Do you think you’d ever quit and sell your business if you found the right person?” Chase asks abruptly..

I jolt back to reality. “Sell my business?”

“Yeah.” He takes a deliberate sip of wine. “Once you find someone worth settling down for, of course.”

I try not to frown at the question. “I don’t plan on selling my business. I plan on expanding, actually.”

“That’s incredible,” he tells me, and for a moment, I think we might drop the conversation.

The last thing I want to talk about is work.

“I’ve never met a woman quite as dedicated as you are. I like that about you.”

My smile is tight at the compliment because it’s as backhanded as they come. I’ve dated his type before. The kind that expects to come home to a clean house and a warm meal and a smiling wife at the end of the day.

It’s not something I ever envisioned for myself. With a man or a woman.

My eyes wander over his shoulder to Taylor silently. We make eye contact, and I know he can read my face:

I’m ready to wrap this up.

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong but you planned the Benenati wedding, right? What was that like?”

The question is like a slap to the face, and I nearly recoil. “The Benenatis?”

He smiles. “They’re only the most powerful people in Westos. I assume you’d have a lot to talk about.”

My stomach sinks, and I don’t like that I get the feeling that he’s fishing for information.

I’m being paranoid- I know that, but…

"Stay away from him." Crew's voice echoes in my head, and I hate that my stomach twists.

“Chase, this has been great, but-“

“I’ve offended you somehow,” he says, suddenly reading my frown. “I’m sorry. I don't mean to insult you.”

“I know,” I sigh, fiddling with the ribbon in my hair as I look at him. “I know you didn’t. Honestly, I just think…”

I think back to Crew's words from just days ago:

"Stay away from him."

Chase's face falls flat. “You’re not ready.”

I nod. “I’m busy. With work and my business. It’s something I love… I’m not really looking to give that up.”

He spins his glass of wine carefully. “I understand. But I had a good time tonight.” A slow inviting smile plays at his mouth. “We still have a glass or two left. What do you say we finish it off… and then I can take you home?”

I narrow my eyes, considering his offer. “One glass,” I concede, and he flips my empty wine glass, pouring a healthy serving of red before clearing his throat.

I spot Taylor still poised to intervene, but I shake my head and he stands down.

“So, what do you want to talk about?” he prods carefully.

“Tell me more about the work you do with my father.”

He launches into a story, and after a few sips of wine, my face is flush. I smile as he goes on, animatedly using his hands to punctuate his points. The night is cool, and by the time the restaurant empties, I’m sleepily smiling and enjoying the breeze that blows through the patio door.

“We should get back soon.”

He stands, rounding the table to pull out my chair. “I guess I shouldn’t bother offering to take you home,” he says tightly.

“Probably not,” I say as we stroll toward the door with Taylor in tow. The breeze sweeps past, whipping my hair over my shoulders.

“I know what you said, but I’d love to see you again.” He’s smiling with a look that’s all bedroom eyes. There’s not a flicker of attraction. Not a hint of heat. If anything, I just feel a wave of disappointment as my mind wanders to the one person it shouldn’t.

The one person I can’t have.

I’m silent for a beat too long because he scoffs, shaking his head at the ground.

“Goodbye, Liv,” he says, pressing a kiss against my cheek. When he walks away and I still feel nothing, I’m left trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do with myself now.

“Ready to head out?” Taylor says, voice closer than before. He doesn’t push the Chase-subject which I’m glad for.

“Yes please” is all I say before he leads me to the car, and we head off.

Despite my exhaustion, I spend the drive back prickling with energy. Worrying about tomorrow, of all the things I still have to do, and inevitably, of him .

Always him.

I know he’ll be there when we get back, and after our last few interactions, I hope to god that he’s late. Chesna greets me at the door, and I smile as she twines between my legs.

Crew sits on the couch, tinkering away on his computer. He lifts his head, but I feel his eyes on me as he and Taylor exchange keys.

“I’ll see you Monday, yeah?” Taylor asks, pausing in the doorway.

I wiggle my fingers goodbye. “Sure. Please say hi to Lydia and the babe for me!”

“Will do.” He glances back, eyes flickering to Crew before he flashes a smile. “Goodnight.”

I finish scratching Chesna’s ears and slowly stand. “Warden.”

“Ms. Hughes.”

The tension in the room is suddenly electrified, a live wire between us. I refuse to break the ice, so I shrug out of my coat and head for the kitchen for tea.

“How was your date?” he asks, voice flat. No sign of the tension between us.

Is he really not as affected as I am? The traitorous thought occurs as I put the kettle on the stove, keeping my back to him.

"It was great,” I say because there’s no way in hell I’m going to admit that it wasn’t.

“Great,” he echoes, voice closer now. I shift at the careful deliberation in his voice, the gentle test of the word.

Great. As if we both know it was the opposite.

“Yep,” I chirp, drizzling a small line of honey in my mug. “It was great,” I continue. “Fun. I needed a night away.”

He hums, voice even closer than before. Nervousness is pouring out of me now because, damn me , I feel the need to keep talking.

“Did you know that Corino’s offers a free round of bottle service if you tell them you’re on a first date?”

He hums again, the sound low behind me. “I didn’t.”

“Mhmm,” I fiddle with the mug, chipping at a small crack in the paint. “Chase’s been a couple of times. He knows all the best red wines.”

“You don’t like red wine,” he comments, and I hope to god he can’t see the blush that crawls up my back at the words.

Because he’s noticed.

He’s noticed - and for once, it’s not his job to.

My hands are shaking , I realize as I fill the kettle and set it to heat, staring forward.

Crew’s made it clear nothing will happen between us. Yet he says things like that that set my blood on fire.

“Look,” I start. I clear my throat in an attempt to hide the uncertainty, the arousal, to my words. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but-“

“But what?” he says, and he’s close enough now that his breath stirs the hair at my neck. I abruptly turn, pressing myself into the counter.

His eyes are near-black, baring into me more than any touch ever could. He’s looking at me like he wants an answer. Like he wants to touch me.

But he doesn’t.

Just like he said.

My voice is a breath, a whisper. “I don’t know what to do with the way you look at me.”

His eyes drop to my lips at the words, and before I’ve even realized he’s moved, his hands are at my waist. I gasp as he lifts me onto the counter. My hands find his chest as he holds me in place. He carefully watches for a reaction.

Touch me , I’m pleading. Please touch me.

His hands form fists at his side as if he’s battling with himself. He reaches up, dragging a lock of my hair between his thumb and his forefinger. His hand drifts down, but this time, he stops at my thighs. Teasing, skimming over my dress.

He drags the fabric up to pool at my hips, exposing me to him. Every muscle in me tightens, my breath hitching when I feel his thumb drag up my thigh slowly. Slow enough that my head falls back as goosebumps erupt across my skin. When his fingers drag across my panties, across my sensitive clit, I can’t help the moan that escapes me.

“Fuck, Olivia,” he murmurs.

I flush at how wet I am, the evidence of how much I want him, but when he sweeps his thumb over me again, I lose all sense of thought. Arousal courses through me, burning at every stroke of his hand.

Then his breath is in my ear, voice low. “Is this for him? Or are you dripping for me, Princess?”

He knows the answer, and I hate that I gasp when his fingers tug at the band of my underwear, dragging them down an inch. Two.

More, I nearly beg, but when the kettle whistles from the stove, I freeze.

The moment hits me full-force: Alone, his hands between my legs, my dress around my waist. I spot the moment he realizes it too:

This was a mistake.

I don’t allow myself the embarrassment of looking at him before I hop down. I step out of his touch, tossing my hair back as I reach for the steaming kettle and pull it off the heat. My phone takes the opportune moment to ring. My dad’s contact flashes on the screen beside me.

“Hey, is everything okay?” I blurt, hoping he can’t hear how hoarse my voice is.

“Button! You answered.”

I release a heavy sigh at the calm in his voice. “Dad, it’s 11 at night. I thought you were in trouble.”

“I’m okay. You know me- always burning the midnight oil. Sorry if I woke you. I just wanted to see if you were going to the Midsummer’s gala tomorrow night. It will be the first one since Tyson’s death.”

“I-“ I calm the hammering in my heart with a breath. I nearly forgot about Midsummers. It’s only one of the most elusive events in Westos, and I've yet to RSVP.

Not to mention Charlotte and I haven't spoken since the phone call the night of my mother's party.

“I haven’t decided. It’s been a crazy year. For the Benenatis especially.”

The thought is just another painful reminder of the distance between Charlotte and I- d istance I put there.

“I understand. But everybody who’s anybody will be there. It would be good for business.”

I sigh as water trickles from the kettle into my mug. Tension seeps from my shoulders as wafts of peach and rose fill my nose.

I realize Crew’s left the room, and I set my phone on speaker as I drizzle a hint of honey in my tea.

“I’ll come, Dad. But you should get to bed! It’s late.”

“I will. I will,” he jests, and I smile when he quickly lapses into a story about work.

I sit in bed until long after the call with Dad, until long after my tea is drained to the dregs, until my racing thoughts have me looking up at the ceiling in the dark.

Thoughts about tonight.

Thoughts about tomorrow.

Thoughts about the man only a wall away… who said he wouldn’t touch me. Who said we couldn’t do this. Yet somehow every line we’ve drawn, we’ve managed to cross with just a touch.