Page 1 of His to Cherish (Club Wyld #5)

OLIVER

I t’s Friday night, and I’m running late for the most important event on my calendar.

I’ve spent my work week in meetings with some of the most influential men and women in tech.

I’ve talked with the finance guys about several of the multi-million dollar deals my company currently has in the works.

Spent hours in meetings with the lawyers about a massive take-over we’re about to complete.

Even had a few conference calls with high level politicians at both the state and local level.

But none of those things come close in importance to the meeting I should have been at five minutes ago—dinner at a sports bar with my best friend.

I’m not technically late yet—Lilly probably won’t be here for another few minutes. But I like to always arrive before her. It gives me the chance to get myself together, to brace myself for what’s about to happen.

Spending an evening with my best friend is both the best and most difficult part of my week. The best because Lilly is everything good in my life—funny, smart, as easy to talk to as breathing.

Difficult because I want her with every fiber in my being and I can never, ever have her.

So I always try to arrive to our plans early. Give myself a little time to reign in some of the rampant yearning that is my constant companion. Remind myself of all the reasons she and I will never be more than friends.

It hasn’t always been so hard. In fact, everything about my relationship with Lilly used to be easy. Light and comfortable. I think that’s why we became so close so quickly. More than anyone else in the world, Lilly makes it easy for me to just be .

When we started working together at a low-level tech firm five years ago, we hit it off immediately.

We bonded over a shared love of cheesy zombie movies and thriller novels in the break room.

Soon we were taking turns bringing in lunch to share and hanging out after work—granted, usually with a group of our co-workers—as well as on our breaks.

We both moved on from that job fairly quickly.

Lilly was promoted from her entry-level position after only a year while my app development side hustle was finally starting to make the kind of money that allowed me to quit the day job.

Yet somehow, even without that office to bind us, Lilly and I continued to hang out.

Those were the easy days. The days before I started dreaming about her every damn night. The days before she started to invade my early morning shower jerk off sessions. Before I started comparing every woman I ever met to her.

None of them can hold a candle.

And that’s why I both look forward to and dread our time together. It’s getting harder and harder to hold myself in check, when all I want to do is take my best friend in my arms and make her so much more than that. Make her mine.

Can’t happen, I remind myself for the millionth time as I rush down the block. It’s never gonna happen.

I’m running late because I got stuck on a call with my mother.

Her internet went out—a massive emergency, since it prevented her from playing online scrabble with the ladies from her gardening club—and talking her through resetting the modem was a Herculean task.

The woman may have given birth to and raised one of the nation’s most promising rising tech stars, but her knowledge of all things technological begins and ends at powering on her iPad.

And then, of course, she had to give me the rundown on every person she interacted with at senior yoga, book club, and the food bank where she volunteers every week.

A few years ago, when I’d finally made enough money to retire my mother, she balked at the idea. How would she fill her days without a job? Apparently, she figured it out, because the woman’s thriving social life puts mine to shame.

By the time I got her off the phone, I was late to meet Lilly. Which means I won’t have time for the mental lecture that I require before spending time with her. The one that reminds me that she’s off limits. That trying anything would ruin the most important friendship of my entire life.

That Lilly Henson is far too good and sweet for a depraved, filthy bastard like myself.

I finally see the bright neon sign for Hoops, our favorite sports bar.

Lilly is as much of a college basketball fanatic as I am and Duke is playing tonight.

I can’t count the number of hours we’ve sat in the same booth in this grungy little hole in the wall, sharing a plate of greasy bar food while we cheer on the Blue Devils.

I’m in such a hurry to get inside, that I hardly notice the woman approaching from the other side of the door.

I don’t see her until I’m already swinging the door open, but I manage to remember my manners enough to hold the door for her.

“Sorry about that,” I apologize, stepping to the side so she can pass. “You go ahead.”

“Oliver?”

My head snaps up at the sound of my name coming from her mouth.

The first thing I notice is stunning blue eyes rimmed with long dark lashes.

Perfectly applied makeup includes bright red lipstick, and honey brown curls fall around the woman’s shoulders.

She’s gorgeous, like she just stepped off the pages of a magazine.

She’s also achingly familiar, underneath all that makeup and shiny hair.

“Lilly?” I yelp, my eyes scanning over her.

No wonder I didn’t notice her on the sidewalk.

Since when does my best friend wear make-up or style her hair?

And since when does she wear little strappy black dresses that show off miles of perfect, creamy skin?

And—fuck me—since when does she wear sky high stilettos?

No sooner have I noticed her sexy-as-sin shoes, does she seem to trip right over them. She careens toward the door and I reach out to grab her, managing to catch her before she can fall on her ass.

Holy shit does she feel good in my arms. She always does, every innocent hug and cuddle on the couch while watching basketball enough to torture me for hours.

But touching Lilly with the majority of her skin exposed?

Fire rushes through my body at the feel of her, so soft and small in my arms. Is she wearing perfume?

“Sorry,” she gasps, trying to right herself. “Sorry, Ollie. I must have tripped.”

“Maybe because you’re trying to walk in three-inch heels?” I mutter, my voice gruff with the effort it’s taking not to pull her hard against my chest, to run my hands down all the smooth, exposed skin. “What the hell are you wearing, Lilly?”

Red rushes to her cheeks, which doesn’t help the situation in my pants in the slightest. Lilly blushing is somehow even hotter than Lilly in this dress.

I’m so preoccupied with thoughts of what it would take to make other parts of her body turn that same color that I don’t immediately notice the flash of hurt on her face.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I say quickly. I really need to let go of her, to get her steady on her feet so I can stop touching her before I lose control. But it feels next to impossible to tear myself away. “You look gorgeous. Just not what I’m used to seeing you in for a night at Hoops.”

It’s a laughable understatement. Lilly basically lives in jeans and t-shirts, with her messy curls almost always pulled up in a bun. When we get together to watch games, she often dresses down even more, opting for sweats or leggings.

I find it nearly impossible to keep my hands to myself when she’s all warm and comfy at home or in a sports bar. But dressed like this? I’m so absolutely fucked.

Time to reign it in, asshole, I tell myself. I pull Lilly away from the door and a few feet down the sidewalk, making sure she’s steady on those heels before pulling my hands away. My body immediately roars in opposition at the loss of contact.

“Well, that’s the thing,” she says, still blushing. She’s not meeting my eyes, either, which I don’t like at all. “I was thinking maybe we could do dinner somewhere else tonight.”

I stare at her blankly. “You know there’s a Duke game on tonight, right?”

“Of course.”

“And it’s Friday.” I gesture over my shoulder. “That means Hoops has those chicken wings you love.”

Her expression tightens. “I thought it would be nice to try something different.”

I study her face, concern finally breaking through the drum beat of lust that’s been fogging my brain since I saw her. “What’s going on?”

She laughs a little, but I’m not sure I’m buying her easy-breezy attitude. “Something has to be going on for me to want to try something new?”

“You never want to miss a Duke game.” My eyes travel down her outfit once again, and my jaw tightens.

The dress isn’t tight, but somehow that makes it worse.

The fabric shifts against her body every time she moves, giving a hint at the curves below.

I know my voice is huskier when I speak again, but I can’t help it. “And you never wear dresses.”

She huffs. “You’re in a suit.”

“Because I came from the office.” That’s not entirely true, but I’m definitely not telling Lilly why I don’t change after work on Friday nights. She doesn’t need to have any inkling of what I get up to later in the evening.

I push those thoughts away, because the last thing I need to be doing is thinking about my weekend indiscretions when I’m around Lilly. Those two parts of my life need to be kept far apart, for my own sanity.

And for her safety.

She crosses her arms over her chest and I have to fight to keep my gaze from straying to her cleavage. This fucking dress is killing me.

“You know, you get to go out to fancy parties all the time.”

I make a face. “If you’re referring to work events, you know as well as I do that they suck and I hate every second of them. I would much rather be on the couch with you.”

Her expression softens at that. “It’s not just work events. You get to eat in nice restaurants all over the world.”

I feel a little stung—I’d thought she enjoyed our low-key nights at the sports bar or one of our houses. “Lilly, if you wanted me to take you to a nice restaurant, all you had to do is ask.”

She holds her arms out wide. “Consider this me asking, then.”

I rub a hand over the back of my neck. The thought of taking Lilly somewhere fancy—i.e. romantic—while she’s dressed like that has every one of my alarm bells going off.

“Okay,” I say slowly. “I can call my assistant and ask her to get us in somewhere?—”

She starts to fidget. “Well, I, um, kind of already made a reservation. At Orchid?”

The alarm bells in my head are suddenly replaced by blaring sirens. Orchid is definitely one of the most romantic spots in the city. But that’s not what has me on edge. Something is finally starting to occur to me, the pieces falling into place, and I hate the picture they’re creating.

Lilly all dressed up and wearing makeup. The fuck-me heels. Her shyness right now. Her choosing a restaurant without my input.

“Are you hoping to run into someone at this restaurant?” I bite out, rage beginning to simmer in my stomach. “Is there a man you’re expecting to see there?”

She blinks at me. “Of course not.” But there’s something in her eyes that I don’t like the look of. Like she’s hiding something.

My hands ball into fists as the anger burns hotter. The idea of her getting all dressed up, looking so fucking beautiful, for someone else? I want to put my fist through a wall. I want to find whoever this asshole is and beat the shit out of him. Lilly is mine, goddamn it.

No, she’s not, a voice in the back of my head reminds me. She can’t be.

I bite back a groan of frustration and anger. Holding myself back from her has been hard enough. But now I’m expected to sit there and watch her get with some other guy? Take her to a fancy ass restaurant so she can see him? Be her goddamn wingman?

There’s no fucking way.

But then another thought occurs to me. If there is some asshole she’s interested in, wouldn’t it be better to check him out for myself?

It’s not like she would ever tell me about him—Lilly and I have an unspoken agreement not to talk about our dating life.

I’m pretty sure I would break things if I had to hear details about any of her dates.

And I sure as hell don’t tell her the filthy shit I get into. She would run for the hills.

“Hey,” she says softly, reaching out to touch my arm.

Even through the layers of my suit, I swear I can feel the heat of her little hand.

“It’s not a big deal. If you’d rather stay here and watch the game, we can do that.

” She gives a shrug, her expression looking defeated for some reason.

“I just thought it would be nice to try something new.”

Sweetheart, you have no idea the “new” things I want you to try, I think to myself.

Looking at her face, I know there’s no question about the fact that I’m taking her to that restaurant. The defeated expression is like a spear to my heart. I never want to be responsible for putting that look on my girl’s face.

Somehow, I manage to smile as I hold out my hand to her. “If you want different, let’s do different.”

It’s worth it when her face lights up and she takes my hand—even if there is a guy there she’s hoping to see. It will be fucking torture, but I’ll go through it for her.

I’m going to show my Lilly a good time tonight. Even if it kills me. “Come with me.”