Page 3 of His to Cherish (Club Wyld #5)

“What’s good here?” I ask Ollie once the waiter has left us with water and menus.

“They have a braised short rib that will blow your mind,” he says, studying the menu.

I take the opportunity of his bowed head to adjust the bodice of my dress, showing off another half inch of cleavage.

Then I flip my hair over my shoulder, trying to remember every word of the dating advice articles I pored over this week.

When Ollie looks up, I make sure to bat my eyelashes at him. “That sounds amazing,” I say in my best suggestive voice. I lean forward a little and oh my God! His eyes dropped to my cleavage. I know they did!

But he’s frowning when he looks back up at me, and he shoots a quick, angry glance around the room.

It’s everything I can do to keep from shrinking back in mortification. Is he afraid I’m going to embarrass him in front of the other diners or something?

“Are you cold?” he asks, eyes locked on a place somewhere a few inches over my shoulder. “You look a little cold. Why don’t you take my jacket?”

“No,” I say, feeling bratty. I have a bit of a temper, and it’s starting to come out to play. Why does he want me to cover up so bad? And why the hell can’t he look me in my eyes?

He opens his mouth—probably to get all bossy on me—but the waiter chooses that moment to return. “Can I bring some wine, sir?”

Oliver looks at me and I decide to try again. I smile, looking him straight in the eye, and say, “whatever you want.”

And I mean it. This man can have anything he wants. I just hope by the end of the night that list might include me.

His eyes darken and I see him swallow hard before turning back to the waiter and ordering a brand of wine I’ve never heard of.

I shouldn’t find that so attractive—the way he knows so much about wine—but I can’t help it.

It gives me the same feeling I got in the valet lane out front.

I like that Oliver is more sophisticated than me.

I want him to show me all these things I’ve never experienced before. I want him to teach me.

You’re such a weirdo, I think with a sigh as the waiter leaves again. Who fantasizes about stuff like that?

“Tell me about your week,” I say, recalling one of the dating magazines mentioning that guys like it when you take an interest in their business. “Is the Zenith buyout in the bag?”

“Not yet.” He frowns. “They’re dragging their feet on all the financials. Their CEO is adamant about not selling but he doesn’t have a leg to stand on—it’s either us or bankruptcy. I just can’t figure out how to make him see that this deal is in everyone’s best interest.”

I reach across the table and pat his arm, letting my hand linger far longer than normal. “You’ll figure it out,” I say. “You’re the most capable, smartest man I know.”

I’m not just stroking his ego—even though the dating advice did recommend that. I mean every word. Ollie is amazing—smart, innovative, decisive. It’s a huge part of why I like him so much.

His gaze falls to the hand still on his arm and when he looks up, his eyes have darkened in a way that makes my tummy flip.

I spend the rest of the meal trying to do everything the magazine authors suggested. I flip my hair. I bite my lip. I let my finger trail over my collarbone while I listen to him.

And the craziest thing happens. I think it actually starts to work.

I notice his eyes following the path of my fingers on my collarbone.

That same gaze darkens when I bite my lip.

And every time I lean closer to hear him better, his eyes lock on my chest, the expression in his eyes undeniably hungry.

Is he actually into me? The thought has me so giddy I can barely sit still through the meal.

When the waiter returns again to ask about dessert, I lean into Oliver.

“I don’t think there’s room in this dress for dessert.

” Just as I hoped, his eyes scan the parts of the dress he can see.

“But if you get something, I could manage a few bites.” I bat my eyelashes again. “Maybe you could feed me?”

His eyes flash once more, darker than they’ve been all night, and he doesn’t drop my gaze even as he answers the waiter. I’m so caught up in the moment that I don’t notice he ordered two desserts until the man is walking away.

“You don’t want to share?” I ask innocently.

“If you’re that full, you can take the rest of yours home,” he says. He studies my face for a moment before seeming to shake himself.

“Care to tell me what the hell is going on?”

I blink at him, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this whole thing.” He waves his hand, circling around my face. “Why the hell are you looking at me like that? What’s with all the touching? And why the hell did you say that about me feeding you?”

I feel the blood drain from my face. He isn’t into me at all. In fact, he looks a little pissed off. God, I’m so stupid.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, my voice tiny as I stare down at my hands. “I just thought…”

“Just thought what?”

When I don’t answer, he sighs, tossing down his napkin. Then I hear the scrape of his chair legs and suddenly he’s sitting much closer to me instead of on his side of the little circular table.

“Lilly,” he says, in that commanding way of his. “I want you to talk to me. What’s going on in your head?” His palm, warm and heavy, comes down on my knee, rubbing gentle circles there. My entire body breaks out in goosebumps.

“Talk to me.”

I don’t know what it is about that voice, but for some reason, I have a really hard time disobeying it. Even when the result is my own mortification.

“I just thought, maybe, something might happen between us.”

Oliver goes very still. “Something like what?”

I give a little shrug, still not looking up. I think I’ll die if I have to see his reaction right now.

“We’ve been friends for a really long time,” I begin.

“Best friends,” he cuts in, sounding annoyed.

“Best friends,” I agree. “But I thought…well, we get along so well. And I, you know, I think you’re really attractive.

” Oh my God, I can’t believe I just said that out loud.

“I thought maybe we could try being more than friends,” I finally manage to finish, then immediately wish the floor would open at my feet and swallow me up.

Ollie is silent for a long time, and I’m pretty sure that tells me everything I need to know about his reaction. He doesn’t feel the same way. I just made everything unbearably awkward and probably ruined our friendship.

“Lilly,” he eventually croaks out, his voice sounding pained.

“Forget about it,” I say quickly, sure I won’t be able to handle his rejection. “It was a silly idea. I guess I just got carried away.” I’m babbling now and I seriously wish I could just run away and pretend this never happened. “I mean, of course you’re not attracted to me?—”

He cuts me off with a low growl. I’m so caught off guard by the noise I actually look up. Ollie is glaring at me, an emotion I’ve never seen before flashing in his eyes. “Not attracted to you?” he demands in a raspy rumble. “Are you fucking kidding me, Lilly?”

I just blink at him, having no idea what to make of his reaction.

Then he takes my hand from under the table. Before I can wrap my mind around what’s happening, he brings it to his lap. And then…oh, God, and then he’s pressing my hand to the rigid length under his trousers. I’m touching my best friend’s dick.

His very hard, very large dick.

I can’t help the gasp that shoots out of me. I’m even more surprised a moment later when Ollie presses my hand harder against him, then groans low in his throat, the sound filled with so much desire and pleasure I feel faint.

“Does that feel like I’m not attracted to you?” he asks. “I’ve been like this the whole night.”

“Why?” I gasp out, and he laughs darkly.

“Because you’re driving me fucking crazy in this dress. Those damn shoes. Jesus, Lilly, everything about you.”

Oh my God. I didn’t imagine it. He is attracted to me. My heart soars as I realize I might just get everything I’ve ever wanted.

But then it crashes right back to the ground when Oliver gently pushes my hand away and clears his throat. “But that’s not something that can happen.”

“What? Why not?”

Even as I watch, his expression shifts from hungry to calm. Controlled. It’s like watching a person put on a mask, and I don’t like it one bit.

“It would be a mistake.”

I shake my head. “No, Ollie. We would be good together. I know we would. I would do anything to make you happy?—”

He groans again, then rubs a hand over his face. He looks tired and frustrated and I just want to go back to when his face was filled with desire.

“I have no doubt you would make any man extremely happy.” He practically snarls the words, like he hates the very sound of them. “But I’m not right for you.”

“I don’t understand.”

He lets out a long sigh of frustration. “I know you don’t. But you’re going to have to take my word for it.”

I feel like crying. I’d gotten so close to the thing I wanted and now I’m watching it slip away.

I could argue with him. I could throw a little temper tantrum and try to convince him he’s wrong.

But this man has been my best friend for years and I know him better than just about anyone.

I know him well enough to know that when he makes up his mind, there’s no changing it.

Determined. Dominant. Sure of himself. All those things that I’ve always loved about him are the very things that are going to keep us a part.

Again, he roughly runs his hands over his face. When he removes them, something has changed in his expression. The matter is settled and he’s ready to move on.

I’m not sure I’ll be able to.

We’re quiet while Oliver pays the check and leads me out of the restaurant. We’re quiet while he drives me back to my car at Hoops. There’s a heavy tension between us as we sit in silence and I wonder if there’s any way back for our friendship.

“I’ll follow you back to your place,” he says softly when he pulls up next to my car in the lot outside the sports bar. He offers a wan smile. “We can watch the game highlights, okay? Then maybe a movie or?—”

Hot anger swells inside me. He wants to have a movie night?

After all that? How many times over the years have we enjoyed exactly the kind of night he’s describing?

How many hours have we spent sitting on my couch, watching sports or Netflix, snacking, teasing each other.

That was enough for me for a long time. But I don’t think it is anymore.

“No thanks,” I say curtly, reaching for the door handle.

He swears, hurrying to unbuckle his seatbelt, no doubt so he can rush around the car and open my door the way he always does.

But now that doesn’t make me feel safe and cherished.

It makes me feel patronized. It makes me feel like the immature little sister I’ve always feared he saw me as.

“Don’t bother,” I snap. “I can get to my car just fine.”

“Lilly. Wait.” His voice is low and authoritative, and I have to fight to ignore the instinct that tells me to obey.

“I’m tired and I’m mortified .” I refuse to look at him. I don’t want him to see the heartbreak that I’m sure is written on my face. “I’d like to be alone.”

“God damn it,” he growls, reaching for me across the gear shaft.

I dodge out of his grasp and scurry out of the car, ignoring him when he calls after me.

I already have my keys in my hands and I’m in my car before he can climb out of his.

He glares at me through the windshield, clearly not happy about any of this.

Join the club, I think bitterly. I give him a brief wave and start my car, wanting nothing more than to get the hell out of here.

It doesn’t surprise me when he pulls out of the parking lot after me.

And it doesn’t surprise me when he remains right behind my car the entire way home.

Of course he won’t let me drive off on my own.

That would go against every one of his protective instincts.

Normally, I love that about him. Tonight, it just makes me want to cry.

I know he won’t drive away until he sees I’m inside so I hurry up the front steps then race to get the door open. I’m inside in record time and I slam the door behind me—hopefully he’ll get the hint and not try to follow me.

I peek out the window next to the door. His car is still waiting on the curb. It’s too dark to see inside his Jag and I wonder what he’s thinking right now. A moment later, his engine revs and he drives away.

That’s the end of that, I tell myself, leaning my forehead against the door in defeat. At least you know you tried. I go to slip off the painful heels—God, what had I been thinking, wearing those things? I am not a stilettos kind of girl.

So stupid to think something like that might actually get Oliver to pick me. Just because they’re the kind of shoes I’ve seen his dates wear before?—

My breath suddenly seizes in my lungs as I remember his refusal to tell me why he wore a suit to a casual place like Hoops. He was planning to meet someone after dinner. That has to be it, right? Why else would he have changed the subject so quickly?

I barely stop to think about what I’m doing as I step back into the heels and open my front door. My quiet, suburban block is dark and empty. But down at the end of the street, I see red brake lights at the corner. Oliver’s car, waiting to turn.

I rush back to my own car and get in. This is probably insane, I think to myself as I put the key into the ignition. Following him is the last thing I should be doing. There’s no way this ends well for me. What if I see him with another woman? I’m probably going to be heartbroken all over again.

But I can’t seem to stop myself from following him anyway. I know there’s no way I’m going to be able to rest until I finally find out where Oliver goes all those nights after he leaves me.