Page 3 of Ruthless Desires, Vol. One (Ruthless Desires Series Extended Editions #1)

Rhett

As the days pass, I notice that Oliver is in a better mood than he normally is—not that he’s ever in a particularly bad one for long. But still, it’s a noticeable difference, and I think I know why.

That pretty barista. Wren.

It’d make some people jealous, but not us. We may have closed our relationship a couple years ago, but it used to be open. It was important to us back then. Now, we have other priorities.

It doesn’t stop us from developing the occasional crush, though, and I’m unsurprised that Oliver’s mind has latched onto Wren. She seems sweet, and she really is quite pretty.

Friday morning, Oliver is practically vibrating with excitement as we walk into the bustling coffee shop. I tuck my unease away, doing my best to tune out the noise. It’s just as busy as it was last week. Some people are working at tables, others are catching up and laughing with friends, and to top it all off, music is drifting from the speakers.

An environment like this is the kind that Oliver thrives in. In fact, the second the door shuts behind us, he perks up. Although that might be because Wren shoots a smile our way before turning back to the drink she’s making.

There’s a short line, and Wren alternates between taking orders and making coffees while her coworker mans the drive-thru. It looks like they could use a third person, but I know how it is. I worked closing shift at a burger place while I was in high school. They never give you enough people.

When Wren finally gets to us, she leans against the counter and grins at Oliver. We’re the last in line, and I can see some of the tension bleeding out of her as she realizes she can slow down for a minute.

Good. I don’t want her to feel like she has to rush with us. We’re not those types of people.

“I was wondering if you three would be back in,” she says, her gaze skating over us. “Have a good week?”

“It was excellent,” Oliver replies happily. “And it just got a whole lot better now that we’re here.”

“Oh!” She lets out a little laugh. “Glad you like the coffee.”

“Not just the coffee.” He leans in a little bit more, wearing that charming smile of his with an effortlessness I’ve always wished I could pull off. “Although that cappuccino I got was delicious.”

“I—um, I can ring you up for one?” Wren’s voice gets a little higher-pitched. Odds are, she gets plenty of people flirting with her while she takes their orders. I wonder if she gets this flustered with all of them.

“That would be lovely,” Oliver says.

She glances toward Elliot, and he steps up to the counter. Her gaze lingers on his face before swooping down and taking in his perfectly tailored suit and thin tie.

“I’ll have a black coffee,” he tells her. “Has your week been all right?”

“It’s…” Wren pauses, biting her lip as she taps at the register’s screen. “It’s been a week, you know? Busy at work, and then…”

“Relaxing at home?”

“S-sure.”

Hmm. That sure isn’t convincing.

“But I’m looking forward to this weekend,” Wren blurts when Elliot narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Going to a movie tonight.”

“Oh! Which one?”

“Ummmm.” She ducks her head bashfully. “I actually don’t remember what it’s called. It’s about… um, I think it’s about stealing cars?”

“Well, at least it sounds interesting,” Elliot says with a chuckle.

“It’s cutting into my reading time, so it’d better be.”

“Did you finish the book you were reading last week?”

She sighs. “No. Normally, I can get through a book in a day or two, but…” She pauses again, like she’s choosing her words carefully. “Life just hasn’t been very conducive to that lately, I suppose.”

“Hmm. I hope that changes. It sounds like a good book.”

“Oh, it is. Last in the series, so everything is so tense.”

Ell nods. “I know how that is.”

She perks up. “You like fantasy?”

“Oh, he loves it,” Oliver chimes in. “Fantasy, classics, murder mysteries, thrillers. Even the occasional horror book. He’s got a whole library at home.”

Wren’s eyes go wide. “Really?”

“Really,” Elliot says with a warm smile. “Complete with a comfy reading chair and a little table to put my coffee on.”

“Oh my god. That’s every bookworm’s dream.”

“I wish I had more time to use it, but as you said… life hasn’t been very conducive to it lately.”

“Oh, that’s so sad.” Wren’s look of wonder fades into one of sympathy. “I… I hope you’re able to read more soon, too.”

“Thank you.”

“Um—” She clears her throat, her gaze lingering on Elliot for an extra second before landing on me. “And for you?” She’s fiddling with her name tag with one hand while her other hovers just above the register’s screen. “Same as last week?”

I open my mouth, but my reply gets stuck in my throat. We’ve been here once—once. This woman deals with countless people each week, so why the fuck does she remember my order? There was nothing memorable about it.

Oliver elbows me in the ribcage, and the pain is enough to jostle me from my daze.

“Yes,” I say gruffly.

Idiot.

There’s a small pause before Wren’s eyes drop to the screen. “Got it.”

Once we’ve paid, Oliver steps toward the stools at the counter, but I slide my arm around his shoulders and guide him toward a table near the front of the store.

“Wha—Rhett, I want to sit—”

“I can’t,” I tell him, and I kick myself for how rough my voice still sounds.

I don’t want to fuck this up any further.

“Oh,” Oliver says softly. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just crowded and loud, and I’m worried I’ll—”

“It’s okay.” He places a reassuring hand on my chest and gives me a small smile. Disappointment is still shining in his eyes, even though he’s trying to hide it, and it guts me.

We settle in at a table near the windows. The morning sunlight is still soft, and it casts the whole place in a warm glow. Add in the plants, the art, and the brick walls, and the place has a welcoming feel to it. I’m just… overwhelmed.

Even though I’m facing away from her, Wren’s face flashes in my mind—the way her smile widened when she looked at me, and then the way it wavered when I spoke. I didn’t mean to be rude, my voice just… came out that way.

A hand on my shoulder makes me jump, and Elliot instantly pulls away, grimacing.

“Sorry. Here’s your coffee.”

“Thanks.”

“Breathe,” Oliver murmurs as Elliot heads back to the counter. “Just like your therapist told you.”

My gut reaction is to snap and tell him I know how to handle myself, but underneath that, I’m thankful for the reminder. So I squeeze his hand and start one of my breathing exercises.

It helps… some.

Elliot comes back with his and Oliver’s coffees, and I bristle at the glance they share with each other. They’re concerned, and it should probably make me feel loved or something, but all it does is cause the ever-growing darkness inside me to wrap itself a little tighter around my heart.

I just want to be better.

“Maybe we should find a quieter shop,” Elliot suggests.

At that, Oliver ducks his head down and takes a sip of his coffee. He’s trying so hard to keep his true feelings to himself.

I can’t stand it.

“No,” I say, finally managing to get a grip on my tone. It’s firm but not harsh. “This place is nice. And…” And Oliver likes Wren. “We should keep trying. It died down after a bit last week.”

“We don’t have to, Rhett.” Oliver sets his mug down on the table. “This place is a little lou—”

“We’re coming back.”

I want to try for you, O. Let me. Please.

He must see the words I can’t say written on my face because he nods and leans back in his chair. “Thank you.”

As we chat, I’m able to tune out some of the noise around us. This time with Ell and Oliver is too precious to waste. Fridays are our one day that we allow ourselves to slow down. A coffee date in the morning, lunch with Oliver’s mom around noon, and then an afternoon spent doing whatever we want. Often we end up working, and sometimes we have to reschedule lunch, but we never skip coffee. It means too much to us.

We mean too much to each other.

Elliot is quieter than normal as we drink our coffee and chat. Oliver tells us about a particularly funny dream he had last night, and Elliot’s laughs are muted. Distracted. When he glances at me, his gaze lingers on my face, like he’s looking for something.

When Oliver gets up to use the restroom, I wait until he’s out of earshot before nudging Elliot. “Your coffee is gonna get cold.”

He glances down at it in surprise, almost like he forgot the mug is right in front of him. When he picks it up, he only takes a small sip before setting it back down again.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Are you sure about coming back here? This is supposed to be a time for us to relax, and I want you to be comfortable.”

“I’m fine, Ell.”

“But—”

“I want Oliver to have hope.”

Confusion flits across Elliot’s face, but then he glances toward the counter—or, really, to Wren, who’s filling orders and laughing with her coworker. “Oh.”

“He needs this,” I say quietly. “Something to keep him going. Haven’t you noticed his mood improving since last Friday?”

“You don’t think it’s too dangerous?” Elliot asks.

“Indulging in a little crush? No. Oliver isn’t stupid. He knows it can never be more than that.”

In another life, maybe. But with the lives we live, it’s better that we keep people like Wren at a distance. It’d be too easy for her to get tangled up in a mess that could get her killed.

With my assurances, Elliot seems to relax. He picks up his coffee and takes another sip. “He told me last week that he just wants to know what a normal life is like.”

I wince. It’s my fault that we’ve been working so much—that it’s been go go go since graduating high school ten years ago. But I can’t stop. Hell, even if I tried, Ell and O would refuse to let me.

“Hey.” Elliot reaches across the table and squeezes my arm, moving his hand away a second later. He knows I can’t handle a lot of touch right now. “We’ll be okay. We’re getting closer.”

Oliver comes back just as Wren steps from behind the counter with a washcloth and a spray bottle. A few people have left, and she clears any trash they left behind and wipes down the tables quickly. When she does the one next to ours, I become hyper aware of my breathing.

Of the distance between us.

Of the little tune she’s humming.

Of the way Oliver is trying so hard not to stare at her.

When Wren is done with the table, she looks like she’s gonna head back behind the counter, but then she hesitantly turns around to face us. “How, um, how are your drinks?”

“Really good,” Elliot says. “Where do you get your beans from?”

“Oh, a couple local places roast them. The blend I gave you two this morning is my favorite.” She nods to me and Ell. “You seem like the types who’d enjoy it.”

Elliot raises a brow. “Do we, now? Thank you.”

“My cappuccino was delicious,” Oliver says. “Actually, it tasted better today than last week. Not that last week’s was bad by any means.”

Wren beams. “I put a little extra sugar in it this time.”

With a laugh, Elliot says, “No wonder he liked it more. His sweet tooth will be the death of him.”

“It goes along with my personality,” Oliver replies, his eyes sparkling. “I’m Oliver, by the way. And this is Elliot, and this is Rhett.”

A knot forms in my stomach. They all talk so easily with each other. Sure, Ell has his awkward moments on occasion—and it seems like Wren does, too—but they’re both still managing. And Oliver? He’s always gotten along fine. Striking up a conversation with a stranger is like child’s play for him.

But me? Here I am, too stiff and too quiet, my tongue frozen in my mouth. Oliver is charming and Elliot oozes confidence. And I… well, I’ve been told I’m intimidating and look like I want to kill someone enough times to know that I’m not the reason Wren is over here.

And that’s fine by me.

Except that when new customers file in and she has to get back to the counter, she takes an extra second and looks directly at me. When our eyes meet, she hesitates, but then she finally manages, “Did you… did you like your coffee?”

I manage a small smile—one I’m worried might look patronizing, but it’s the best I can manage. “It was perfect.”

And with that she’s gone, leaving behind a hint of a floral scent that almost has me leaning into the walkway to get another whiff. Instead, I run my fingers over the table, focusing on the grooves in the wood until they’re all I’m thinking about. I do it until it’s time to leave and Oliver waves goodbye at Wren. To my relief, she waves back, and Oliver leaves with his steps lighter than they were when he came in.

For the next week, Wren is on my mind much more than I thought she would be. Possibly much more than she should be. It feels weird to be thinking about someone other than Ell and O this much. She’s beautiful—unnervingly so—and apparently, my mind has decided not to let me forget it.

Maybe… maybe Oliver isn’t the only one who needs a little hope.