Love You Better (Better Love 1)

“Oh my gosh, Kelley. No. No phallic stick jokes.” I bark out a laugh at her exasperation.

“No worries, Ives. I haven’t forgotten. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ivy leans over th

e center console to give me a hug, and I hold my breath. For some reason, I’m overcome with a deep sense of loss, and I know that even smelling her fruity shampoo mixed with that douchey body spray is likely to push me over the edge. But even with my eyes clamped shut, I feel the unavoidable warmth and crackle of electricity I get every time we touch. I tighten my arms around her because, apparently, I’m a glutton for fucking punishment, and the pain in my chest sharpens.

She lets me hold her, and I feel her fingers twist in my t-shirt, the caress on my back shooting small sparks of heat over my skin. She turns her head slightly, and I feel her breath skirting over my collarbone, feel her loose hair stick a little to the scruff on my jaw. When my heartbeat starts to thunder, I mentally reproach myself for any sneaking hope that this is more than just a hug between friends.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and she’s so close that I can feel her lips moving. I swallow.

“Anytime.”

I turn to press a kiss on her head at the same time Ivy tilts her chin up to kiss my cheek. When her lips land on the corner of my mouth, I can’t breathe, and she breaks away quickly. She says goodbye without making eye contact, and all I can do is nod as she hops out and jogs toward her apartment building. When I finally inhale, my chest burns.

I sit in my Jeep and watch her, waiting for her to get in the door before I drive off, and I’m consumed with a familiar sadness.

She’s unaffected, completely and totally fine, and I’m anything but.

Ivy Rivenbark is my power source. She is my light and my energy and my everything, but she will never be mine.

Not like that.

And as I put my car in drive and head back to my place, I tell myself again that I’m content with my BFF status and platonic Saturday movie nights.

* * *

I’m finishing up dinner for Ivy and me, and the oven timer goes off just as I hear the knob turn on the front door. Right on time.

“Honey! I’m home!” Ivy calls sweetly from the doorway. “Gosh, it smells divine.” Her voice floats into the kitchen, and I can tell just from the cadence that she’s exhausted. Work probably kicked her ass today. I’m sure the moment the clock strikes eleven, she’ll be down for the count. As usual.

I hear the jangle of her keys as she hangs them on the hook next to the door and then the shuffle of her feet as she kicks off her heels. I turn my back to the doorway, intentionally busying myself with the pizza, so I don’t see her enter the kitchen.

Instead, I try to imagine what she’s wearing today. A crisp, modest button down, the blue one that matches her eyes, just fitted enough to hint at the delicious curves underneath. Black dress slacks that cling to the flare of her hips, bare feet since her sexy heels have been discarded by the door.

In my mind, her hair is up in a bun, strands framing her face from where they’ve fallen loose thanks to a day of resting her cheek in her palm. Her glasses will be perched on top of her head, her eyes will be soft with fatigue from poring over files all day, and her plump lips will be pulled into that gentle side smile that does fucked-up things to my stomach.

“Kell, did you make pizza? It smells amazing.” I listen as she walks into the kitchen and drops her bag on to the counter. “When did you get here?”

“About an hour ago,” I reply, my back still to her. “Bailey wasn’t here, so I used my key.”

I slide the pizza from the oven to the stove top, put the oven mitt back in the drawer, take a deep breath, and then turn to face her. She’s leaning against the kitchen island, eyes downcast as she scrolls through her phone.

I run my gaze over her, taking inventory from toe to head. Bare feet, check. But that was an easy one since I heard her take her shoes off by the door. Black dress slacks, check. Fitted button down, check, but I lose points on this one. She’s wearing a gray shirt, and I had guessed blue. Wishful thinking.

I got the hair and glasses right, though, right down to the errant tendrils framing her face. That just leaves...

“How was your day?” I ask, willing her eyes to meet mine.

Slowly, her gaze lifts from her phone and locks on my face, and there it is.

Soft eyelids, lined with red from staring at papers all day, making her gorgeous irises shine an impossible blue. Ivy is exhausted. But even dead on her feet, she’s a fucking goddess.

“It was good,” she says on a long exhale. “A lot, but good.”

“What’s the old battleax got you doing now?”

“Kelley!” She laughs, her tired eyes lighting up in the exact way I was hoping. “Don’t talk about your mom that way. You know I adore her.”