Love You Better (Better Love 1)

“Not much. Just doing the weekend grocery shopping.” She sidles up next to me with a smile and lifts her grocery basket. “You?”

I give the pasta box a little shake. “Grabbing stuff for dinner tonight. I’m making chicken carbonara.”

“Nice. Are you cooking for Ivy?”

I’m caught off guard by how casually she asks about Ivy, but what’s really confusing is the genuine smile she’s sporting. Something on my face must betray my skepticism because Cassie continues, “I had a great time meeting her last night. I like her a lot. I can see why you do, too.”

“We’ve been friends forever.” I lift my shoulder and give her a hesitant smile, but Cassie laughs.

“Right,” she says with a teasing eye roll. “Friends. Look, Kelley. I like you. I think you know that. But I don’t want things to be awkward. I thought at first that maybe if I got you out, I could show you how much fun we could have together.” She shrugs and twists her mouth up into an embarrassed grin. “But I know better now. I saw how you and Ivy are together. I get it.”

I stare at her for a moment, replaying her words over in my head.

“How we are together?” I question, and she widens her eyes and nods.

“Yeah, together. What you feel? It’s not one-sided. I saw that last night. You two are hot for each other and I’m not risking third-degree burns by getting in the middle of it.”

Cassie snickers at her own joke, and I blow out a relieved breath. I’m probably a coward for admitting it, but I was hoping to avoid any sort of conversation like this with Cassie. The fact that she’s the one that initiated it and she’s being so cool about it all is a huge worry off my shoulders.

“Thanks, Cassie.”

“Anytime, friend.” Her smile is genuine and she adds, “see you Monday,” before walking off to finish her shopping.

I make quick work at the store, filling my basket and checking out in record time. I’m so jittery the whole time I’m making dinner, checking the stove clock and my phone every few minutes, that I almost burn the fucking fettuccini.

Says a lot about the kind of mess I am, fucking almost burning pasta noodles.

When my front door finally opens a few hours later, I can’t help the immediate relief. My muscles sag with it. I’d been restless and anxious all day, with each minute closer to 6 p.m. increasing the tension in my body.

I honestly wasn’t sure if she’d show tonight.

“Hi,” she says brightly and waves as she kicks her shoes off at the door, and of course, she looks beautiful. She must have stopped off at her house and changed out of her internship clothes, because she’s wearing a pair of grey leggings and a BU hoodie. The sweatshirt is not one of mine this time and I stifle the niggling disappointment. “It smells amazing in here, Kell. Is that chicken carbonara?”

“It definitely is.” My chest swells with pride and I eat up her praise, and for once, I don’t feel the need to check myself. Is it pathetic? Am I a fucking idiot? After last night, I’m pretty sure the answer to both is no.

I pour her a glass of wine as she sits at the breakfast bar. I keep my eyes on her, trying to covertly assess what’s going on in her head. For all intents and purposes, she’s acting...well, surprisingly normal. I’m not sure if I should be worried. I wouldn’t put it past Ivy to ignore everything that happened last night until she could process it.

“How were internship hours?”

“Busy. We’ve got this estate case that is pretty challenging, but I’m learning a lot. Plus, I love your mom and Amelia, so it’s great.”

Ivy takes a sip of her wine and watches me as I plate up the food. It seems as though she’s in full-on denial mode. I want to give her the space and time she needs, but I also don’t know how well I can mask my feelings. At some point tonight, I’m going to have to bite the damn bullet and have th

e “so, like, um, where do we stand?” talk.

Fuck.

After dinner, we settle onto the couch for a movie, but I haven’t been able to pay attention to anything happening on the screen. Some light and fluffy romcom about friends who hook up and then act like they didn’t.

The fucking irony is not lost on me.

At first, I thought Ivy was just going to pretend like everything between us is just as it’s always been. I mean, even the way we’re sitting on the couch, with her legs pulled to her chest and her body curled into my side, is normal. All friendly comfort and zero sexual tension—from her, anyway. But as soon as the actors on screen kissed, her body language shifted. The changes were subtle, but I am always so fucking tuned into her that I swear I could even sense when she blinked if I tried. Her muscles tightened, her spine straightened, and her breathing grew shallow.

Now, instead of watching the movie, I’ve been watching her watch the movie.

With every touch and kiss and romantic encounter on screen, Ivy’s reactions grow more obvious, to the point where I know she’s uncomfortable. Her back is rigid against my side, her hands are fisted together in her lap, and she’s spent more time holding her breath than she has actually breathing. I can’t see her eyes, but I am willing to bet she’s been squeezing them shut. She’s probably freaking the fuck out right now, cursing herself for clicking the top suggested movie without reading the description or watching the trailer first. She’s definitely regretting our kiss, and this movie is making it impossible for her to ignore it.

Fuck, I feel like such an asshole.