Huh, I hate fantasy books, except for the Potter books. It surprises me Rourke would like fantasy. I’d have thought he would be into the thrillers, mysteries. I want to know more, except I’m afraid I’ve already spent dinner staring at him.
So when he gives in to watching an episode with us, I make sure to sit where I can’t stare at him. Although I do feel his eyes on me often.
***
Rourke
The moment I walk through the front door my eyes find Olivia. She’s wearing an old worn black T-shirt and black leggings, looking young and vulnerable. Her long brown hair is in a messy bun with tendrils of hair caressing her face. Four days, it’s been four days since I saw her. I tried famine, now my body is in feast mode. I know there are women more beautiful than her, but to me she is simply stunning in her careless elegance. My eyes trace her face; she couldn’t possibly be more beautiful than I made her up in my mind, yet standing close to her, she is so much more. Tomorrow I’ll come to my senses, but right now all of my senses are filled with her, and it’s breathlessly intoxicating.
This time it’s worse than those days before the dinner. Before then, one lone day, only a few hours with her were all I knew. I told myself then it was an aberration spending time with her over dinner, hearing her laugh, seeing the way her eyes glittered when she was happy or mad, the nervous way she had of running her hand through her hair, how she chewed on her lower lip. My hunger for her has only grown for more of all of her. There was no aberration; there was only Olivia.
I play at being forced into watching the show only my eyes aren’t on the television, they are on Olivia. When the episode is over she looks to me with a smile. “See, isn’t it still a good show?”
“I don’t know if I could say it with a straight face. I’ll only be able to say it isn’t bad.”
She rolls her eyes as she smiles. “Because admitting you’re wrong would just be so much more than you would be willing to do.”
“I’m more than willing to admit I’m wrong. If it should happen. I’m willing to accept not only my limitations but the limitations of others around me, even if they are not.”
“What a relief. Then again, when someone has so many faults themselves it’s easier to see and sympathize with others.”
Cheryl laughs. “You two be nice. I think I’m ready to turn in for the night.”
At the idea of being alone with Olivia, I make a quick exit with a lame excuse and a quick kiss on my mother’s cheek. I don’t trust myself around her as it is. Without my mother in the room I’m not willing to test my resolve.
***
Olivia
The door closes before I even have time to take in his words. Cheryl and I are left staring at each other in surprise. She doesn’t say anything though, just smiles at me as she gets up to go to bed. I’m left alone, feeling confused. He’d gotten the heck out at the idea of being alone with me. Something to remember, even as I couldn’t stop thinking of
feeling his eyes on me while he was supposed to be watching the show. I’m so damned confused right now. Damn it. What the hell is the matter with me? Why the hell are my breasts so swollen and achy? From far away I hear Cheryl’s door close. It’s time for a swim.
8
Olivia
Over the next week Rourke came by for dinner twice, but both times he was cold, his smiles never reaching his eyes. His words were cutting, his tone lifeless when he talked to me, if he talked to me at all. I might as well have not been there. Cheryl at first teased him, then went quiet as she looked from me to Rourke. Yet when she saw I was just as confused she stopped her teasing.
Which is a part of the reason why when Cheryl told me he’s on his way over for dinner—well, when she asked me what I want Rourke to pick me up for dinner—I lied to her about having to go over to my brother’s place. Now I’m frantically trying to stuff my fat ass into jeans and pushing my feet into flats. I need to be gone before he gets here.
With a wave goodbye, I’m out the door within five minutes of her saying Rourke’s name. Nope, I’m not sticking around to make a fool of myself. Not after how my stupid, stupid heart started beating two times faster and felt like it was trying to escape from my chest at the idea of seeing him again. Even though he’s gone ice cold toward me. This whole gaga over Rourke thing has to stop; I have to get a grip. There is no one better at helping me get out of the clouds and hit the ground with a thud than my brother, Gabe.
It’s a little after seven so he won’t have eaten dinner. I stop to pick us up a rotisserie chicken since he loves those things, some French bread that he won’t eat, and fried okra which he will eat, bitching at me the whole time for getting it.
His lights on the outside of the building are off. I call him as I pull outside the garage entrance. There’s the front where customers come in with a register and office, then there are four bays for cars. Gabe can do cars, it’s what the shop was first opened to repair, but it’s evolved to almost all motorcycles and only a handful of cars. He opens the heavy metal door to the garage with a nod. Then he sees the food I’m carrying. He hugs me with his arm around my neck, giving me a kiss on the top of my head.
“What’s the matter, little Liv?”
“Why does something have to be the matter for me to want to spend some time with my big brother?” I avoid his sharp, bittersweet chocolate brown eyes, so like my mom’s they always bring a twinge of pain when I see them.
He slaps my ass hard as I walk in front of him to go upstairs to his apartment. “Avoiding the question is the same thing as lying.”
“Asshole,” I mutter as I practically run up the stairs to get away from him. It doesn’t work, he’s six three and could take the stairs three at a time if he wanted to. He’s still muscle bound from his time in the Army, he was a paratrooper. He loved jumping out of planes until one time he jumped, and his parachute didn’t open. One of his team managed to soften his landing somewhat, but he still broke about a dozen bones. That was six years ago, and he decided to leave then rather than get shipped home in a body bag like our dad. “I’m too damn old for you to spank me. Stop it, jerk face.”
“You’re never too old for a spanking. I would love for you to come over more and bring dinner while you’re at it, and you know it. It’s not my fault you only do it when you need to talk to someone who won’t just tell you what you want to hear.”
I roll my eyes as I go into his kitchen, the space is one large, open room. The kitchen is industrial with butcher block countertops and everything else stainless steel. There is a massive island separating the kitchen with barstools, the only real place to eat. A television is the focal point of the living area, while a large leather couch in the shape of an L sits in the middle of the huge space. I helped him pick out some large closets to break up the space and have a way of blocking off the bedroom. His bathroom runs the length of the other side of the room, and is the only real room closed off from sight. “Well, excuse me for not wanting to interrupt you and some chick going at it in the garage.”