The look she gave me told me she knew I was lying, but she dutifully agreed to do what I asked. “Okay. I’m going down. Text me if you change your mind.”
“I will. Can you shut the door on your way out? Thanks.”
When she was gone, I crossed my feet at the ankles and closed my eyes. I’m not sure how long I lay there before I heard a knock.
Assuming it was Frannie, I didn’t even open my eyes. “Come in.”
The door creaked opened and shut. “Hey.”
That was definitely not Frannie’s voice. My eyes flew open and I sat up. Leaning back against the bedroom door was Oliver.
He looked good. My heart started to pound, traitorous thing. “What are you doing up here?”
“Looking for you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Haven’t seen you in a while. Your mom said to come find you.”
Of course it hadn’t been his idea to seek me out. I studied him for a moment, annoyed that he’d gotten even more handsome as he’d matured. That chiseled Pemberton jaw. The bronzed skin. The dark hair dusted with gold from the sun. Even from ten feet away, I could see how thick his lashes were, how perfectly they framed his bright blue eyes. Something stirred inside me.
No.
I lay back again and shut my eyes. He didn’t give a shit about me. “Well, I don’t want to be found. I don’t even want to be here.”
“I don’t either.” He paused. “You still mad at me?”
“Yes. So go away.”
“Can’t we talk about it?”
For a moment I was going to refuse to say anything more to him, but then I changed my mind. “Why? So you can insult me again?”
“What do you mean?”
“You were a real dick to me last time we talked.”
“At the Christmas party?”
“Yes, at the Christmas party,” I parroted.
“Chloe, that was like three years ago.”
I opened my eyes and gave him a look I hoped would scorch his eyeballs.
“I said I was sorry. Didn’t you get my texts?”
“Yes. I deleted them.”
“Why?”
“Because you fucking hurt my feelings, Oliver.” I paused, wanting to ask a question and yet dreading the answer. In the end, I couldn’t resist. “Did you mean those things you said?”
“No.”
“Then why’d you say them?”
“I don’t know.” He paused. “I think I was pissed you had a boyfriend.”
“Why?”
“Because I was hoping you’d want to have sex with me again.”
Wait … what? I sat up and looked at him. “You were?”
He shrugged. “Yes. So he was pretty inconvenient.”
“I didn’t think you cared.”
“I didn’t think you cared. Plus, he looked stupid.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “You think all my boyfriends look stupid.”
“That’s because you have terrible taste in guys.”
I frowned. “Didn’t you come here to apologize? Because if you’re hoping I’ll finally accept, you might not want to insult me.”
“Sorry. Will you accept?”
Exhaling, I lay down again. “I guess. Especially if you bring me a drink.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t care. Something strong.”
“Say no more.”
I heard the door open and close again, and when I peeked, I was alone in the room. For a second, I thought about locking him out—it would serve him right—but a drink sounded good, and I felt a little better knowing that he hadn’t meant the cruel things he’d said at the party. He’d been jealous was all.
Jealous!
That must mean that he had enjoyed himself that night in his dorm. What a liar. Why couldn’t he have just been honest with me? It was always games with him. That was exactly the reason I’d forced myself not to reach out after that night in his dorm room, no matter how often I thought of him or wondered if he ever thought of me.
A few minutes later, he knocked again. Figuring he was carrying two drinks, I got up and opened the door.
“Thanks,” he said, entering the room with two old fashioned glasses full of amber liquid. “Hope you like good scotch. I raided Soapy’s best stuff.”
“I might. I’ve never tried it.”
“You’re missing out. Here, take a sip. If you don’t like it, I’ll get you something else.” He handed me one of the glasses.
I took it from him and sniffed. “Whoa. Smells strong.”
“Taste it.”
I wet my lips with the potent stuff and licked them. Considered. “I like it. Might take a little getting used to, but it’s interesting. Kind of … smoky.”
“I want to visit this distillery when I go to Scotland.”
“You’re going to Scotland?” I sat down on the bed again, and he sat across from me, on Frannie’s bed.
“Well, I’m going to Europe with some friends for a couple months. We’re going to backpack all around, but Scotland is definitely on my list. I’m really interested in the distilleries.”
“Cool. When do you leave?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
I nodded. Sipped again. “I hear you’re heading to Boston for grad school?”
“Yeah. Tufts.” He took a big swallow. “Not Harvard or anything.”
“So what? Tufts is a great school. You should be proud.”
“Tell that to Hughie. I swear to God, he thinks he shits gold just because he went to Harvard. I can’t even listen to him talk. Or my parents, either. I mean, maybe I don’t want to follow in my brother’s footsteps, and my dad’s footsteps, and my grandfather’s footsteps. Did they ever think of that? Maybe it has nothing to do with getting into Harvard. Maybe I want to make my own path.”
“Did you get into Harvard?”
“No,” he admitted with a scowl. “But I wouldn’t have gone there anyway.”
Unsure how to respond, I tasted the scotch again. I liked the way the flavors in the scotch didn’t come out right away—you had to let it linger on your tongue a little bit to discover them. I decided to change the subject. “Are you excited about your trip?”
“Yeah. I gotta get the fuck out of here.” He took another drink. “What about you? What are you doing in the fall?”
“Heading for Chicago. I got a job with a marketing firm there, and I’m going to take some graduate classes too.”
“Cool. I love Chicago.”
“Then you’ll have to come visit me,” I told him, and I was surprised to find myself hoping he really would.
He smiled. “Maybe I will.”
We talked for a while. It was nice to hang out again, just the two of us. He told me about the death of his grandfather, and how hard that had been on him because they’d been so close. “He didn’t care that I hadn’t gone to Harvard. He always told me to do my own thing.”
I talked about feeling frustrated with my parents because they refused to believe that Cloverleigh’s brand needed a serious overhaul, with a new website, more advertising, and a presence on social media. “They don’t take me seriously at all,” I complained. “They just want to keep doing things the way they’ve always done them, and it’s a huge mistake.”