But reality had come crashing down on her the following Monday. Brad wanted to act like their breakup hadn’t happened, that it was more of a pause than a full-stop split. When she didn’t immediately fall into his arms, he’d had the audacity to seem confused. She’d texted Margot. Can you believe it? What should I tell him?
Olivia had expected Margot to tell her that Brad could go fuck himself. That he was delusional. She’d wanted Margot to tell her Brad couldn’t have her.
Don’t worry about me saying anything to anyone. What happens on spring break, stays on spring break, right? ? Margot had texted instead.
After that, they didn’t talk about it, what happened between them that week, but Margot always had an excuse when Olivia asked to hang out, usually that she was too busy studying for finals. Brad hadn’t let up, blowing up Olivia’s phone with a constant barrage of texts, begging her to take him back. Two weeks later, she did, and a week after that, she received a letter from the financial aid department at UW notifying her that her scholarship application had been rejected. Graduation came and went, Margot moved to Seattle, and the rest was history.
In the end, it was Olivia’s fault for assuming their week together had meant something. Regardless, Margot was right. That was then and this was now, and rehashing old hurts wouldn’t help. It would only make her feel sorrier for herself. “Right. You’re totally right. We should leave the past in the past. Let sleeping dogs lie.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and laughed. “We had sex. Big deal.”
As soon the words were out, Olivia cringed, heat wrapping around her neck and spreading up her jaw. Okay, so maybe there was such a thing as being too candid. At least she hadn’t tacked on the bit about it being the best sex of her life, true as it would’ve been.
“No big.” A muscle in Margot’s jaw ticked when she smiled. “Trust me.”
Olivia’s whole body burned. Okay, ouch. “Right.”
Margot lifted her beer by the neck and tipped it back, draining it in one swallow. She stood, perfectly steady, and stretched, her pants riding indecently low, and Olivia was treated to another hint of that ink creeping up Margot’s hip. She backed up a step before turning and heading in the direction of the kitchen. The sound of rummaging and then a drawer sliding shut followed. Margot returned, brandishing two shiny keys. She set them on the coffee table, side by side. “Silver one’s for the door to the building, and the brass key is for the apartment.”
Olivia reached forward and ran her finger along the teeth of the closest key. Something about having her own key made this real. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Margot tucked her thumbs in her pockets and cast a sweeping glance around the apartment. “I’m going to head to bed, but we should find a time and . . . I don’t know, talk about . . . Jesus, I don’t know. Logistics.”
Right. Logistics. If they couldn’t keep this strictly professional, it would at least be best to refrain from bringing their past into play. To limit their interactions to their shared interests—Brendon and Annie’s wedding—and communal space. Boundaries. No more bringing up their week together, Olivia’s feelings. Keep it polite and distant.
Distance was absolutely paramount.
Olivia bobbed her head. “Sounds good. Tomorrow?”
Margot nodded. “Sure. I’ve got a meeting in the afternoon, but I should be back in the early evening.” She cast a glance in the direction of the kitchen. “Feel free to raid the fridge, if you want. We—Elle and me, and Annie, too—were pretty easygoing about sharing food and splitting the grocery bill, but if you have a problem with that . . .”
“No.” She shook her head. “All good with me.”
Margot cracked her knuckles. “The shower’s kind of finicky. You have to pull the knob before you turn the water on if you want to take a shower. If you try to do it the other way around, the knob sticks.”
“Good to know, thanks.”
All she wanted right now was to fall face-first into bed. She’d only gotten a brief look at her room, but the mattress was a clear step up from the pullout she’d been ruining her back on for the last eight months. Her old apartment, while nearer to ECE’s office, offered little in terms of space. Her living room tripled as a bedroom and personal office. Margot’s apartment—hers now, too—was downright roomy by comparison.
“Tomorrow, then.” Margot backed slowly toward the hall.