Margot’s breathing slowed, and she lifted her head, her eyes opening a fraction. “Hi.”
Olivia smiled, heart floating up like a helium balloon, rising into her throat. “Hey.”
Margot rose up onto her hands and flipped over, staring up at the ceiling. A ghost of a smile graced her lips. “That was . . .” Her brows rose. “Wow.”
“Wow,” Olivia echoed in agreement, laughing softly. Sweat began to cool on her skin and she sat forward, looking for a blanket, a sheet, something to cover up with.
On the other side of the bed, Margot stood and stretched, arms rising over her head, back popping. She bent down and swiped her sweater off the floor, slipping it over her head, flipping the ends of her hair free from the collar.
Olivia frowned. Margot didn’t so much as look her way once as she gathered the rest of her clothing off the floor. She slipped her underwear up her legs and tossed her jeans into the laundry basket beside her closet before crossing her arms, wobbling as she scratched the back of her calf with her opposite foot, still avoiding Olivia’s eyes.
“So.” Margot cleared her throat. “This was fun.”
Olivia nodded. “Yeah.”
“We should, um, do it again sometime.” Margot gave a sharp, decisive nod, her eyes flickering over to Olivia’s before she looked away. “If you want.”
Olivia held her breath, waiting for her to say something else. Something . . . more. Anything, really. Proof that this meant as much to Margot as it did to her. That it wasn’t just scratching an itch, sating the absurd sexual tension that had simmered between them since she’d moved in.
Silence stretched between them and the back of her throat ached.
God, Olivia was so stupid. Getting her hopes up . . . over what? Sex? She should’ve learned her lesson the first time. That sex didn’t mean everything, didn’t necessarily mean anything. Eleven years later and she was none the wiser, repeating history.
Margot didn’t want her, not all of her. And Olivia couldn’t even be angry. Margot hadn’t promised her anything. Olivia had just assumed. And she couldn’t say anything. Margot was her roommate, they lived together, and Olivia was planning her best friend’s wedding. All complications that should’ve kept her out of Margot’s bed, but Olivia had wanted her so desperately she’d thrown herself at Margot, thinking—
Wrong. She’d thought wrong, and now she had to suck it up.
She needed this wedding to pan out. She needed this apartment. She—God . . . she wanted Margot.
She knew what it was like, not having Margot in her life. She’d lived that and—she didn’t want to go back, didn’t want to go through that again. Olivia refused to erase the progress they’d made, sacrifice their friendship all because what? Because she couldn’t have everything she wanted?
Everything she wanted. Olivia swallowed hard. Now that was a fairy tale. No one ever got everything they wanted, certainly not her, at least not in her experience.
She couldn’t have everything, but maybe she could still have this. Margot as a friend, maybe something more, and maybe one day—
No, Olivia wouldn’t indulge that desire. If she let it blossom, bloom, she’d get her hopes up and . . . this was good. This could be enough. She could be happy.
Something with Margot would always be better than nothing.
Chapter Eleven
Elle （9:57 p.m.）： MARGOT
Elle （9:58 p.m.）： !!!!
Elle （9:58 p.m.）： ??????
Margot （9:59 p.m.）： Are you okay?!
Elle （10:00 p.m.）： <image attachment>
Oh.
Oh, wow.
Margot’s breath caught as stared at a slightly blurry selfie of Elle and Darcy beaming at the camera. In it, Elle had her hand held up in front of her, displaying a dazzling round-cut diamond that gleamed brightly from her ring finger.
Margot’s phone rang, and she took a deep breath, smiling when she answered because she’d read somewhere that people could pick up on that sort of thing in your voice. “Hey—”
A piercing screech made Margot wince and tug the phone away from her ear.
“Did you see? Did you see it?” Elle demanded. “Margot! I’m engaged!”
A genuine laugh escaped her. “I saw it, Elle. Congratulations!”
Elle let loose a softer, slightly more subdued but equally as joyful squeal. “Darcy took me up to the observatory and it was—God, Mar. It was perfect. And this ring! Oh sweet Saturn. Darcy said she wanted to get me my birthstone, but apparently amethyst isn’t very durable. Something abouts a Mohs’ scale? I don’t even know. But then she found this! The halo’s shaped like a star, and get this—the band is inlaid with actual meteorite. From fucking space.”