I tried not to grit my teeth as I asked, “Are you sure—”
“Thanks for dinner, Colin,” she said while not even looking back at me. She was all forward motion as she hit the entryway and exited the apartment, the door slamming hard behind her.
“I have to go potty,” the older kid said, and Olivia replied while glaring at me, “Okay, make sure you wash your hands.”
She picked up the little one and continued looking at me like I smelled bad.
“What?”
She tilted her head. “Aren’t you going to go after her?”
“Why would I?”
“Why would you?” She said it like I was a moron. “Um, because she was your date and you kind of acted like an A-hole . . . ?”
“First of all, no I didn’t. I was an A-hole to you, not her.”
She snorted. “Over an ugly bottle of booze.”
“Over a ceremonial bottle you had no business opening.”
She gestured for me to hurry to the point. “And second of all?”
“Second of all, it wasn’t going to work out with her anyway.”
“How do you know that? Harper seemed great.”
“I just know.”
“Oh, that’s right. Colin with the robot brain knows all.”
“I might have a robot brain, but that’s a hell of a lot better than being an irresponsible, free-spirited freeloader.” I wanted to add who talks to strange men, but I wasn’t supposed to know that. It’d been driving me crazy all day, though, thinking about some creep following her around town.
Her nostrils flared and she tucked her hair behind her ears with a violent jerk. “Free-spirited freeloader. That’s . . . really nice, Colin.”
Just then there was a knock at the door, and the moment was swallowed up by Will and his wife, thank God. The boys ran to the entryway and seemed thrilled to see their parents, though three minutes later they were crying and hugging Olivia and begging their parents to not take them home.
I talked to Will for a second, but then I did the smart thing and disappeared into my room.
Olivia
“Olivia?”
I heard him through the door—that ass weasel—and his voice was quiet like he didn’t want to wake me if I’d already fallen asleep. I kind of wanted to ignore him, but the masochist in me was curious as to what else he could possibly have to say.
“You may enter.”
The door slowly opened and he looked down at me. His face was still serious, but I imagined every fiber of his being wanted to mock me.
Because I knew I looked ridiculous.
I was sitting on the air mattress, my back against the wall with my legs stretched out in front of me, cradling the enormous vat of pretzels that I’d stolen from Jack like someone was going to steal them from me.
“Listen, Liv—”
“Nope.” I shook my head and pointed at him, gesturing toward his torso. “Can’t do this. It feels like some kind of a patriarchal joke, you standing above me with your abs and pecs out like a Greek god while I subserviently gaze upon you from my spot on the floor raft like a peasant. Either sit down at my level, or we’ll talk in the morning.”
One eyebrow shot up. “Okay.”
He came over, disgustingly hot in his bare-chested state, and dropped down beside me on the air mattress with a force that nearly catapulted me across the room.
I hadn’t wanted to stare up at his Calvin Klein–clad package while he spoke to me, but I’d imagined him taking a seat on the chair by the desk, or perhaps on the floor directly across from me.
Taking the spot right next to me hadn’t entered my imaginings.
“Now.” I cleared my throat and didn’t look down at his leg that was touching my leg. I had no interest in chatting with the guy who’d managed to say out loud what I’d always known he thought, so I turned my face to him and gave him my own eyebrow raise. “Did you need something?”
“Yeah,” he said, “I want to apologize.”
“Spare me.”
“Just listen.” His jaw had the slightest hint of a shadow on it, and I hated that it looked good. He swallowed and said, “We always do our whole snarky banter thing, but I was a jerk and I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry, but we both know you meant it.” I looked down at the pretzels resting between my thighs and traced the lid with my finger.
He sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. “Part of it.”
I looked at him then, waiting to see if he was going to explain, and he looked at me. The way his head was leaned back made me notice his throat again—how could a throat be hot?—and that wildly distracting Adam’s apple. His blue eyes were all I could see when he said, “You tend to be a little . . . free-spirited sometimes, but I don’t think you’re a freeloader. And I’m totally impressed by this thing you’re doing with your life. You landed a great job already. You’re working out. Hell, you and your boyfriend just broke up and you’re—”