After knocking on a few doors, and avoiding another few altogether, I finally find one that’s empty. I pull out my phone, texting her to open the third door to her right, and hear it creak open a few moments later.
I feel my pulse beat erratically, still pinching myself that this is real. That we are a we, that she is looking at me like I mean something to her, that I get to sneak away with her. She makes her way to me, her mile long legs bare despite the chill outside, pushing her mask up and back so that I can clearly make out the way her eyes squint at me mischievously. She twines her arms around my neck, tilting her head up to look at me, and I kiss her, relief washing over me as my mouth collides with hers.
“You know I’m not having sex with you at a frat party,” she says against my mouth, but I feel her smile against my lips.
“I wouldn’t dream of asking you to,” I smirk, shaking my head as I only slightly pull away. “I just couldn’t see you tonight and not do this.” My hands cradle the delicate sides of her face as my lips descend, kissing her softly, backing her against the wall. I feel her arms tighten around my neck, the space between us becoming nonexistent, the two of us getting lost in the give and take of our kiss. And I lose track of time, the way I have every time I’ve kissed this girl, when she pulls away with a resigned moan.
“If only I had lower standards.” She looks up at me through her lashes, her mouth lush and pouty as she juts out her lower lip, a smile in her eyes.
“If only we weren’t at this party,” I counter, smoothing her hair back from her face, admiring the way her eyes glitter with playful condescension. She hums in response, a wistful smile on her face, and I raise my brows, silently asking her to leave with me.
“It’s not even midnight, Ben! Nothing worth reporting will happen until atleast1 am.”
“No, you’re right.” I run a hand through my hair, considering my next words wisely. “I guess I could be your second set of eyes and ears until 3 am the latest…”
“You don’t have to wait for me if you don’t want to,” she says, furrowing her brow.
“There isn’t a world where I wouldn’t want to wait for you, Liv. Least of all this one.” I hold her gaze, waiting for her to decide that what I’ve said is too much, too soon, but she presses her lips together, stifling a smile.
“I guess we should begin our nightly watch then, Cabot.” She takes my hand and leads me out, and it isn’t until I see Grant walk out of a room that either of us notice. We drop our contact, the loss of her warmth making me question everything about our secrecy in a split second, but not before Grant’s brows raise in suspicion.
“And what the fuck are you two doing up here?” He doesn’t seem shocked, only somewhat antsy. There’s only one reason why anyone comes up here, and Grant knows that. But so do I.
“I could ask you the same question,” I reply, realizing his tone has less to do about Olivia and I and more about whatever he’s up to. I hear a small gasp from Olivia and follow her gaze, only seeing a head of dark waves disappear behind the curve of the staircase. Grant’s gaze narrows on Olivia, unspoken words passing between them. Her eyes go wide just as he grinds his jaw. “If someone could clue me in, that would be great.”
“Not a word, Beckett. She doesn’t want anyone to know.” The defeat in Grant’s face is heartbreaking, even with the little context I have, but I make a mental note to ask Olivia about it later. “I think we’re all entitled to oursecrets.” He emphasizes ‘secrets,’ the special attention he’s paying me making me believe he’s not just referring to Olivia and I, and I wonder how much he knows.
Olivia gives him a sympathetic nod before pushing past us and making her way downstairs, disappearing into the crowd, and I linger behind so as not to draw attention.
“Well, that was quick,” he throws at me, and I swear I hear judgment in his tone.
“I don’t know what your problem is, bro.” I can understand him feeling hurt that maybe I didn’t tell him about this, but he knew how unhappy Will and Olivia were.
He shakes his head as if to shake off his disdain, his expression softening. “There’s no problem. I’m happy for you, man. Just a little jealous how quickly shit worked out for you.”
“I don’t know if I’d call two years quick,” I huff out a laugh, reminded of how long I’ve wanted this. Wanted her.
“Two years?” he repeats in wonder staring in the direction Olivia and his mystery woman escaped toward. “Nothing worth having comes easy, I guess.”
“No, Grant. Not even close.” I didn’t know Olivia when I started to fall in love with her, but I didn’t need to. I saw her and something in me identified with something in her and I just knew. ButknowingOlivia, and being allowed behind the fortress she lets so few behind, is an entirely different experience all together. I would do the past two years over again, exactly as they happened, if it meant I would still get this chance with her.
I pat his back as I make my way down the stairs, committed to serving Olivia all the salacious gossip she needs once we discreetly leave in a few hours, and anything else she asks for.
24
Olivia
“I can’t believe you’ve never been,” Ben repeats himself, unable to comprehend that I haven’t been to a particularmuseum. Of all the things I’ve learned about Ben over the past few weeks, his appreciation for fine art has been the most enlightening.
“Ihavebeen… but on like a class trip in the sixth grade. Pretty sure Lily and I snuck away as soon as we could to try the menthol slims she stole from her grandma.” I smile to myself at the memory, in awe that we were so bold at twelve years old. I feel his eyes go wide, his shock real.
“Okay, Beckett,” he laughs, shaking his head as he turns into the parking lot.
“I know. We were quite the delinquents,” I shrug, mocking the rebellious intentions of my younger self. “Our fixation only lasted a few weeks. The aftertaste was nauseating. When did you have your first cigarette?” I turn in my seat as Ben makes another loop around the lot.
“I’ve never had one.” He says this like it’s obvious, like in no universe would he have ever been tempted to try a cigarette, and I think I must have misunderstood him.
“No, not like a menthol, but any cigarette.” He’s shaking his head, confirming my initial conclusion. “Wow, okay. Did you nothave friends…?” His laugh is lighthearted, my sarcastic jab at his social life not at all misunderstood, and I think about how nice it is to be able to do this.
