Was not expecting that.
“I’m sorry.”
Oliver shrugs. “It’s whatever.” He looks down at his Nike trainers, scuffing the toe of his left foot on the tiled floor.
He’s quiet for a moment until he suddenly straightens, squaring his shoulders with a resolve that wasn’t there a second ago.
“Don’t tell him I was here, okay?” Oliver waves over his shoulder. “I’ll just go.”
Bloody hell, damn my incessant need to take care of people. I can’t let the guy leave, not now, not with those sad fucking eyes.
I turn my body to the side, an opening between me and entry into Caiden’s flat. “Do you want to come in? Talk about it? Watch me eat the best butter chicken this side of the Thames?”
Oliver rubs the back of his neck, looks at his feet again, and then at me. Caiden once told me this guy bleeds confidence. Called him a self-assured asshole. I don’t see it. But then again, he just lost his father. That would dampen my spirit, too.
“I don’t want to talk about it. Not with you.” I can accept that – we don’t know each other and I know I’m not who he came here to see. “But I would like to come in,” Oliver adds before I have a chance to reply.
“Okay.” He takes a step forward, and I hold up a hand. “You’re not fucking me.” His eyes widen. “I know that’s the deal you had with Caiden, but I’m not him.” I wave a hand up and down my body, his eyes drinking in my bright pink joggers and tight white tee with a penguin on the front. “I’m far too cheerful and don’t wear nearly enough black to be him.” I also don’t do casual sex anymore, but he doesn’t need to know that.
Oliver nods. “Understood. No fucking. Got it.” There’s a shift in his features, a half smile that I imagine he’s used to pick up plenty of people in the past. “But for the record, you’re missing out.” He mimics my earlier gesture, waving a hand in front of his body. “I’m a really good time.”
And yeah, now I see it. The guy Caiden told me about.
“If you say so, puppy.” I eye him once more, then turn and walk further into the flat.
“Puppy?” he asks, following behind me.
“Yep. I think it suits you. Would you prefer something else?” I spin around so that I’m looking at him.
He bites his bottom lip, silent for a heartbeat, before he says, “No…um…no, puppy is good.”
I watch as he effortlessly kicks off his trainers, leaving them in the hallway before entering the kitchen and opening the fridge. He may be a stranger to me, but he’s definitely not to this apartment. He moves like he’s on autopilot. Like he’s done this many times before. And I guess he has.
I clear my throat loudly enough for him to hear.
He pauses, turning to face me. “Sorry. Old habits,” he says. “Don’t suppose you have anything strong to drink, do you, Thorne-Sutton?”
“It’s Darius, and no.” I shake my head. “Caiden left one can of soda and some lumpy milk. I don’t think he thought I’d stay longer than it takes to feed Ford.”
Oliver leans against the fridge, folding his arms over his chest.
“So why are you still here?”
“Old habits,” I say, repeating his earlier words.
He raises a sandy blond eyebrow. “You and Caiden…” He lets the words drift off, the question in them clear.
I chuckle. “No! Definitely not. One kiss was all it took for us to realise there was nothing more than friendship here.”
The reminder of the night Caiden and I met makes me smile. To this day, he says I hit on him, and I possibly did, but not because I was attracted to him. He was just there with sad eyes and a frown, and I was curious, feeling playful, and I really wanted to make him smile. To be the friend I was so sure he needed.
Caiden couldn’t have known when he leant in and kissed me in that dark and noisy club that sexual attraction works differently for me than it does for him. I don’t do casual hookups. I need a deeper emotional connection before I can even get to the point of wanting someone sexually, and not every connection I make leads to sexual attraction. It certainly didn’t with Caiden, who I love as a best friend and the brother I never had.
Oliver frowns. “Well, it tookyearsof fucking for Caiden to realise there was nothinghere,” he says, tapping his chest. There’s bitterness in his voice, and I think it’s possible that Oliver felt more for Caiden than my best friend ever realised, and he’s genuinely upset that things ended between them.
I don’t respond to his remark. Instead, I make my way, food in hand, into the lounge.
Oliver follows, sitting on the sofa, his legs spreading as he gets comfortable. I move the coffee table closer then sit in the space next to him, my legs folded beneath me.
