Page 88 of Not Made to Last

47

Rhys

I thought the idea was brilliant when I initially came up with it, and I was angry with myself for not thinking of it earlier.

For years, Belinda had been working out of a dingy old janitor’s closet, and for what? Because I was too damn selfish to come up with something else. Something better. It was me who had asked her and Curtis to pack up their entire lives and move close to me—all because I was a pussy who didn’t think I’d survive without them.

Sure, we’d set them up with a house and jobs, but I really should’ve taken better care of them than I have.

From now on, I will. Starting with moving Belinda’s office to the one next to mine. We even have an adjoining door. I couldn’t just give her an empty office, so I’ve filled it with new furniture. A desk, a nice cushy chair for her and more comfortable ones for the students. A new couch is being delivered tomorrow. The decorating or whatever—I’ll leave to her. When I first showed her, she told me to “get the fuck out” in that excited way shedoes. Then she hugged me, wouldn’t let go for a whole-ass minute.

Worth it.

But, like I said, Ithoughtit was a brilliant idea.

I guess I didn’t take into consideration that she needed a space for students who were waiting to see her. She set up some chairs in the hallway—in direct view ofmyoffice—and, of course, the first person waiting to see her in her new office is Olivia.

According to what I read in her contract with my mother, her enrollment at St. Luke’s came with two specific caveats.

1. She couldn’t attend while I was enrolled.

and

2. She had to see the school’s therapist.

Oscar’s “scholarship” has the same last caveat.

The difference between those two is that Oscar would look horrid in the school-issued skirt. Olivia… not so much.

After what happened to her locker, and my little run-in with her brother last night, I wondered if she’d ever show again. Clearly, she’s braver than I thought she was.

And I…

I’m in way deeper than I want to be.

Because justseeingher sets off something visceral inside of me, and I wish I could say that it was purely physical, because that would be easy to ignore, or even replace. But no…

I think the fucked up part of all of this is that at one point, I feltguiltyabout the feelings I’d developed for Liv because it felt like I was emotionally cheating on Mercedes. Not that me and Mercedes were ever?—

Scratch that.

Mercedes never existed.

And the sooner I can wrap my brain around that, the better off we’ll all be.

I glance up from the playbook spread open on my desk to see Olivia still sitting there, her eyes downcast, holding on to a potted plant. Tin can and twine wrapped around it. I wonder if it’s the one I made, and if so, I wonder if she’s doing it to fuck with me.

The top two buttons on her shirt are undone, exposing her neck and part of her breastbone, and it’s the perfect fit for her. It hides what it needs to and tight where it counts. When standing, her skirt stops just below the knees, but it’s bunched up a little now, exposing an inch of her thighs, and my blood heats at the memories of those same thighs pressed against my ears, with her hand on the back of my head to keep me in place as she ground her pussy on my tongue. “Right there,” she’d say, over and over. “Don’t stop.” I’d complied every time, because I got off on it as much as she did.

I’m hard.

And I really shouldn’t be.

But then I remember the marks I left on those thighs from my fingers digging into her flesh when she’d been on the edge of the pool, legs spread, and?—

Olivia pulls down her skirt now, hiding that sliver of exposed skin, and my eyes lift to hers. She stares right back. Unblinking. She must’ve been watching me for long enough to pick up on my thoughts, and maybe I should be ashamed, but I’m not. Besides, if I walked over to her right now and ran the backs of my fingers along her cheeks, she’d practically set me on fire.

Olivia’s cheeks, my favorite part of her, give off a blush like no other.

---