Page 41 of Fly Back to Me
My legs move on their own accord, brain left to catch up with them later. “Hey!”
Olivia spins around just as I seal the distance between us, and my eyes dive to her stuffed palm at the belt of her high-waisted jeans. A small, pink bottle is lodged inside. A bottle attached to her car keys.
The exact size of a mace can.
Odd.
“I know I didn’t call, but that doesn’t mean you have to use pepper spray on me,” I joke through a sighed laugh.
Her eyes dip to the weapon in question, blush-tipped fingers fiddling with it as she says, “Can never be too careful, I guess.”
My hands slip in my jeans pockets, forehead creasing. “In broad daylight on a crowded street?”
“I’m entitled to protect myself if I choose,” Olivia answers calmly, turning away to wait for the walking signal.
Well, I feel like an asshole.
I should know better.
My body slips beside hers. “You can put it away,” I assure her. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
Her eyes are directed forward, the crook of her mouth curled up as she tucks her keys into her crossbody bag. My throat bobs through the thick knot that’s formed there, appreciating the way her fingers whisk her hair out of her eyes. And then there’s those shiny, pouty lips. The same lips she flaunted around her cinnamon bun earlier.
“Why didn’t you call?” Olivia asks before the pedestrian signal finally lights.
She treks forward, leaving me to play catch-up. “I’ve been busy,” I respond alongside her.
I should mention I have a girlfriend. That’s the normal and most logical response. But the words remain glued to my tongue.
I know what I should say.
I justchoosenot to say it.
Olivia curls around the next corner, my body right on her tail. “So have I,” she counters. “That’s not exactly an excuse.”
The sassiness fucking body checks me, and her backbone intrigues me as much as it alarms me. “Hey,” I say.
My fingers brush the wool wrapped around her upper arm, silently willing her to pause. And when her mint green eyes elevate to mine, there’s a glimmering promise radiating fromher.
A pledge that her intentions are pure.
I shake my head, popping my shoulders. “You don’t even know me.”
“I’m trying to get to know you. Is that so terrible?”
“No, but there are other ways to go about it than throwing yourself at me,” I retort.
Her eyes narrow, mouth twisting in offense. “Sorry you find me so unattractive.”
She resumes her journey to the parking lot behind the string of buildings, and I’m quickly walking in step with her again. “Oh, that is so cliché,” I scoff. “To say something you know is not true just so I’ll say what you want me to.”
“Then you might as well just say it,” she demands, my stomach pitching at her feisty tone.
“I think it’s best if I don’t.”
Our boots thud along the pavement of the parking lot, filling the silence until we reach Olivia’s Rav4. When she wraps her palm around the handle of the door, she pivots to peer up at me. “I think I’m in the mood for a beer tonight. Any suggestions of where I should go?”
It’s adorable, it’s funny, and the faintest heat crawls along my face. I pivot my head, my palm absently connecting with the back of my neck before returning my attention to her.
