Page 13 of Count Your Lucky Stars
Margot’s brows ticked upward, the corners of her mouth twitching as she watched Olivia.
“Your art... it’s really...”
Margot smirked.
Olivia flushed, floundering for the right word.“Erotic?”
That was it. Erotic. Broad black brushstrokes kept the art from veering into vulgar territory.
“They’re a relatively new addition. I bought them to make Brendon uncomfortable after Elle moved out and Annie moved in.” She shrugged. “You stop noticing them after a while.”
How much sex did someone have to have to become desensitized to paintings ofotherpeople having it? More sex than Olivia was having, clearly. She ducked her chin, trying to will her blush away, her cheeks so hot she could’ve sworn there was steam coming off of her. Olivia stole a surreptitious peek at Margot from the corner of her eye, watching as she tilted her head to the side, considering the series of sketches on the wall. Margot’s slender fingers skimmed the front of her throat,lingering on the hollow between her collarbones, dark nail polish and the sharp cut of her hair stark contrasts against her pale skin, making her look a little like one of those canvases come to life.
Margot turned, catching her staring, and Olivia’s heart tripped over the next beat, speeding, sending another wave of blood rushing to the surface of her skin.
“So.” She wheezed out a laugh. “This is awkward.”
The proverbial elephant in the room had tripled in size.
“Don’t see why it has to be.” Margot set her beer on the table, sans coaster, and kicked her feet up beside it, ankles crossing, the picture of chill. Everything Olivia wasn’t. “Like I said. It’s ancient history, Liv. I’m over it.”
Over it.Olivia frowned. What wasthatsupposed to mean? Overwhat? What did Margot have to get over in the first place? Olivia was the one who’d had her hopes dashed and her heart broken by Margot, not the other way around.
Or maybe itwasher fault. After all, she’d been the one to kiss Margot.
Olivia couldn’t say with any degree of certainty when exactly her feelings for Margot had changed. It wasn’t like she’d woken up one morning and suddenly found herself wanting her best friend. There was no grand movie moment where their eyes locked and Olivia’s breath caught and a lightbulb went off inside her head. It had been gradual, so slow that her own feelings had crept up on her. Little touches had started to make her blush and then Margot’s gaze had gained a new dimension. It wasn’t something Olivia could touch but she could certainly feel it traveling along her skin, tickling the space between hershoulder blades, raising the hair on the back of her neck, narrowing her throat and damming up words that before had always come so easy.Awareness.Followed by confusion and uncertainty, not only that it was Margot but that,wow, Olivia was significantly less straight than she’d previously thought. She’d driven herself crazy questioning whether the way Margot’s hand lingered on her leg was intentional, reading into every look, every touch, every text. Wondering if just maybe what she felt was mutual.
But Margot—who’d been openly bi since ninth grade, two years later clarifying that if she had to stick a label on herself,pansexualwas a better fit—had never said anything, and Olivia had been too afraid to say something, to risk ruining their friendship.
Until spring break senior year.
Brad had broken up with her before he left for Cancún—one of the many offs in their on-again, off-again relationship—and Margot had come over with junk food and a bottle of vodka she’d swiped from her parents’ liquor cabinet. They’d had the house to themselves, Dad out of town on a fishing trip. Emboldened by a few too many sips of liquid courage and the way Margot’s eyes lingered on her lips, Olivia threw caution to the wind and kissed her and—Margot had kissed her back. One kiss led to another led to their clothes coming off led to sex. Great sex and laughter, and for the first time Olivia hadn’t had to stop herself from doing all the small things she’d ached to do, like tangling their fingers together or brushing her lips against the ball of Margot’s shoulder. She could stare at Margot openly, happily,hungrily, without fear of what would happenif she got caught. If there was such a thing as a perfect week, that had been it.
But reality had come crashing down on her the following Monday. Brad wanted to act like their breakup hadn’t happened, that it was more of apausethan a full-stop split. When she didn’t immediately fall into his arms, he’d had the audacity to seem confused. She’d texted Margot.Can you believe it? What should I tell him?
Olivia had expected Margot to tell her that Brad could go fuck himself. That he was delusional. She’d wanted Margot to tell her Brad couldn’t have her.
Don’t worry about me saying anything to anyone. What happens on spring break, stays on spring break, right??Margot had texted instead.
After that, they didn’t talk about it, what happened between them that week, but Margot always had an excuse when Olivia asked to hang out, usually that she was too busy studying for finals. Brad hadn’t let up, blowing up Olivia’s phone with a constant barrage of texts, begging her to take him back. Two weeks later, she did, and a week after that, she received a letter from the financial aid department at UW notifying her that her scholarship application had been rejected. Graduation came and went, Margot moved to Seattle, and the rest was history.
In the end, it was Olivia’s fault for assuming their week together had meant something. Regardless, Margot was right. That was then and this was now, and rehashing old hurts wouldn’t help. It would only make her feel sorrier for herself.“Right. You’re totally right. We should leave the past in the past. Let sleeping dogs lie.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and laughed. “We had sex. Big deal.”
As soon the words were out, Olivia cringed, heat wrapping around her neck and spreading up her jaw. Okay, so maybe there was such a thing as beingtoocandid. At least she hadn’t tacked on the bit about it being the best sex of her life, true as it would’ve been.
“No big.” A muscle in Margot’s jaw ticked when she smiled.“Trust me.”
Olivia’s whole body burned. Okay, ouch. “Right.”
Margot lifted her beer by the neck and tipped it back, draining it in one swallow. She stood, perfectly steady, and stretched, her pants riding indecently low, and Olivia was treated to another hint of that ink creeping up Margot’s hip. She backed up a step before turning and heading in the direction of the kitchen. The sound of rummaging and then a drawer sliding shut followed. Margot returned, brandishing two shiny keys. She set them on the coffee table, side by side. “Silver one’s for the door to the building, and the brass key is for the apartment.”
Olivia reached forward and ran her finger along the teeth of the closest key. Something about having her own key made this real. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Margot tucked her thumbs in her pockets and cast a sweeping glance around the apartment. “I’m going to head to bed, but we should find a time and... I don’t know, talk about... Jesus, I don’t know.Logistics.”
Right. Logistics. If they couldn’t keep this strictly professional, it would at least be best to refrain from bringing their past into play. To limit their interactions to their shared interests—Brendon and Annie’s wedding—and communal space. Boundaries. No more bringing up their week together, Olivia’s feelings. Keep it polite and distant.
Distance was absolutely paramount.
