Page 13 of Blade's Return
She sends a string of emojis—one that’s laughing and one that’s a face I don’t know what to call but I like it—and then:
Olivia: Sweet dreams, Blade.
Blade: Sweet dreams, Usdi.
Even though I know that the conversation is over, I’m disappointed when she doesn’t respond. I put the phone on the nightstand and click the lamp off. The room goes dark in the kind of way that makes the rest of the world shrink to the size of the two of us—me and the idea of her. I lie there, eyes on the ceiling, feeling the night settle into my bones.
Tonight was effortless and electric. I have it bad. I know it. I’m not even going to try to hide from it. There’s only one thing that edges the happiness with a jag of cold—the truth. I can’t tell her who I really am. Not yet. Not until I’ve got everything where it needs to be, until I can stand in front of her without the rest of it clawing at my throat. I’ll need to make her fall in love with me so deeply that when the truth hits—when she learns the other side of me—she’ll forgive me for hiding it.
I roll onto my side and let the dark wrap around me. The rain hushes to a soft whisper. The phone is warm where it sits, and my last thought before sleep eases me is simple and unoriginal, but still fucking true.
I want Olivia. I’ve never felt like this before, and I know that she is the woman I want to claim as mine. One night with her made me that positive. I want to keep her, and, by God, I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.
She’s it. My one.
I fall asleep with a smile on my face.
7 OLIVIA
I take one last look at my reflection in the mirror. My hair actually cooperates tonight—soft waves falling over my shoulders, still warm from the blow dryer. I tug at the hem of my cream-colored sweater, the one that feels like being wrapped in a cloud. I paired it with my smooth and soft flannel leggings patterned with a faint gray plaid. Casual. Comfortable. The kind of outfit made for lounging around the house. But it’s still kind of pretty. Pretty enough that maybe Blade will notice I took a little time to look nice.
Acid rolls in my stomach as nerves threaten to take me under. Blade could have anyone he wants—women who don’t fill with stress at the drop of a hat, the kind of woman who glides through life instead of stumbling through it. Blade looks like he was carved by someone who knew exactly how dangerous beauty could be. A Greek god in jeans and a leather jacket. And I’m just me—attached to a crap-ton of baggage.
I sigh and push my thoughts aside. I need to concentrate on Dad. He’s what is most important. When I walk into the living room, he’s already in his lift chair facing the TV. His hair’s more silver than gray these days, and his face—lined but still strong—softens when he looks at me. The lamp beside him throws golden light across his legs. I grab a throw from the couch, shaking it out.
“Here,” I say softly, draping it over his knees. “You look like you’re chilling.”
He chuckles, a raspy sound but warm. “I’m always cold. Those blood thinners will do that, sweetheart. That and my old body being ornery.”
I tuck the edges in around his legs, careful not to jostle him too much, then grab the book resting on the side table. “You want this?”
“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “You always know.”
I hand it to him with a smile, then ask, “Need anything else?”
“I’m fine, sweetheart. Sit down for a bit, you’ve been working nonstop all day.” His eyes twinkle. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you were baking, too. What’d you make?”
My cheeks heat immediately. “Just … cookies.”
“Cookies, huh?”
I fold my arms, pretending to turn my attention to the television. “Peanut butter ones with a touch of chocolate.”
His eyebrows lift. “You made those for your young suitor, didn’t you?”
I open my mouth to deny it, but the truth is right there in the blush crawling up my neck. I made a double batch of my homemade peanut butter cookies. They’re full of peanut butter goodness—soft and chewy—with a melted Hershey’s Kiss in the center. Blade said peanut butter was his favorite, and now I’ve baked enough to feed an army so I could send him home with some.
I’m an idiot.
What if he thinks I’m clingy? Or worse, what if he starts thinking I want something from him? Because if he gets too close, if he becomes part of my life … No. I can’t go there. Not tonight.
I plaster on a smile. “Are you sure you don’t mind if Mr. Aetos comes by?”
Dad laughs, a deep, genuine sound that makes me smile despite myself. “Mind? I want to see the young man who has my Livy a nervous wreck.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he says, letting me know that I’m not fooling him at all. I roll my eyes just as the doorbell rings. Dad just grins. “Go open the door. Sounds like your young man’s here.”
