Page 23 of Only One Bed: Anthology Vol. 1
Curses pour from his mouth as his sister cackles evilly beside me.
“Let’s put them out of their misery.” Olive steps up to the edge of the table. Everyone still awake watches with rapt attention as she lets her ball fly. There’s the perfect plop of plastic against beer. She made it.
But we can’t celebrate yet.
“Okay, Theo. You got this,” her whispers of encouragement tickle over my spine.
What will she do if I make this cup?
Only one way to find out.
Line it up. Let it fly. Watch my best friend’s face fall as he realizes he lost to his obnoxious sister.
“You beautiful man!” Olive flings her arms around my neck, pressing a smacking kiss to my cheek. I take advantage of her affection, gripping her waist and holding her against me for one brief, glorious moment.
Then I let her slide away.
Tim and Olive throw good natured barbs at each other as they clean up the cups. Mr. Buchanan scoops up his wife, carrying her to bed. Caroline and I head down the stairs, she turning off at the second floor, and me continuing on to the first.
The victory, small as it was, has adrenaline trickling through my veins.
Will Olive still be riding the high of it when she comes to bed?
Could the excitement lead somewhere when we’re lying next to each other?
All fantasies are side-railed when I reach the bedroom.
Jezebel is there.
But she’s not in her bed.
The obstinate cat has chosen to curl up on the windowsill, leaving the twin bed free and clear for the guy on the bottom of the hierarchy.
Damn it. I can’t lose this.
I glance over my shoulder to make sure I’m alone.
“Here, kitty. Come on. Look at this cozy bed.” My hand pats the soft blanket as I plead with the cat.
The only acknowledgement I get is a slow blink.
Olive will be down here any second. Desperation bleeds into my whisper. “Work with me, Jezebel. Don’t you want an entire bed to yourself? Doesn’t that sound better than a stupid windowsill?”
Not even a muscle twitch.
Footsteps sound on the staircase, and I see my chance to feel Olive’s skin against mine slipping away.
And that’s how I find myself picking up a demon animal, tossing it onto the bed and shoving my hands into my pockets a second before Olive strolls into the room. A delayed yowl of affront rumbles from the one-eyed cat as she glares at me.
“Did you try to move her again?” Olive asks while rummaging around in her suitcase.
I keep my expression innocent. “That’s her bed. I know when I’m beat.”
THURSDAY
In the dreamwe touch each other.
The scene my mind creates is more than I’ve ever had with Olive, but still not enough. Everything is a hazy mixture of hands and lips and tongues. There’s an edge of pleasure, a precipice I balance on. And just when I’m sure I’m about to dive off the cliff—
