Nepenthe (Bracing for Love #2) (6 page)

Olivia: You're a lazy texter, Corey. C'mon, I deserve better.

Me: Do you want to have dinner with me?

Olivia: Since you asked so nicely, yes. My place though. I'll cook. & wear something you could exercise in. Don't ask questions. Just do it.

Um. What? Why? But I can't ask questions. I'm concerned this will turn out as badly as her driving. I do like I'm told, though. When I walk over to her door in sweatpants and a t-shirt, I feel ridiculous. This can't be normal, right? Olivia opens the door before I can change my mind and leave. She's dressed in black capri yoga pants and a pink tank top, her yellow sports bra peeking from underneath.

“Why am I wearing this?”

“I said not to ask questions,” she answers as I come in. There's two blue yoga mats where the coffee table was last night. It's since been pushed out of the way.

“I'm not doing yoga.”

“Yes, you are if you want to eat. C'mon. You'll like it, I promise.” She takes my hand in her smaller one and pulls me closer to the mats. She positions me at the end and moves to her own. I glance at her. This isn't about to happen. There's no way she's about to convince me to do this. Noticing my look, she lifts her hand and rests it on my bicep. “It'll make you feel good, clear your head, and you'll enjoy it.” Yeah. Probably not. “C'mon, Corey. I was up until four this morning for you and I had to work today. You can do this for me.” Her tone convinces me not to argue.

“Where do you work, and what do you want me to do?”

She lifts her arms straight up in the air. “This, and relax your muscles. I'm a tutor. Take a deep breath.”

I do.

This is stupid.

“Okay, put them down. Do this.” Olivia puts the heel of one of her feet on the inside of her other thigh and lifts her arms in the air. “You can put your foot on your ankle if your balance sucks. This is the tree pose.”

“Remind me why I'm doing this again,” I mumble as I try to control my balance and do it like she is. My balance doesn't suck. My body leans a little too much to one side and I reluctantly do the easier stance. Okay, maybe it sucks some.

“Because I asked you to. Other leg.” We move on to a triangle pose and then something called warrior. When we do a downward dog, which looks as ridiculous as the name sounds, Olivia tries to hold in her laughter as she looks over at me.

“If you're going to laugh, I'm going to stop,” I threaten. It's not too bad, but I don't exactly see why I would do this on a regular basis yet.

“Oh, chill out. You can laugh at me too if you want.”

“You don't look funny.” And she doesn't. She looks in control and almost graceful. There's a line of skin peeking between the top of her pants and her shirt. Now
that
is distracting, especially when there's no logical reason for me to keep looking at her. Well, actually, yes there is. I'm making sure I'm doing this right.

We do a few more, my favorite being the child's pose, if I have to have a favorite. Go figure. My knee will let me do yoga, but not play football. Olivia faces me once we stand after rolling the mats up.

“That wasn't so bad, was it?”

“I guess not. It's harder than you make it look, though.”

She gives me a big smile. “Thanks. I do a routine every day. I could slow it down and do some easier ones for a while if you wanted to do it with me.”

Me? A tough, used-to-play-football, bulky guy doing yoga? Possibly enjoying it?

When I don't answer fast enough, she pats my shoulder. “Think about it, okay? While I start cooking, you can move my coffee table back for me. Please, and thank you.” She heads for the kitchen without another word.

I move the table and follow after her. “Need any help?”

“Can you cook?”

“Depends.”

She laughs at my answer. “You can sit this one out.”

Even though she just moved in, she's at home here and moves around easily. I watch her while she talks about something. What she's cooking, I think. Her bangs are pinned back again and as she turns and goes about getting ingredients, I can't help but appreciate her looks. She really is beautiful. Sometimes, I'm so caught up in myself that I don't notice other things. I probably shouldn't be called a guy because I missed it the last few times I've been around her.

“So, what made you want to have dinner with me?”

I lift my eyes to hers as she turns to face me, still keeping a watch on the food. “My sister told me to have fun this weekend. I was trying to do that, but ended up doing yoga instead.”

Olivia smiles. “What's your sister's name? Patrick never said. Do you always do what she tells you?”

“Lucy, and no, I don't. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“One older sister and a younger brother. I'm six years younger than my sister and two years older than my brother.”

“We're all about a year to a year and a half apart. Are y'all close?”

Her shoulder lifts and falls in a shrug. “Sometimes we get along, and sometimes we don't.”

I nod like I understand.

“What's your last name?” She frowns as if she's just realizing she doesn't know it. Hers is Bayne, I know, thanks to having seen her ID.

“Kennedy.”

Her frown deepens, like her mind is working. She turns towards the stove to stir the spaghetti sauce. “Have you always gone to this school?” Her question sounds casual, but it's not. She's fishing for information.

“No.” If Olivia somehow recognized my name, then she knows more about what happened to me than I've told her. We aren't going to discuss it. She can tell me I'm depressed and I need help and I should stop lying, but my injury is off limits.

“Where did you go before?” She knows she's close to crossing the line because she won't turn around and look at me, too focused on the food. This is the first time I've seen her do that.

“Why do you want to know?” I ask evenly.

Olivia sighs and finally faces me again. “It's not like you're just going to tell me, are you?” I shake my head. “Fine. I'll flat-out ask. I don't know how I didn't catch it before since you have two brothers, one whose name is Patrick and I would bet the other is Jonathan. You played for Salem University, right? My brother goes there and he loves football. He always mentions something about the Kennedy brothers.”

I don't respond. I'm not talking about it. I refuse. This is something I am in control of and there's no way I'm changing my mind. I haven't talked about it since it happened and I don't plan on starting now.

“I remember him telling me the story when you were injured,” she tries, balancing carefully on the line she's walking. “A knee injury, right? One too many and you were unable to play. C'mon, Corey. Talk to me,” she eggs on softly.

“What do you want me to say, Olivia?!” I explode, tired of her pushing me. “Sounds to me like you know the full story already. I got hit in practice!
Practice
, not even in an actual game. Yeah, one too many hits to the knee, perfect wording. Thank God I had some money saved and a job because since I couldn't play, I lost my scholarship and had to pay for my last semester. I got injured, lost the game I've been playing all my life, and apparently, lost what I had left of my fucking mind while I was at it! What more do you want to know?!”

My yelling doesn't faze her, which pisses me off, honestly. My brothers and I have always been able to intimidate people when we needed to, usually when concerning something with Lucy. Olivia doesn't even seem to care that I raised my voice at her. She should be pissed. She doesn't deserve to be yelled at, no girl does.

But she isn't. She's calm.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push too far. I just wanted you to talk about it because I have a feeling you haven't. You hardly ever talk about anything meaningful. I mean, seriously, who do you call when you have a bad day? Who do you call when you need to complain or rant or share something amazing that happened that day? Who do you talk to, Corey?”

My answer is short and simple. “I don't need to talk.”

“Everyone does, including you.”

“Are you a therapist now?”

She smirks for some reason. “Not today, but someday I will be. It's the job I'm earning a degree for.” Son of a bitch. That's why she smirked.

“Well, I don't need to be your test subject.”

“Okay. I'll leave you alone.” She pauses before adding, “for now. Grab the plates from that cabinet.”

I'm still pissed, but she's moved on. How can she so easily move from one emotion to the next? I'm in a constant battle over mine, trying to rein them in and control them. It's nearly impossible, but Olivia has no problem doing it herself.

Sighing, I retrieve the plates. She fills them with noodles and sauce before grabbing utensils and we sit down at the bar. Olivia infuriates me. She pushes and prods and makes it seem normal for her to do so. She does it all with few objections from me. Why? Because I can't find it in myself to tell her to go away like I did before? Because maybe, just maybe, I want her to push.

As we eat, Olivia doesn't say anything. At first, it doesn't bother me, but the longer she's quiet, the more it does. Probably because Lucy's silence, her refusal to talk after my parents died, has always haunted me. Every time she gets upset now, she goes quiet. I can't stand it. Is it possible that Olivia's not talking because she's upset I yelled at her and she's going to stop trying? We can still have a conversation.

“You aren't going to talk to me now?” My question is soft and gentle. It comes out almost apologetic, which wasn't my intention.

“Every time I do, you get pissed. I'm sick of it, actually. All I'm trying to do is help you, to make you want to be helped.” She pokes at the pasta. “Maybe it's time I learn I can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped.”

I let her words stew in my mind for a bit before deciding to change topics completely. “You know, I don't think my sister would classify this as fun.” Even though I'm only across the hall in an apartment laid out exactly like mine, I'm ready to go home. “Maybe we can take the racing game over to my side of the hall and play before I have to go to work?”

“Only if you don't kick me out because you lose,” she smiles.

I really wish I had the same capability she does with controlling her emotions and moving on from one to the other. The exhaustion starts to settle in my bones, but I try to ignore it and focus on Olivia's ridiculous competitiveness.

WHILE I'M AT work, absolutely ready to go home, I get a text.

Olivia: My heat stopped working. Repairman is taking FOREVER. Can I hang at your place? Brrrrrrrr. I'm freezing.

Me: Sure, but you'll have to be a genius to find my hiding spot for the spare key.

Olivia: Ha! Found it! I must be a genius. ;) Remember that.

I laugh and work goes by a little faster. Before I can get home though, she texts again.

Olivia: Won't be fixed until tomorrow...so...can I crash here again? :)

Me: You're needy, you know. But yeah. You can have my bed.

Olivia: Oooh. I'm moving up in the world. Last time it was the couch. But, just kidding. You can have your bed. I'm already invading your space. Couch is good.

Me: Take the bed. I'm trying to be nice here. You aren't helping.

Olivia: Okay, okay. Fine. Thank you.

I'm distracted by a fight and end up forgetting all about my houseguest until I walk into my room and see her lying in my bed on her stomach, asleep. Why does she even need her heat to work when she's kicked off the covers and she's only wearing a long-sleeved shirt, her panties hugging her ass. I stop short when I see her, swallowing hard at the sight of her.

For a few seconds longer, I let my eyes linger, traveling to memorize how she looks before quietly walking over and covering her back up. She should have pajama pants on. I push the images out of my head. Or, I attempt to do so while trying not to make any noise as I change and get ready to sleep on the couch.

Right when I'm about to leave my room, Olivia's voice clearly pleads, “Aaron, please don't.” The pure desperation and heartache in her voice stops me. I turn to look at her, but she's still asleep, though she rolls over, her face upset. A couple moments pass and nothing else happens.

All I can wonder as I fix a makeshift bed before trying to fall asleep is who Aaron might be, if he's a real person, and why she's dreaming about him, begging him to “please don't.”

TEN SECONDS AFTER I wake up and stretch, I shuffle my feet as I head towards the bathroom. I push the door open, odd that it's closed, and my eyes land on the perfectly good reason why it was.

Olivia.

Shit.

She's in here because she stayed over last night.

Damn.

She just got out of the shower.

A towel is wrapped around her, her hands holding tightly to keep it from falling. I watch as a drop of water falls from the tips of her hair, lands on her shoulder, and glides down towards her breasts, merging with other droplets on its way.

“Corey!” Olivia exclaims, slightly irritated, like she may have said it once already.