Page 68 of Heart of Gold

“And he’s a good guy, right?”

“That we know of.” Olive slurps the bottom, hitting the end of her drink. She looks up, tilting her head. “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing.” Fidgeting, I look down.

“Max.”

“Olive.”

“Do you like Mom?”

“Of course I like your mom.” Every time I see her, I want to kiss her, if that’s what you mean.

“No, like like Mom.”

“Your mother is very nice. And pretty.”

“I know that.” Olive rolls her eyes and tries for more milkshake. I hand her mine, so she can finish it. I’ve already developed a killer sugar headache. “I mean, do you want to be her lover?”

I cough against my hand as Olive sucks the milkshake, making loud straw noises, oblivious that I’m turning eight shades of red.

A hand rests on my shoulder, and Olive doesn’t react. Turning back, I see Emily, smiling, as her hand lingers on my shoulder, traveling to the middle of my back. It creates shivers in my limbs.

She can touch me all she wants.

“Thanks for taking care of Olive while I ran some errands,” Emily says. Her hand rubs my back as I adjust in my seat, because my pants tighten around me. This is awkward. I might need to sit here for a minute.

“Did you get what you needed done?”

Emily nods, and her hand leaves my back. My phone vibrates again in my pocket, and I ignore it. My mom called me this morning and didn’t leave a message. It might be her again.

“Mom, these milkshakes are so good.”

“I bet,” I say.

“Mom once had a milkshake on a road trip with me, and she accidentally knocked down a teenager on a skateboard because she had a poopmergency—”

“Olive,” she says firmly. Chuckling, I stand up.

“I can take her for milkshakes. It can become our thing,” I say.

“I’m glad she got that lactose-tolerant gene from you.” There’s her hand again, tapping on the middle of my back. What is with the touching?

I’m not complaining. It just went from zero to a hundred, and I’m so curious why.

“Olive, you’re going to stay at Grandma’s tonight. Max and I need to discuss some things.”

We do have so much to discuss, but a night alone with Emily may make me forget everything I’m fighting against.

I’m so close to kissing those beautiful lips and laying her out on her bed, saying “screw it” to everything that happened and making up for lost time. This morning, I thought about her too much—her hair, her eyes, her ass in those tiny shorts she wears. I painted the shower wall after a few strokes of my cock, a roiling fantasy of her on top of me, my hands on her breasts.

I felt instantly guilty. She has a boyfriend. We have a history that changed the whole course of my life. My resolve this morning to never think about her that way again dropped the minute Olive put Emily’s hands in mine. Now I’ll be alone with her while Olive stays with Emily’s mom? That’s all sorts of temptation there. Not to mention, I’m leaving tomorrow.

“Yes!” Olive says, stretching her arms above her head in victory.

“Grandma spoils Olive more than any grandparent has ever spoiled a grandchild,” Emily whispers.

“Wait until my mom gets wind of this. She might give your mother a run for her money.”

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