Page 4 of Come to Bed

Friends only.

I still remembered the night we met, when he kissed me in a bar all those years ago. It was soul crushingly hot, and the thought had me burning. I needed to get out of this car. Now.

“Izzy…” His voice held its typical warning tone. He was supposed to solely be my driver, not a bodyguard or my dad, but he obviously didn’t understand the job assignment.

One lecture from Oliver was enough. Before Maddox could make it two, we pulled up to my house, and I hopped out of the car. I offered him a mocking salute before quickly making my way inside.

Chapter three

Oliver

His Isobel

Oliver unclenched his hands from his pants as Isobel shut the door behind her when she left. He already texted Maddox to let him know her condition and that she would be on the way after she drank that second glass of alcohol.

It was almost time. He would have his Isobel soon. He had watched over her for years and kept his distance for her own sake. But now? After another easy-to-sway man, Oliver recognized it was doing more damage than good. He would open her eyes to what she really needed. To be his.

Because that’s what Isobel was and always had been. His.

He had allowed her to explore and find herself, but he had run out of patience. He tugged out his phone and glanced at the notification; she was calling Yara.

He didn’t like that, Isobel should only talk to him about her problems, but anything to keep her happy. He supposed.

He still remembered when he first met her.

She was new to his town. She was gloriously beautiful in a way he wasn’t used to.

She was also standing on his father’s grave. Again.

What the fuck?

“What are you doing?” After a week of watching her, he finally had enough of her disrespect. He walked out of the woods and approached the woman. From a distance, he thought she was older than him, her tempting curves pushing out her clothing in an intoxicating way, but upon his approach, he stiffened.

She turned fully towards him and their close proximity allowed him to observe the roundness of her cheeks, the innocence in her eyes, the tears that rolled down her face.

She was young. Too young. Why was she in this cemetery all alone for the fifth time this week? It wasn’t safe. There were bad men in this town.

What the fuck?

She wiped her face with the back of her hand and hardened her shoulders. “What do you want, can’t you see I’m mourning?” Her voice came out soft and sweet, even with her evident annoyance.

Oliver felt uncomfortable; was he lusting over not only an underage girl, but a long lost relative he didn’t know about?

“You knew my dad?” He finally met her eyes and his breath caught.

They were iridescent, the shade brightened by the sheen from her tears.

“What? No. You idiot. I’m mourning my dad. James.”

James? That wasn’t his dad’s name. Okay, so she was insane. That made more sense.

The strange girl tucked a piece of her long silky hair behind her ear. His eyes focused on her ear. It was cute, freckled, and poking out just a bit.

“Mine isn’t buried here; he’s buried somewhere in California. Or so my mother says.” She appraised him guardedly. “Wait, your dad? Our dads died on the same day. Well, yours died two years prior, but the date was the same.”

The statement caught Oliver off-guard, and ice slipped into his veins. Nobody talked to him about his dad’s death. The suicide had made public news, but nobody spoke a word to him about it.

Instead, his ‘friends’ just wanted to party and drink and fuck. They were plastic and fake and boring.

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