Page 56 of That First Flight

“Don’t do anything you don’t want to do,” I finish for him. “But Oliver, you really didn’t have to do that. Besides, you’re already doing more than enough letting us stay here and I’m not paying for anything yet. I don’t want to be your charity case.”

“Is that what you feel like you are?” He takes small, slow strides as the words come out of his mouth.

I can’t reply. I can’t fill my lungs with enough air to even breathe with him closing the distance between us. My palms feel sweaty, my heart galloping in my chest at an uncontrollable speed. I feel like I’m going to pass out.

How doesone manhave the ability to affect me the way he is right now?

Oliver’s hand rises to grip my chin between his fingers. “The last fucking thing I ever want you to think you are, is a charity case, Macey Evans.” He practically growls it and that does it. My insides summersault and goosebumps race across my skin. “I didn’t buy this for you because that’s what I thought you were. I bought it because I want you to feel good going into your interview. I drove you here with a single suitcase for you and one half the size of that for Mackenzie. I had a gut feeling that there wasn’t anything in either of those that would make you feel ready to nail this interview.”

I shake my head while his fingers still have a grip on my chin. “That's all we had.”

“And that’s all you needed.”

I blink back the tears that are fighting like hell to break free. “It feels wrong to accept it when I’m already living here rent free.”

“Unfortunately for you”—he offers me a smile—“I don’t take no for an answer when I’m giving out gifts. No take backs.”

“Did you just say, ‘no take backs’?”

“I did.” Oliver nods before lifting his chin in defiance. “And I stand by it.”

Before I can even reply, he’s out the door. Leaving me there shocked by his generosity.

Something I’ll never get used to.

Whenever I received a gift in the past, there was always an ulterior motive behind it.

One time my parents gave me the gift of a night to attend a special cooking class in town. I remember so vividly how excited I was and how hopeful I felt that maybe they wanted to see me achieve the dream I set when I was a young girl.

Instead, they wanted me out of the house so they could convince Mackenzie to go with them to get a haircut. They cut off almost all of her hair to shoulder length when I was dead set on letting her grow it because it washerwish to keep it long.

My little five-year-old girl cried in my pillow for hours that night and ended up sleeping in my room for a month. I will never forget that night and how broken I felt for my baby girl.

Except Oliver isn’t them. There's no part of me that believes he has a motive behind this gift. He’s doing it because he cares, because he wants to.

I finally shake off the thoughts of my past that tend to send me down a spiral and quickly jump in the shower so I’m not late for my first interview. That would probably be the worst first impression ever made.

I can’t stop thinking about my roommate though.

The hot water cascades down my back while I think dangerous thoughts about his hands all over me, about how it would feel to have someone like him touch me in places that haven’t been touched in a very long time.

The thing is, I know this man knows his way around a woman's body. Call it judging a book by its cover or whatever you want. But just looking at Oliver, I know he would know what to do if he was given the chance.

My fingers brush over my hardened nipples and I groan in pleasure at the sensation. I’ve never really touched myself like this before because when you live under your parents watchful, narcissistic eyes, you’re very careful about anything you do under their roof that they could hold against you.

These thoughts about Oliver while my hands brush across my nipples are very new to me. But it's also a boundary I don’t want to cross. With every day that passes, it’s becoming more and more difficult to stop thinking about him as if something more will ever come out of it.

My fingers graze over my stomach. A stomach that created life, and kept my girl safe for nine months. A stomach that was stretched to the max with a nine-pound bundle of love. A stomach that is littered with tiger stripes as a testament to all I’ve been through, reminding me that I did it all on my own.

I don’t hate my stomach. At least, not anymore.

I’ve learned to love and embrace every single mark that I’ve earned.

But what would a man like Oliver think about the imperfect scars scattered around my midsection? My guess is that it's a far cry away from the woman he’s used to.

Before I find myself inside an emotional bubble, I turn off the water and step out. Only to realize I forgot my stupid towel in my room. I call out for Mackenzie and she doesn’t answer. It has to be those stupid headphones she always has in.

I grab a small hand towel on the sink and use it to cover my lady bits as best I can. The door creaks open slowly as I peek out to see if I have a clear view to my room to run quickly so no one sees.

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