Page 50 of A Little Complicated

With a slow breath, Ophelia dodges my question and asks, “How ‘bout you? We used to spend hours talking about what we wanted our futures to be like. It’s your senior year. Are you excited? Do you have all your ducks in a row for after graduation?”

I’d laugh if the truth weren’t so pathetic, choosing to look up at the starry sky above us instead of the gorgeous girl who will never be mine again. “Not really.”

“Why not?”

With a shrug, I lie, “I dunno.”

“Come on, tell me,” she pushes. “Or do you reserve those kinds of conversations for secret girlfriends?”

“We were never officially dating,” I remind her.

Fuck.

I don’t mean to say it. To hint she meant anything less than my everything while we were together. But if I take the words back, what does it prove? That I care, even when I shouldn’t?

Her eyes widen, her defenses snapping back into place as if only now realizing we aren’t hiding on her roof at home anymore. We aren’t friends anymore. We aren’t anything. Not anymore.

“You’re right,” she says. “I was nothing more than your fuck buddy, er,secretfuck buddy. Of course, how could I forget?” A bitterness laces her words, and she shakes her head. When she attempts to stand, I stop her, preventing her escape as I grab hold of her hand, keeping her in place.

I shouldn’t touch her. Not like this. Not like anything. She isn’t mine to touch. But I can’t help it. Letting her think I never cared about her when she has no fucking clue how wrong she is.

“You weren’t my secret fuck buddy, Opie,” I rasp.

“What was I, Mav?” She stares at my grasp on her arm, her breathing soft and shallow, and her words barely a whisper as she looks at me.

My everything.

The truth hurts, but I swallow it back, murmuring, “Important.” My eyes hold hers. “You were important, Goose.”

“And now?” she whispers, and fuck me, I swear I can taste her question on my lips. We’re too close. Too caught up in the memory of a different rooftop we used to escape to. One where I would strip her bare and kiss every inch of her perfect body. Where we would discuss our hopes and dreams and future. A future we don’t have anymore. A future we can’thave anymore.

“Now, you’re my brother’s girlfriend,” I murmur, shining a black light on the truth, no matter how harsh it sounds. I let go of her arm and stand, the reality of our situation making it hard to breathe as she stays crouched beside me. It’d be so easy. To steal her from him. To make her mine again. To beg for forgiveness and promise to never hurt her again.

There’s only one problem.

Hurting her is inevitable, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

“‘Night, Opie,” I tell her as I climb back inside.

16

OPHELIA

Ileft my house early this morning, walking around campus and soaking up the atmosphere like a dry sponge. After my conversation with Maverick last night, I realized he’s right. Well, about one thing. He’s also an ass, but I’m too annoyed to dissect that particular tidbit, so I choose to focus on the positive I took away from our little chitchat.

This is my future. The future I’ve been dreaming about. It’s here. And it might not be exactly what I anticipated, but I still want to grab hold of it with both hands. I’ve been so busy preparing for my first practice with the girls’ team I feel like I’ve missed out on exploring my new stomping grounds, and since I worked so freaking hard to get here in the first place, I figure I deserve a morning off. A morning where I can just…be. Even if it’s only for a little while.

I’ve been to LAU a hundred times, hell, maybe a thousand, but it’s different now. Because I’m not visiting. I’m not here tagging along with my parents to a game or dropping by to hang out with Archer. This is my home now. Mine. At least for the next few years. And I’m not going to squander it.

There’s a coffee shop called The Bean Scene close by. It’s one of my favorites and serves the best pumpkin spice lattes in the fall, though their iced mocha is pretty awesome too. And their lattes?Chef’s. Kiss.

I pull the Bean Scene’s heavy glass door open, and my mouth waters when the scent of coffee hits me before I freeze in place. A Buchanan is at the front of the line. I’d recognize those broad shoulders anywhere. Unfortunately, I can’t tell whether the fine backside belongs to Archer or Mav, so I stay by the entrance and wait. The twin laughs at the barista and slides his credit card across the counter. She smiles back and bats her lashes at him. She’s flirting. The question is, is she flirting with my secret ex or my current boyfriend? And why does neither option make me feel any better?

The muscles in my stomach coil with jealousy, but I keep my feet planted, waiting to see who’s in front of me while dreading it at the same time.

The barista giggles, waiving the payment off, telling him it’s on the house. She grabs his cup from the stack beside the register and writes her number on the white material with a Sharpie, chatting with him as she fills it with black coffee and adds a splash of cream.

If only the boys had different coffee orders.

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