Page 59 of A Little Complicated

It also makes me hate myself.

I tuck my hair behind my ear and slouch a little further into the passenger seat. “I don’t deserve you. You know that, right? Here we are, talking about another guy, and—”

“You want to know the greatest thing about me and you?” he offers. “I’m your best friendfirst, boyfriendsecond. I love how you can talk to me, even when the topic is shitty.”

I grimace. “Like your girlfriend being hung up on another guy?”

“Like my best friend needing time for her heart to heal,” he clarifies. “And I’m okay, Lia. Even a piece of you is enough until you’re ready to let him go fully.”

A sharp pressure hits my sternum because I don’t know if Ican.

“Don’t say things like that.” I press my finger against the corner of my eye, but he grabs my wrist and tangles our fingers together.

“We were friends before this, Ophelia. And if I gotta be patient. If I gotta let you heal. If I gotta glue the pieces back together by my fucking self until you feel whole again, I’ll do it. You know that, right?”

My throat catches on the baseball-sized lump, but I swallow it back, nodding, as he pulls up to our connecting houses.

“Come inside with me,” he suggests. “Let me hold you tonight.”

“You hold me every night,” I remind him.

“And I don’t take a single one for granted.” He brings our entwined fingers to his lips and kisses the back of my hand. Letting me go, he helps me out of the car and escorts me inside his place. My heart aches with every step. But the worst part? I can’t tell if it’s because I feel guilty for being here with Archer when I know his brother’s hurting or if I feel guilty for thinking of his brother in the first place when I’m with him.

19

OPHELIA

Iwake up to the sound of puking. It’s violent and makes my stomach churn as I slip out of Archer’s bed. Tiptoeing down the hallway, I find the bathroom light slipping through the crack beneath the closed door. It highlights the dark wood floors and the shadows along the walls, giving a forbidden, almost eerie vibe, causing my steps to slow. The sound of muffled heaving hits my ears again, and I bite the inside of my cheek. Indecision surges through me. I could always go back to bed. Pretend to sleep. Pretend I don’t know who’s on the opposite side of the door. But I can’t convince my feet to move. Not when he sounds so miserable. Before I can talk myself out of it, I carefully push the bathroom door open and peek inside.

Maverick is wrapped around the toilet with his head pressed against the seat, looking sicker than a dog.

I rush forward and push his long, shaggy hair away from his forehead, checking his temperature. He doesn’t feel warm, but his skin is cold and clammy, and his eyes are closed as he leans into my touch.

“You okay?” I murmur.

“Fucking hell.”

I laugh lightly. “I take that as a no?”

He peels his eyes open and looks at me. “What are you doin’ here, Opie?”

“I heard you puking.”

“Tequila’s a bitch.”

Another laugh slips out of me as I reach for the toilet paper roll, rip a couple squares off, and wipe the corner of his mouth with them. “Are you done puking? Can I get you a cold compress or—”

“I’m fine.”

“Then come on,” I urge. “Let's get you to bed.”

Keeping his ass where it’s planted, he mutters, “You shouldn’t be helping me.”

“I think we’ve all been on the wrong side of alcohol, don’t you?” I flush the toilet and grab his bicep, helping Mav to his feet. The dude’s built like a brick wall, and I almost crumble beneath his massive body but steady myself with my hand against the dark granite countertop as I take his weight. His shirt is soaked in sweat, and he’s still wearing his jeans. They hug his ass and his thighs, and the combination kind of makes me want to take a bite out of his backside. Scratch that. Even wasted and delirious, his entire body, face, and mussed-up hair make him look effortlessly gorgeous. Like he can’t even help it. Like it simply comes naturally to the guy. Realizing I’m most definitely checking out my boyfriend’s twin brother, I tear my gaze from our reflection and guide Maverick back to his room.

I keep the light off. I shouldn’t. It’s a bad idea. As if the darkness will hide the fact I’m in my boyfriend’s brother’s room instead of asleep in his bed. But I can’t turn back now. I’m here. And so is Maverick. A very drunk Maverick who’s leaning on my shoulders like his legs might give out at any second.

Guiding him to the bed, I make sure he’s seated and order, “Arms up.”

---