Page 63 of A Chance for Us
“Anything else,” I sputter. There’s no way in hell I have enough self-control to be anywhere near her in that.
“There is nothing else. They packed three of these to sleep in. Apparently, your sister and my best friend think I don’t need clothes.”
Clothes. I heard that word. “Okay, what about shorts?”
She smiles without any humor. “Oh, they took care of that too. All I have are bathing suits and dresses. I’m going to kill them.”
“We’ll go shopping on our way to South Carolina tomorrow. For tonight, you can just wear something of mine.”
My sister did not pack my bag, so I know I have clothes.
“Fine,” Maren says with exasperation. “I’ll do that.”
I pull out a pair of basketball shorts and a T-shirt and hand them to her.
“Thanks.”
While she’s in the bathroom changing, I sink down on the chair. This is a disaster. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to endure this for five days. There is no way I’ll be able to ignore this ache for her. Not to mention, she doesn’t need me all over her. She was just dumped by the guy she was going to marry, which doesn’t exactly scream ready to jump into bed with me.
I know from personal experience that almost marrying someone doesn’t necessarily equal love. Hell, I watched the woman I loved date someone else immediately after we broke up.
I can’t put myself in a situation that I know is going to crash and burn.
Been there. Done that. Own the T-shirt company.
Rubbing my hands over my face, I take a deep breath and stand. I’m a strong man who doesn’t bend easily. I’ll just plaster a smile on my face, get through the next few days, and then come back to the life I’ve designed.
I unbutton my shirt, and just as I’m about to remove it, the bathroom door opens to reveal Maren still in that dress.
“I need you.”
I need you.
I need you to strip me down and make me scream for hours. Please, Oliver.
That’s not what she says. No, she actually sighs and shrugs. “I can’t undo my dress. Can you help me?”
Well, that’s kind of like stripping her down. It actuallyisstripping her down, but the rest of that sentence hasn’t been uttered . . . yet.
I clear my throat and walk over. She turns, pulling her hair over her shoulder, giving me a fantastic view of her back. She’s so damn beautiful with her hair completely down so it cascades like blonde silk.
Once I’m behind her, she turns her head, peeking at me from the side. My fingers move to the button at the top. “You know, I am kind of glad this isn’t really our wedding night,” I say as I fumble with each one.
“Why is that?”
“Because if you were my bride, I would’ve torn your dress off you.”
She shivers a little. “Really?”
“Absolutely,” I say with a deepness in my voice that I hope covers the desire flooding my system.
I couldn’t even last two minutes after that stupid pep talk I gave myself.
I focus on the buttons again and manage one more.
“Why is that?” Maren whispers.
Don’t answer her, Oliver. Don’t fucking do it.
