Page 83 of The One I Need
The mention of divorce immediately puts a knot in my stomach. Which is the opposite response of what I want to happen. The thought of not being married should make me excited. Giddy, even. But instead, every time I think about actually signing those papers, a sense of gloom overtakes me and my stomach gets all weird.
I don't know how, but this is Oliver’s fault.
“When are you two going to see the lawyer?”
“Tomorrow,” I say. “Oliver’s actually coming into town tonight and staying over so that way we can go to the office first thing in the morning.”
“Oooh, a sleepover!” Hazel teases.
“Not like that,” I say. “We’ve spent the night at each other’s places before. The guest bedroom at his place has now become mine, and he insists he finds my couch more than adequate.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” Jules says. “If a man that hot was in my house, I don't know if I could resist.”
“Easy. I remind myself that if Oliver and I do find ourselves in the same bed, we usually sleep together or end up married. This is the only way to ensure that doesn’t happen.”
“But would it be so bad? I mean, the man is sex on a stick.”
“Jules! What would your fiancé say about that?”
She shrugs. “Honestly, if he met Oliver, he’d probably get a crush on him. And I wouldn’t blame him one bit.”
I mean, Jules isn’t wrong. Oliver is sexy in all the stereotypical ways a man can be. Good jawline. Perfect hair. Piercing eyes that make you feel like you’re the only one in the room when he fixes them on you. A voice that never fails to send shivers down your spine.
And yes, all of those are a thing. It’s what outsiders like Hazel and Jules see. But Oliver is sexy in so many other ways. He knows exactly when a small touch does wonders. His jokes and little quips turn your mood around in an instant. He’s a great friend. He’s the best listener. And there’s no one, I mean no one, whose shoulder and chest I’d rather cry into when the day has become too much.
“Izzy? Earth to Izzy?” Hazel says, snapping her fingers to get my attention. “You there?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Just thinking.”
“Thinking about how you love your husband and that’s fucking with your head?”
“What? No!” I say, though I know what she said was damn close to the truth. But hell if I’m going to admit that.
“It’s cute you think that,” she says. “Because I remember when you once called me out for having feelings for my fake boyfriend. But if I’m reading that far-out look on your face correctly, you’re in love with Oliver, and that’s scaring the shit out of you.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I say. “It’s nothing like that. We’re just friends.”
“Sure. Friends. Let me know when you’re done lying to yourself.”
“I’m not lying to myself,” I protest. Though I don’t say any more as something, or should I say someone, catches my eye at my door.
“Knock knock? Delivery for Mrs. Izzy McCall-Price.”
Hazel and Jules giggle as Oliver waltzes into my office, a big brown bag in hand that smells delicious. I really try not to smile—I have a reputation to hold here, and I was doing a great job at denying things just a few seconds ago—but I can’t help it. It also doesn’t help that Oliver’s wearing a T-shirt that says “World’s Best Husband.”
“Hello ladies,” he says to Hazel and Jules as he sets the bag down on my desk. “I hope everyone is hungry. I brought enough for you as well.”
“Well aren’t you just the sweetest,” Hazel says. “What a guy, right, Jules?”
“Right Hazel. There aren’t many men out there who would not only surprise their wives with lunch, but also bring enough for her friends as well.”
“Those are the guys you don’t let go of.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake…
“You two, out!” I say, pointing to the door.
“Fine, but we’re taking our sushi with us.”
