Page 1 of His to Cherish
OLIVER
It’s Friday night, and I’m running late for the most important event on my calendar.
I’ve spent my work week in meetings with some of the most influential men and women in tech. I’ve talked with the finance guys about several of the multi-million dollar deals my company currently has in the works. Spent hours in meetings with the lawyers about a massive take-over we’re about to complete. Even had a few conference calls with high level politicians at both the state and local level.
But none of those things come close in importance to the meeting I should have been at five minutes ago—dinner at a sports bar with my best friend.
I’m not technically late yet—Lilly probably won’t be here for another few minutes. But I like to always arrive before her. It gives me the chance to get myself together, to brace myself for what’s about to happen.
Spending an evening with my best friend is both the best and most difficult part of my week. The best because Lilly is everything good in my life—funny, smart, as easy to talk to as breathing.
Difficult because I want her with every fiber in my being and I can never, ever have her.
So I always try to arrive to our plans early. Give myself a little time to reign in some of the rampant yearning that is my constant companion. Remind myself of all the reasons she and I will never be more than friends.
It hasn’t always been so hard. In fact, everything about my relationship with Lilly used to be easy. Light and comfortable. I think that’s why we became so close so quickly. More than anyone else in the world, Lilly makes it easy for me to justbe.
When we started working together at a low-level tech firm five years ago, we hit it off immediately. We bonded over a shared love of cheesy zombie movies and thriller novels in the break room. Soon we were taking turns bringing in lunch to share and hanging out after work—granted, usually with a group of our co-workers—as well as on our breaks.
We both moved on from that job fairly quickly. Lilly was promoted from her entry-level position after only a year while my app development side hustle was finally starting to make the kind of money that allowed me to quit the day job. Yet somehow, even without that office to bind us, Lilly and I continued to hang out.
Those were the easy days. The days before I started dreaming about her every damn night. The days before she started to invade my early morning shower jerk off sessions. Before I started comparing every woman I ever met to her.
None of them can hold a candle.
And that’s why I both look forward to and dread our time together. It’s getting harder and harder to hold myself in check, when all I want to do is take my best friend in my arms and make her so much more than that. Make her mine.
Can’t happen,I remind myself for the millionth time as I rush down the block.It’s never gonna happen.
I’m running late because I got stuck on a call with my mother. Her internet went out—a massive emergency, since it prevented her from playing online scrabble with the ladies from her gardening club—and talking her through resetting the modem was a Herculean task. The woman may have given birth to and raised one of the nation’s most promising rising tech stars, but her knowledge of all things technological begins and ends at powering on her iPad. And then, of course, she had to give me the rundown on every person she interacted with at senior yoga, book club, and the food bank where she volunteers every week.
A few years ago, when I’d finally made enough money to retire my mother, she balked at the idea. How would she fill her days without a job? Apparently, she figured it out, because the woman’s thriving social life puts mine to shame.
By the time I got her off the phone, I was late to meet Lilly. Which means I won’t have time for the mental lecture that I require before spending time with her. The one that reminds me that she’s off limits. That trying anything would ruin the most important friendship of my entire life.
That Lilly Henson is far too good and sweet for a depraved, filthy bastard like myself.
I finally see the bright neon sign for Hoops, our favorite sports bar. Lilly is as much of a college basketball fanatic as I am and Duke is playing tonight. I can’t count the number of hours we’ve sat in the same booth in this grungy little hole in the wall, sharing a plate of greasy bar food while we cheer on the Blue Devils.
I’m in such a hurry to get inside, that I hardly notice the woman approaching from the other side of the door. I don’t see her until I’m already swinging the door open, but I manage to remember my manners enough to hold the door for her. “Sorryabout that,” I apologize, stepping to the side so she can pass. “You go ahead.”
“Oliver?”
My head snaps up at the sound of my name coming from her mouth. The first thing I notice is stunning blue eyes rimmed with long dark lashes. Perfectly applied makeup includes bright red lipstick, and honey brown curls fall around the woman’s shoulders. She’s gorgeous, like she just stepped off the pages of a magazine. She’s also achingly familiar, underneath all that makeup and shiny hair.
“Lilly?” I yelp, my eyes scanning over her. No wonder I didn’t notice her on the sidewalk. Since when does my best friend wear make-up or style her hair? And since when does she wear little strappy black dresses that show off miles of perfect, creamy skin? And—fuck me—since when does she wear sky high stilettos?
No sooner have I noticed her sexy-as-sin shoes, does she seem to trip right over them. She careens toward the door and I reach out to grab her, managing to catch her before she can fall on her ass.
Holyshitdoes she feel good in my arms. She always does, every innocent hug and cuddle on the couch while watching basketball enough to torture me for hours. But touching Lilly with the majority of her skin exposed? Fire rushes through my body at the feel of her, so soft and small in my arms. Is she wearing perfume?
“Sorry,” she gasps, trying to right herself. “Sorry, Ollie. I must have tripped.”
“Maybe because you’re trying to walk in three-inch heels?” I mutter, my voice gruff with the effort it’s taking not to pull her hard against my chest, to run my hands down all the smooth, exposed skin. “What the hell are you wearing, Lilly?”
Red rushes to her cheeks, which doesn’t help the situation in my pants in the slightest. Lilly blushing is somehow even hotter than Lilly in this dress. I’m so preoccupied with thoughts of what it would take to make other parts of her body turn that same color that I don’t immediately notice the flash of hurt on her face.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I say quickly. I really need to let go of her, to get her steady on her feet so I can stop touching her before I lose control. But it feels next to impossible to tear myself away. “You look gorgeous. Just not what I’m used to seeing you in for a night at Hoops.”
