Page 58 of In For a Penny
Inhaling deeply and turning to me, he says, “No, because you two are not dating, and he has not asked me to stop seeing you. If he ever tells me, ‘Ollie, I love you, but you need to stop fucking her because it’s affecting our friendship,’ then, yeah, I would stop. Bros before hoes, and all of that.”
“Huh. So, if any guy just asked you to stop sleeping with someone, you would stop?”
Oliver laughs once. “Absolutely not! It’s not my problem if it bothers them. But Josh is a friend, and once both of you admit you have feelings for each other, then we can stop. Until then, I will take full advantage of whatever the hell it is that we’re doing.” He smiles at me. Rolling my eyes, I shove him playfully and make sure my hair isn’t a complete mess.
We open the bathroom door as if we are secret agents, poking our heads out first to check for any people who might have heard us in the act. Once we confirm the coast is clear, we walk out together but go our separate ways. Oliver heads back out of the library toward the café for a pre-class coffee with a salute, and I walk back to the study pod, back to Josh.
I open the door, thinking that I look fine. Josh won’t notice anything because I finger-combed my hair, and hopefully, my skin is no longer flushed. But he lifts his gaze as I walk into the room, pauses, and for a brief second, I think I see a flash of unknown emotion in his eyes. I brace myself for his judgment, but instead, he throws his head back in what can only be described as a cackle.
“Seriously?” I ask with a hand on my hip, slightly embarrassed. “It’s that obvious?”
“Oh my God, what did youdo? You could have at least tried to fix yourself up after.” He continues to laugh at me and my clearly disheveled appearance.
His laugh is everything.
“I did!” I narrow my eyes at him, checking whether he’s disingenuous in his lightheartedness, but I can find no trace of insincerity in his laughter, although it doesn’t really seem to reach his eyes. Maybe he really is okay with Oliver and me hooking up? Why is he shifting uncomfortably in his seat, though?
Oh God, it’s still weird, isn’t it?
Pulling out my makeup bag from my purse, I ask him what the time is. “You have about fifteen minutes to get decent. Five if you’re down to get coffee before class. I need one, and we need to pack all these snacks up before we go,” he says.
I balk at the sheer quantity of junk food in the room. It seems to have doubled in size when I’m faced with the reality that I have to take all this stuff back home with me. “Yeah, that’s gonna be a bit of a problem.”
Opening my blush mirror, I see my lips are bright red, and I have beard burn on my face from Oliver’s stubble, but there’s really nothing I can do about it at this point. If anyone asks, I’ll attribute the redness to the cold November air. My hair is still a mess, but that can easily be solved by putting it up in a high bun, which I quickly do. It’s only once I’m about to close my blush compact shut that I notice the bruise-like circle on my neck.
“That motherfucker!” I slam the table with my right fist with a little more force than I intended. Josh stares at me with wide eyes. “He gave me a hickey!” I say to Josh by way of explanation.
He laughs and shakes his head. “What is he, fifteen?” His voice sounds a bit tight and restrained.
“I know, right? Jesus.” I pull out my concealer and pack it on, doing my best to cover the bruise-like mark and the uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. “I specifically told him not to!”
Josh chuckles again, and I study him closely. There’s definitely still some slight tension, but that could just be due to the fact that we only just reconciled. It doesn’t have to mean that he’s upset or bothered by my arrangement with Oliver.
Right?
I blend the concealer as much as possible, trying to cover the hickey and make it look natural at the same time, but it just looks like I have an ugly birthmark on my neck.
I hate hickeys. So idiotic.
Are they part of some caveman instinct to mark territory? I feel like it’s one step above peeing on someone, to be honest.
“You’re really okay with this?” I ask quietly, giving up completely and packing my makeup back into my bag.
He sobers up and stares at me for a bit before responding. “I just want you to be happy.” He sounds sincere. “So I’m okay with it. I was just incredibly concerned about you the night of the Jane’s boyfriend’s concert. You were really drunk, and I was never able to make sure whether you were okay or not.” I roll my eyes at him and start packing up the junk food into some Sainsbury’s plastic bags. Josh picks up a bag and starts tossing treats into them, helping me pick up.
“I was fine, Josh. Everyone gets drunk from time to time. I admit I went a little overboard, but it happens.” I want to scream and tell him it’s not his responsibility to take care of me, that he shouldn’t feel that burden. That it’smyresponsibility.
He’s the complete opposite of Austin. My ex wanted me to handle my own shit because he didn’t want to be dragged into it, and here is Josh, this amazing friend who believes that I’m strong and independent but wants to carry all this weight on his shoulders so that I don’t have to.
I reach for theI’m Sorrysign and gently pull it down from the wall. While Josh’s back is to me, I fold it and slip it into one of my notebooks so it doesn’t wrinkle, shoving it quickly into my bag.Idon’t even know how to explain to myself the urge I feel to take this with me, so I don’t want to have to explain it to him as well.
“Yeah, but I care about you and what happens to you.” I stop breathing. “As a friend obviously,” he adds quickly, picking up the bars and shoving them into his backpack. “And when you didn’t get back to me all weekend, I was a little worried.” He looks up and smiles sheepishly at me, running one hand through his hair while the other swings a backpack strap over his shoulder.
“That’s sweet,” I say, looking over guiltily at him. I remember getting a couple of messages from him over the weekend and thinking I’d get back to him eventually. I guess I never did. I pick up two bags of snacks in each hand and start to walk toward the door. “But ultimately, unnecessary,” I say as we exit the study pod, both looking like pack mules.
“Don’t worry about the hickey. You can barely see it anymore—from space.” He smirks.
I am going to kill Oliver James.
