Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(50)

“Doesn’t lessen how you’re feeling,” I say softly. “I treated you like shit, and you don’t deserve that, even if you’re my fake girlfriend. I can understand where your embarrassment came from, and even though you asked me not to leave you, I still went off with Pacey.”

“That was fine. I talked with Winnie, and we had a good conversation. I’m not mad about that.”

“Doesn’t matter. I still went back on my word.” I take a chance and reach out to her, placing my hand on her bare waist. I allow my thumb to caress her skin. “I’m really sorry, Ollie. You deserve better than the way I treated you today.”

More tears spring from her eyes as she nods. “Thank you. I’m sorry I’m being so emotional about this.”

“Don’t apologize. You have no reason to apologize. I really fucked up, Ollie. I’m having a harder time dealing with the idea of Sarah being around than I thought I would.”

“I could tell you still have feelings for her,” Ollie says quietly.

“That’s it, though. I don’t,” I say. “I was mad. Irritated. Frustrated with her mindfuckery. That’s all this is to her, a way to fuck with my head, and it worked. And I’m so fucking mad at myself for letting her have that kind of control that I shut down. I shut down on myself and on you.”

“Are you sure you don’t still have feelings for her?”

“Positive,” I say, gripping her waist. “Did I think she looked good? Of course. That’s not something I can turn off, but when it came to how I felt, I was more irritated with her than anything.”

She slowly nods. “I can understand that feeling. I was irritated with Yonny the other night. He was kind, nice, and told me I deserved better than when we were together. What was the point of that?”

I rub my thumb along her skin again. “To fuck with you. That’s what they do. They try to mentally fuck with you. They try to keep us holding on to what we used to have.”

“Did it work for you?” she asks.

“It did. What about you?”

“A little,” she admits and then sighs, rolling to her back. I keep my hand on her stomach, and I feel her breath force her stomach to rise and fall. “I hate him. I think that’s the first time I truly admitted that. I really hate him. Sure, was I captured for a moment at the fundraiser? Yeah, but afterward, I felt empty and irritated, and I hate that he did that to me.” She turns toward me and reaches out to play with my sweater. “Is that how she made you feel?”

“Yes,” I answer, feeling like I have a kindred spirit in her. “Really fucking irritated. To the point that I ignored the one person who could force me to smile, even when talking about donkey perversion.”

That makes her laugh as she curls into my chest and wraps her arm around my back. I return the embrace, letting my hand float up the back of her short shirt.

“I’m really fucking sorry, Ollie.”

“I know. Thank you.” She pulls away and sighs. “Now I’m the one who’s exhausted.”

“I think we both deserve some rest.”

“We do.” She yawns. “Okay. I’m going to shut my eyes.”

“Okay . . .” I swallow and ask, “Do you mind if I stay?”

“Not at all,” she says. “As long as you don’t snore.”

I chuckle. “No need to worry about that.” I lift and pull my sweater over my head before I lie back down and snuggle into one of her pillows.

I feel the need to wrap my arm around her and pull her into my chest, but I know that’s not the kind of friendship we have, so instead, I tuck my hands under the pillow and get comfortable. I would love nothing more than to take off my jeans, but that would also push my luck.

“Ollie?” I ask, hoping she hasn’t fallen asleep yet.

“Yeah?”

“Is your name short for anything?”

She turns toward me again and smiles. “How long have you been wanting to ask that?”

“Day one,” I answer.

“Day one, huh?” She smirks, and fuck, it’s so cute, especially with her resting on her pillow, free of makeup, a sleepy look in her eyes. “What took you so long?”

“Thought it was appropriate now. I like Ollie, but I was curious if it was a nickname for something else.”

“It is, but no one, not even my parents, calls me by my real name.”

“What is it?”

“Not sure I should tell you. I don’t want you thinking you can use it.”

“When would I use it?”

She moves an inch closer till our knees touch and says, “If you were mad at me. Or obsessed maybe. Or in some passionate—yet fake—moment when you call me by my birth name, thinking it will make me weak in the knees. It won’t happen.”

“Good, because I have zero intention of using it.”

“Well, as long as you have no intention of using it . . .” Her teeth run over the corner of her mouth before she says, “My real name is Oliana. Oliana Owens.”

Ollie-ahn-uh.

My lips rub together and test her name on my tongue. “Oliana.” I tip her chin up and say, “That’s really fucking pretty.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” she says, pointing her finger at me.