Nowhere But Here (Thunder Road #1)(49)

“Yes, you were.” Oz pulls a mug out of the cupboard and fills it with coffee. “And it was fine for you to do it. As I said, nice ass.”

Oz hands Olivia the steaming mug as she sits at the table. She accepts it with a nod of gratitude. “We might have to prohibit ass conversations. Emily’s redder than a fire truck.”

“I am not.” I so am.

“I’m considering telling everyone we’ll have to be conservative while she’s here,” she continues like I hadn’t spoken. “I was even weighing whether or not to bake cookies.”

Conservative? Olivia wears a pair of glued-on jeans and a white camisole that shows the outline of her bra. She has the blue silk scarf on her head again and today her gold dangly earrings reach her shoulders. From the obituary, I learned that she’s in her fifties and she’s one of those women who boasts fifty better than most people own their twenties.

“Don’t let her bake cookies,” Oz warns me. “She burns them and then gets pissed off when we use them as weapons.”

“Ingrate,” Olivia mutters as she blows on the coffee before taking a sip. I’ve never seen someone drink it black.

Their banter is easy and comfortable and it makes me hugely uncomfortable to be the third wheel in the scenario. Using my hands to shield my butt isn’t helping.

Olivia tears the strip off a carton of doughnuts, lifts the lid, then slides the box to me. “Breakfast is served.”

I choose the seat at the end of the table and gather the limited material of the skirt underneath me to prevent my privates from showing, then indulge in the white, powdery goodness.

The chair next to me squeaks and scrapes the floor as Oz yanks it out and sits. He kicks out his legs and crosses his arms over his chest. I automatically tuck my feet under my chair. This boy does not stay within his personal space.

Oz glances at me out of the corner of his eye and does an obvious double-take. The kind that causes me to look down to see if something is riding up or unbuttoned. Everything appears to be in order. “What?”

“Nothing.” Yet his eyes flicker at me again.

“Not nothing. What?”

“You have powder near your mouth.”

My tongue darts out and I quickly lick at the sweetness, but he stares as if he’s drawn to my mouth so the sugar still has to be there. His eyes grow kind of dark and I flush with the memory of his lips pressing against my neck.

Napkinless, I raise my hand and rub the left side of my mouth and I wait for a sign of approval.

“It’s to the right,” he says in a deep voice.

I wipe and he sighs. “Lower.”

By the annoyed set of his jaw, I must go too low. Oz rolls his eyes and leans forward. “It’s here.”

His thumb skims the corner of my mouth. My heart stops beating, and heat explodes through my body. A little gasp of air leaves my lips and Oz jolts back like electricity shocked us both.

Oz is up, out of his seat and across the kitchen before I can remember to inhale. The skin that he touched tingles and I twine my fingers together on my lap to restrain myself from brushing my fingertips over the sensitive area.

He flips the handle to the faucet and fixes a glass of water. His Adam’s apple moves as he drinks and I have to work to tear my gaze away. When I do, I’m greeted by a very curious Olivia.

“I had powdered sugar on me,” I say, because it feels like I should say something.

“I noticed,” she answers. “Oz, would you go get me my reading glasses? I left them in the clubhouse. On the bar, I believe. If anyone is there, tell them Eli gave you permission to be in the clubhouse through me.”

“My pleasure,” he mumbles, and the front door creaks open faster than I thought it would.

Olivia opens the wooden box and rifles through it. “We can bake cookies later. You used to prefer sugar cookies and liked it when we iced them. You particularly loved the ones with chocolate sprinkles.”

I sweep some of the powder sugar off the table onto my hand. Does she think I’m five? “Sure.”

“I don’t burn them.”

“Okay.” The garbage can must be the type that fits in a drawer because I’m not spotting one. “I didn’t tell Mom about the picture.”

“Figured you didn’t. You’re still here.”

I rise and dump the sugar into the sink, then turn on the water to encourage the white specks to drain down the pipes. This is the first time I’ve been alone with Olivia since she gave me the picture and I have a sinking feeling that it won’t be my last, but meeting her, talking with her, is the reason I’m here. “Since I am, do you want to tell me this so-called truth of yours?”

Olivia slowly appraises me and she has this evil, heavy-lidded substitute-teacher expression. “It’s not ‘so-called.’ It’s the absolute truth. And no, I’m not going to tell you.”

My head flinches back. “Why not?”

“Because you haven’t agreed to stay.”

Hello? “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“I want you here for the entire summer. You’re a smart girl. I see it in your eyes. Everyone thinks you’re shy or freaked out, but I know better. You’re observing us. Taking notes. Figuring out how we work so you’ll know how to play us. If I tell you what you want to know now, I have no doubt you’ll be on the next flight to Florida. If you want the truth, it’ll be on my terms.”