Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 46231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
"Is your friend going to join?" Liam asks.
Somehow, my blush deepens.
Simon raises a brow. "Your friend?"
Max turns to my brother and introduces himself.
Is it obvious we had sex?
Fuck, it's obvious, isn't it?
"My friend too. Quite a coincidence, actually," Liam says.
"You're friends with Opal's professor?" Simon asks.
HOW DOES HE KNOW THAT?
"I work around the corner," Max says.
"He's meeting me for dinner. So why don't we join forces, huh?" Liam asks.
Simon shoots me a suspicious look.
"I don't want to intrude," Max says.
"Nonsense," Liam says. "We love company. I'll call Briar."
"Yes. Please." I need the buffer. And the girl talk support. "Right away."
He taps a few lines into his text. "She'll meet us there," Liam says. "The place around the corner?"
"Perfect." Simon nods with certainty. The certainty he's onto important information. Like a bloodhound for secrets. My secrets. "If that works for you, Mr. Morrison?"
"Max, please," Max says. "If you don't mind a boring dinner with your professor, Opal."
Liam scoffs who are you trying to fool?
"Of course not," I say.
Dinner with my brothers and my fuck buddy.
Great.
Really fucking great.
Chapter Seventeen
OPAL
How can five minutes feel like an eternity? Every second of the walk to the Thai restaurant is excruciating. My ears are ringing. My pulse is pounding.
Everything is a blur of voices. Liam's enthusiasm. Simon's suspicion. Max's stoicism.
Even as we take our seats at the restaurant, stare at our menus, order.
I don't notice my surroundings until Briar joins us.
"Hey, Opal." She nods hello. "Can you do me a favor?" She motions toward the direction of the bathroom. "Help me with a fashion emergency."
She's in a normal post-work outfit. A sheath dress and studded ankle boots. She looks fantastic, as usual. Her purple hair is in a perfect neat line. Her eye makeup is enough to say badass yet professional and bring out the flecks of green in her grey-green eyes. And her wine lipstick?
Well, it's a little worn, I guess, but there's no emergency.
"Opal." She nods again. Motions for my hand.
"She wants to talk shit with you in the bathroom," Liam says.
She shoots Liam a cutting look.
He smiles, effortless and charming and happy to frustrate her.
She tries to fight a smile, but she fails. Even now, after years working with him, and months of dating (months of engagement, even), she loves to hate his antics. Not that she admits it.
"No. It's a private matter," Briar says.
"If this is about your panties—" Liam winks.
She shoots him an even more shut the fuck up look.
"Excuse me." I take Briar's hand and slide out of my seat. Thankfully, we're at a table for six, not a booth. Less thankfully, we're way in the corner, and the restaurant is basically empty. There's no cover. No buffer.
Only Simon's suspicion and Liam's desire to make everyone's life difficult.
Briar leads me around the corner, into the single-stall bathroom. It's a familiar space—Simon and I have been here many times—but it feels strange at the moment.
Wide mirror, black tile, floral wallpaper. Is that a lotus blossom? Or some other flower with an association with Southeast Asia?
It's a pretty pattern. Pink and gold on black.
"Are you okay?" Briar locks the door. "You're spacey."
"I'm always spacey."
"Not this spacey," she says.
"Liam invited himself."
"Liam always invites himself." She brushes a purple lock behind her ear and looks me in the eyes.
It's too much. I shift my gaze to the mirror, to my still flushed cheeks and still dazed expression. "Do you have lipstick?"
She shoots me a look similar to the one she offered Liam. Do you really think I believe this bullshit? But, still, she fishes a tube from her small black purse and places it in my palm. "It won't look as dramatic on you."
She has a softer complexion than I do. And my hair is a lot darker than her natural color.
I try to focus on the lipstick. The perfect application, the pout, the differences between our coloring.
She doesn't buy it, but she waits until I'm finished, until I place the lipstick in her palm to press.
"Do you know what Liam told me?" she asks.
"Something about how he yearns for you."
"After that?"
"Something else about how he yearns for you."
"He said you're fucking your professor."
Fuck.
"I thought he was full of shit, but—"
"It's not—"
"You don't have to convince me."
"I don't?"
"A little." She looks me in the eyes again. "It's not smart."
"Liam was your boss."
"That wasn't smart either."
"It worked out."
"It doesn't always. And people still whisper about me."
"A lot?"
"Enough."
That's bullshit, but it's not a battle I can fight. I have to convince her of this. "No one knows."
"No one?"
"Only my best friend."
"You mean I'm not your best friend?"
"You sound like Liam."
"It's awful, I know." She gives me a moment of reprieve. Looks to the mirror to fix her lipstick. "What did you tell her?"
"Izzie?"
She nods.
"Well, I didn't. She put it together. And that was before he… we had a night together, before he was my professor. And I, uh, didn't want to let it go."