Hitched Volume 1 (Imperfect Love Book #1)

Noah

“I’m in the mood for red meat,” Sterling says as we walk down the crowded sidewalk after work.

“Damn. Dry streak, buddy?” I rub my chin thoughtfully.

“What?” He squints at me in the fading light.

“A craving for red meat usually means a lack of sex. A desire for a certain other kind of meat, if you will.” I grin at him.

“Shut it.”

Oh yeah, he’s in a funk. I know for a fact he’s been going through some type of dry spell, but I have no idea the cause. Before I can pry, he’s chuckling next to me.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re so misguided, it’s not even funny. You’re the one who’s going to be in for the world’s biggest case of blue balls-marrying someone as hot as Olivia Cane and not getting to fuck her?” He makes a pitiful noise. “That’s just a damn shame.”

“Who said anything about not getting to fuck her?” I pull open the door to the Grassland Steakhouse and gesture for him to enter.

He shoots me an odd glare, but approaches the hostess to request a table.

Once we’re seated with our drinks-a whiskey neat for me, a pint of imported beer for him-Sterling leans closer. “Did you and your lovely bride make more headway on your relationship than I’d realized?”

I shrug. “Not yet.” She’s far from being my bride, for one thing. “But I, for one, am not giving up hope.” I take another sip of my drink. “In fact, after dinner, I’m meeting her at our new apartment. A gift from her father.”

“No shit?”

I nod.

“Living together, huh. That’s a big step.”

“Indeed.”

For a moment, I put myself in Sterling’s shoes and wonder if he’s feeling like he’s suddenly lost his best friend and wingman. We used to go out every weekend together hunting for pussy and fun-in that order. Now, I’m practically a married man with a new housemate, and probably a curfew.

But when I glance back at Sterling, he’s grinning at me like the cat who ate the canary, and I’m certain he knows something I don’t.

• • •

After dinner, I arrive at the penthouse first. It’s a stunning apartment in the heart of the city.

I take my time looking around, flipping on light switches as I go. Expansive views from an airy twentieth-floor balcony, a modern kitchen with a little Italian coffeemaker on the counter that I’m sure Olivia will love, and expensive finishes everywhere I look-from the thick crown molding to the marble countertops to the hand-scraped oak flooring. It looks every bit like a marriage retreat. The walls and furniture, carpeting and linens are all in various shades of white and cream. It feels pure and untouched.

Honestly, it feels a bit like walking through a museum. It’ll take a while to think of this place as home. I’ve held on to my little bachelor pad near the F Line for so long now, I don’t like the idea of leaving it. But I know this is all for the best. A future with Olivia is what my father wanted for me.

And speaking of fathers . . . a bottle of red wine and two glasses have been left on the counter with a note from Olivia’s dad.

Noah,

Thank you for doing this, son. I won’t be around forever, and it feels so good to know that you will be there to take care of my little girl. I know you won’t let me down. There’s not another man I’d trust with both my company and my daughter. I hope you know that.

Very truly,

Fred Cane

I fold the paper into a square and stick it in my pocket. I realize that Olivia’s dad always trusted me with her. Even when I was a horny sixteen-year-old kid with a new driver’s license, and she wasn’t allowed to date, I alone was awarded the privilege of taking her on outings. We boated, played mini golf, went to the movies, you name it.

I open the bottle to let it breathe and cross the room to look out on the city skyline below. I can’t help thinking back on all the good times Olivia and I have shared. And the difficult ones too. We’ve been there for each other through the loss of our mothers and watching our company crumble.

I stand here thinking for so long, I lose track of time. Surprised, I blink back to reality and look at my watch. She’s late.

With a sinking feeling, I wonder if she’s even coming. Why in the fuck should I care if she wants to live here or not? She’s made it clear how she feels about me-how much she hates the idea of being stuck with me. I’m akin to a piece of dog shit on the bottom of her five-hundred dollar heels.

But I know there’s a lot more to it than that. I’ll be sorely disappointed if she decides not to show.

Finally, there’s a click in the lock. I try not to sprint to the door like a golden retriever.

Olivia comes inside. I’m not sure what I expected, but she’s changed out of her work clothes and into a pair of slim-fitting jeans and a lightweight sweater.

“Hey.” Leaving her suitcase by the door, she crosses the living room toward me.This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

“You’re an hour late,” I say as I make my way toward the kitchen.

“I was picking something up.” She sets a brightly colored shopping bag on the counter. “Something for you, actually.” She treats me to a rare, warm smile.

I watch as she removes a box from inside the shopping bag and sets it on the counter.

“Well . . . are you going to open it?” she asks.

I figured she’d want to see the apartment first, but I oblige, coming to stand beside her. I can smell the light notes of honeysuckle on her skin. Damn, that’s going to be distracting if we’re living together now. I’ll be in a constant state of arousal. Awesome.

I lift open the flap on the cardboard box and dig through the packaging until I find it.

“It’s a teapot,” I say, holding it up and inspecting it with curiosity.

Then the meaning behind her gift slams into me. The conversation we shared about our moms comes rushing back. I don’t think anyone’s ever given me such a thoughtful gift before.

Olivia reaches into the shopping bag, pulls out two small cups, and sets them on the counter. “We can have tea together sometime . . . if you like.”

There’s a touch of uncertainty in her voice. Did she think I might not like that idea?

Well, I don’t. I fucking love it.

“That was very thoughtful of you, Snowflake.”

I thought my friend Sterling was the only one who got my obsession with tea, being that he’s British, but apparently Olivia is on board too.

I set the teapot down on the counter and pull her in close for a hug. I expect Olivia to go rigid in my arms, or even recoil with a comment about inappropriate physical contact. But instead she’s soft and warm, and her body molds to mine. Her hands rest on my shoulders and she watches me with wide eyes.

“Thank you,” I say, skimming my thumb across her jaw.

“No problem.”

“You know I’m going to kiss you at some point, right?”