25. Olivia

25

OLIVIA

Confession: I have never been much of a girl’s girl.

This is not, in any way, because I don’t want to be.

It’s also not because I don’t enjoy other women’s company. And it’s certainly not because I like the attention of men so much that I find other women a threat. A pick-me girl, I am not.

Truth is, I often find groups of women intimidating. In London, I had a couple of female friends, but avoided the big flocks of flight attendants who would go out together when we were staying in far-flung destinations.

At my new job, the only person I’ve really clicked with is Jing. And I’m good with that.

So I’m more than a little surprised (pleasantly so) that I’ve fallen in so comfortably with the wives, girlfriends, and female staff for the Cyclones. Sofia is obviously amazing. And from the moment I met Maddie and Reagan at the Thanksgiving game, they’ve made me feel nothing but welcome.

When Sofia invited me to join her “little get-ready get-together” before the Cyclones Christmas gala tonight, I didn’t stress about it or let myself drown in doubts about attending a big group hangout.

I just said yes.

All the newfound good sleep I’m getting is clearly making me more sociable.

In hindsight, though, this was probably not my smartest move. Because that’s how I’ve ended up in the middle of an upscale boutique, trying on dresses and modeling them for a room full of women, all intently watching me.

“Liv, that looks so good on you!” Maddie nods her approval as she takes in the long, sweeping midnight blue gown I’m wearing.

“I agree,” Lena adds in her soft, lilting voice.

Stefani flashes me a thumbs-up and Reagan snaps a picture, because according to her, everything needs to be documented on camera or “it might as well not have happened.”

This dress is not something I’d ever think of wearing. But when I arrived at Sofia’s place earlier, she took one look at the garment I was planning to wear—which was about five years old and probably more suited for a beach wedding than a winter wonderland black-tie extravaganza—and shook her head in a staunch no.

She immediately made an appointment to get me “gowned up” at a dress rental place she often works with, and her other guests decided to come along.

After this, we’re getting our hair and makeup done.

What is my life right now?

“Thanks, everyone.” I try not to balk under the attention as I turn my eyes back to the mirror.

I’m not going to lie. Standing here, on the dress shop podium thing, with all eyes on me as I squeeze into fancy dresses is a scene straight out of my nightmares.

Although, that being said, my nightmares have been somewhat… different the last few nights.

Ever since I moved into the Marino Mansion a few days back, I’ve startled awake every morning to the same pesky dream that leaves me very, very flustered and even more determined to lock down a new apartment, stat.

Sleeping just down the hall from Aaron is clearly messing with my mind.

Although he does make a much better roommate than I would have expected. And I have to admit I sometimes enjoy hanging out with him.

“Is this the one ?” Reagan asks. It’s the third dress I’ve tried on—I was bursting out of the first one like a sausage escaping its casing, and the second one was about a foot too short.

This dress fits well, and it looks pretty good. “Sure,” I reply, very unsure.

Sofia stands in front of me, and she assesses my silhouette with her critical, fashion stylist’s eye.

“I don’t know,” she says thoughtfully, tapping her long fingernails against her thigh as she thinks. “Can you try on one more for me, Liv?”

I look around at the other girls for signs of boredom or frustration, but they all look pretty relaxed. Genuinely happy to be here, sipping champagne and watching Sofia dress me up like a life-size doll.

Sofia ushers me back into the changing room, helps me out of the blue dress, and then slips out to return a moment later with another garment, which she peeks around the curtain to hand to me. “Try this one.”

“Red?” I squeak, staring at the crimson satin sheath on the hanger.

Black, white, beige, gray—those colors are comfortable, safe, neutral.

This dress already appears to be anything but those things.

“Just trust me.” Sofia winks, then ducks out.

After a moment of hesitation—during which time I consider pretending I somehow ingested an almond to get me out of this situation—I give it a go. The girls have been supremely supportive today. Even if this dress looks totally absurd on me, I have a feeling they’ll be nothing but sweet about it.

I lumber around the fitting room like a baby elephant as I attempt to pull on the slippery piece of material. But I’m surprised to find that, instead of being tight and making me feel lumpy, the fabric is smooth. So smooth, it almost feels like liquid cascading over my body. The zipper glides up my back without any help needed, and when I spin to look at myself in the mirror, my eyes widen in shock.

I would have never picked this dress for myself.

For one, as a redhead, I avoid wearing red like the plague. For two, it’s got a plunging neckline that is entirely out of my usual wheelhouse.

But it’s… perfect . The spaghetti straps are delicate and pretty, and the fabric flatters my body in a way I didn’t even know a dress could. The rich, vivid color is striking against my pale skin, and my copper waves complement rather than clash with the tone.

I look nice. Pretty, even.

“OHMYGOSH OLIVIA!” Sof squeals as I tentatively step out of the fitting room.

“Woah,” Stefani says, her mouth hanging open. “You look like a freaking supermodel.”

“Aaron is going to lose his mind when he sees you in that,” Reagan adds.

“It’s not a real date, remember?” I remind her. The ladies have all been briefed on the plan for tonight, and they’ve promised to keep an eye out for Brandi and would have my back in case of any shenanigans.

“He’s still gonna lose it. Scratch that—every man in the room is gonna lose his mind.”

I have to laugh. “That’s kind of you to say.”

Reagan scoffs. “I’m never kind for the sake of it. You look hot, Olivia.”

I look in the mirror again, and then, for some reason, I picture how Aaron might react when he sees me wearing this later. Let myself envision the way his eyes might widen, pupils dilating. The thought of his approval isn’t unpleasant and I watch a blush start to color my cheeks.

Dangerous waters, indeed.

“Thanks, Reagan.” I give my head a shake, shaking off all thoughts of Aaron and his confusingly hypnotic eyes in the process. “I feel good in this dress. Maybe once I’m done bidding on Aaron, I can use it to find a man who’s an actual romantic possibility.” I look over my shoulder to waggle my brows at her jokingly. “Surely, there’ll be some eligible bachelors at the gala tonight.”

Reagan raises a brow. “Sorry. Remind me again why Aaron himself is not a romantic possibility?”

For many reasons, I want to say. But I start with the most objectively obvious one. “Well, because we don’t like each other, for one.”

“That’s crazy talk,” Maddie pipes up, looking thoughtful. “Aaron’s great. I think he’d actually make a really good boyfriend. I even set him up on a date a few months ago.”

I snort. “Did she happen to be a beautiful brunette he ditched at a nightclub?”

“Yes.” Her lips slide into a big smile. “But one correction. She ditched him because she was completely and utterly in love with my brother.”

“What?” I stare at her.

“Yup. Going out with Aaron helped her see how she truly felt about Jax. They’re engaged now. And now that I think about it, I haven’t seen Aaron with a woman since.”

I remember what Aaron told me about how he isn’t dating right now due to the Brandi drama and focusing on his captaincy, but I don’t add this to the conversation. It feels like something he told me in confidence, and for some reason, I don’t want to betray his trust, if that’s what it was.

“Well, romantic possibility or not, he certainly looks at you differently than he does everyone else,” Sofia chimes in.

And dammit if my heart doesn’t pick up speed. “What do you mean?”

“He looks at you like he’s studying you. Like he’s trying to suss you out.”

“Like he wants to jump your bones,” Reagan adds with a wink.

I laugh, but it comes out a little shaky. “Probably just trying to figure out how to annoy me.”

But even as I say this, I feel something inside me stir at the thought of him looking at me differently than he does everyone else. Looking at me like he wants me.

I’ve clearly got to keep my head on straight. My assignment is to outbid Brandi at the auction. Nothing else.

Simple, right?