CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Olive

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Olive

Asshat: Look what I found on my chair waiting for me this morning.

Asshat: [image]

I laugh at the photo that fills my screen.

Jude left for Vancouver two days ago, and truth be told, I miss him.

Which is silly because it's entirely too soon for me to miss him, but I can't help it.

Lucky for me, he's got lots of downtime and has been sending me all the updates from set.

Me: You're never going to live that down, you know that, right?

Asshat: Wear Snoopy underwear one time and now nobody leaves you alone about it ...

Asshat: They left this on my chair with a note that said, "Don't worry, you'll grow into them." Quite rude, if you ask me. I thought I fully filled out that Snoopy underwear on Good Morning, New York.

Me: You're twenty-six, Jude! You shouldn't be wearing Snoopy anything.

Asshat: So? You're twenty-five. Don't think I didn't see the day of the week stitched across your underwear on my kitchen floor the other night.

Me: HOW DARE YOU

Me: Snoopy Drawers

Asshat: Day of the Week Drawers

Me: I'll block you.

Asshat: Nah. I'm starting to think you might like me.

Me: Do not.

Asshat: Really? Because that's not what it sounded like the other night.

Me: Stop it.

Asshat: You're totally glowering at me right now, aren't you?

Asshat: I bet you have that cute little crinkle between your brows.

Asshat: You may even be crossing your arms.

Asshat: But that's okay. You still like me.

Me: How are you so annoying thousands of miles away?

Asshat: It's a gift.

Me: I hope you kept the receipt.

Asshat: Oooh. She's got jokes today. No JT's yet?

Me: I'm in line right now.

Me: It feels weird not being stalked.

Asshat: I still can't believe he won't serve me.

Me: I can. He likes me more.

Asshat: Clearly. But Ric took pity on me and gave me coffee the morning I left.

Me: GASP! I'm telling JT.

Asshat: You wouldn't dare.

Me: Oh, wouldn't I, though?

Asshat: Sunshine . . .

Me: Asshat . . .

Asshat: Just admit you miss me.

Me: Never.

Asshat: *I miss you, Jude.

Asshat: There. I fixed it for you.

Asshat: Gotta run. They need me to utter three whole lines!

Me: I hope you forget them.

Asshat: GASP! Now who's the annoying one?

I smile, rolling my eyes at the absurdity of him.

But that's just Jude. He's so ... well, him.

He's funny and charming—sure, a little brash sometimes, but still somehow nice and thoughtful and so fun to hang out with.

After the other night in his apartment, when he dropped to his knees in the middle of the kitchen, we spent the next two days together, soaking in all the time we could before he left.

He took me Rollerblading because he knew I'd never been before, then to the top of the Empire State Building just because. He cooked me dinner at his apartment again; then he came over to mine, where Daphne trained him to play Barbies better for three full hours before he finally convinced her to give Scooby-Doo a try. She fell asleep singing the theme song, making Jude feel awfully proud of himself.

Having him around has been so easy that sometimes I forget he's Jude Rafferty, big movie star who can be whisked away on a private jet at a moment's notice to go film a movie with other huge movie stars.

It's so strange.

Nothing has really changed, yet everything feels so different at the same time.

My phone rattles in my hand, and I glance down at the growing notification number.

Speaking of different . . .

In the days since the park pictures, my social media has blown up to proportions I can barely even fathom. Uma's been calling almost nonstop to book shoots for me, and I've been trying to keep up with the influx of comments and messages and emails requesting brand deals. It's been a lot, and I know it's because of Jude.

There's an obvious part of me that's grateful for it—I'm finally getting past some of the hurdles I've been stuck at over the last year or so. My audience is increasing, and brands are reaching out now more than ever. My engagement is up across the board too. It's everything I wanted.

But there's another part of me—an admittedly bigger one—that feels guilty I'm benefiting from this at all.

I like Jude, but I don't like Jude for what he does. I like him for who he is, and I kind of wish I could keep those worlds separate.

My phone vibrates again, and this time it's a call.

Uma.

"Hello?"

"Great news," she says without a greeting. "I just booked you with Peter Pierre for a major international campaign."

"Peter Pierre? The Peter Pierre?"

"Yes! Isn't it fabulous? It's for Blush Jeans, and it's going to be huge."

I frown. "Blush Jeans? But they're ..."

"The hottest jean company out there right now? I know. This is a great opportunity."

"Sure, but—"

"No buts, Olive. This is fantastic! Good Jeans isn't cooperating like we want. This could be the next best thing."

And that's apparently all it is to her—fabulous, huge, a great opportunity, fantastic, the next best thing.

But to me, it's something else—it's selling my soul.

Blush Jeans doesn't align with my personal beliefs of sustainability, nor do they cater to a true plus-size audience like Good Jeans does. Blush's biggest size is a sixteen, a size I'll barely even fit into. They don't go beyond that, which means they don't actually care about being there for every body and every size. That's not the kind of campaign I want to be part of.

"Right, Uma, but their mission isn't my mission."

"No, but it could be."

"How?"

"Well, maybe you could bend your mission just a bit. You have to look at the bigger picture here, Olive. Your mission is great—it truly is—but it's also limited. You've been saying for years now how you want to grow your brand and your opportunities. Well, this will do that."

She's right. I know she is.

But it doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel like me.

Worse, I know why they want me in their campaign when they've never wanted me before.

Jude.

"Can I think about it?"

"Olive . . ."

"Uma ..." I say in the same exhausted tone.

She's not happy with me, but right now, I don't care. I refuse to be pressured into anything, including this undeniably huge chance.

"Fine," she concedes. "But I need an answer by Friday."

"Fine," I echo.

She sighs. "Just really think about it, Olive. Okay?"

"I will."

But even as I say the words, I know they're a lie.

I already know my answer.

Asshat: I come home tomorrow.

Me: So I've heard.

Asshat: Yeah, but I mean it this time.

Me: Right, right.

Asshat: I MEAN IT mean it.

Me: Sure thing.

Asshat: I'm serious.

Me: I'll think I'll believe it when I see it.

Asshat: Get ready to believe it, then.

I shake my head, tucking my phone back under my pillow.

It's almost midnight, and I've been wide awake for the last two hours.

I can't stop thinking about the offer Uma gave me yesterday or my deadline tomorrow.

She needs an answer, and I have one. I just really, really don't want to give it to her. Mostly because I know she's going to be so disappointed, but I just can't do it. I can't say yes. I can't do that to my fans.

My account has blossomed once again, especially after Jude's interview on Late! At Night with Timmy went viral and photos of him in Vancouver without me exploded. I've had no fewer than fifty new calls for a comment on our relationship status.

I wanted to laugh at those—even I don't know what our relationship status is.

Is he my friend with a few benefits? My boyfriend? Are we just hanging out? I don't know. We've not talked about it, and I don't really know how to talk about it.

How do you ask a movie star if you're dating?

My phone buzzes again.

Asshat: What are you even doing up still? Missing me?

Me: Nice try.

Me: You know I'm kind of a night owl.

Asshat: Ollie . . .

Me: Fine. Can't sleep.

Asshat: What's going on?

Me: It's nothing.

Not even two seconds after I hit Send, my phone lights up, this time with a call.

Asshat.

"Hello?" I say, pressing the phone to my ear.

"Talk to me, Sunshine."

"Why are you whispering?"

"Because it's late?" He poses it as a question, almost like he's not even sure why he's whispering. "Now, what's going on?"

I sigh. "It's really nothing."

"That's not a nothing kind of sigh. Talk to me. Please."

His plea is my undoing, and I find myself launching into the whole sordid tale with Uma.

When I'm done, he's the one who sighs.

"That's . . . well, that's bullshit."

"What?" I laugh. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's bullshit that Uma would even come to you with that opportunity. She's your manager. She knows your mission. She should know better than to even entertain this. It goes against what you believe in and stand for. She's in the wrong for this one. Not you."

This time when I sigh, it's a whole different kind.

"Thank you," I tell him. "Thank you for understanding me and for having my back."

"I'll always have your back, Ollie. And your front. Waggles brows."

A laugh bubbles out of me. "Did you just say ‘waggles brows' out loud?"

"Yes. You can't see me, so I wanted you to know what I was doing."

"You're ridiculous, you know that?"

"I know. Just like I know you miss me."

"I do," I say, not even bothering to try denying it this time. "I really miss you."

"How much? Scale of one to ten. Go."

"A solid four."

"A four? A four? That's a low blow, Sunshine—literally. Try again."

"Fine. Maybe a six."

"Moving up two points. Nice. But try again."

"A seven."

"Sunshine . . ."

"An eight ... and a half."

He laughs. "Keep going. You're getting closer."

"A nine. That's my final offer."

"No, no. See, you're supposed to say ten, and I'm supposed to do this."

"Do what?"

"Shh!"

I clamp my mouth shut, holding my breath and listening closely to what's on the other end of the line.

There's a faint chime.

A familiar faint chime.

And I realize then it's not coming from the phone. It's coming from the apartment.

I spring up.

"Jude?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you . . ."

"Am I what?" I can hear the smile in his voice as I climb out of my bed and pad through my room and into the living room.

"Please tell me that's you at the door and not some stalker."

"I thought I was your stalker."

"You are, you creep."

He laughs. "Why are you whispering?"

"Because someone's at my door."

"Open it."

"No. I'm scared."

"Open it, Sunshine." The command comes out deeper, huskier, and it spurs me on.

I move across the room, taking tentative steps, all while listening to Jude's soft breaths in my ear.

"Please don't let me die. Please don't let me die," I repeat.

He chuckles, and I hear it.

I hear it.

I wrench open the door, and my already pounding hearts pumps faster.

Jude.

He's leaning against the wall opposite my door, a grin plastered on his face. He's wearing a pair of faded jeans and a plain black T-shirt, looking a lot like he did the first day I met him.

"I told you I'd see you tomorrow." He winks, and I melt into a puddle right in front of him. "Want to know the best part about being up so late?"

"What's that?"

"No cameras around, so I can do this."

Then he crosses the space, captures my face with his hands, and slants his mouth over mine.

And it feels like coming home.

It's perfect and everything I've been missing for the last few days. I fist my hands into his shirt, tugging him closer, and he laughs into our kiss.

"I knew you missed me," he says against my lips.

"Shut up and kiss me."

He does. He kisses me hard, then soft, then hard again. It's such a push and pull, both of us grasping each other, making out in the middle of the hallway for I don't know how long.

Eventually, we part, Jude placing one last kiss on the tip of my nose.

"Hey, Ollie."

I giggle. "Hey."

"Want to invite me in?"

"What are you? A vampire?" I tease.

He narrows his eyes. "Brat."

"Mm-hmm. Sure am, and I'm proud of it." I step back, already missing his touch the second I'm out of his embrace, then cross the threshold into my apartment. I swing my arm wide dramatically. "You can come in, Mr. Definitely Not a Vampire. That's quite the mouthful of a name."

"I'll show you ‘mouthful,'" he says, stepping past me, not looking the least bit sorry for his words.

I like this Jude, the feisty part of him he doesn't let show too often.

I shut the door behind him and follow him into the apartment. I watch as he toes off his shoes, sets his bag down, then pads into the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water, almost like he's done it a hundred times before. He seems so comfortable here. So at ease.

I like that.

"Are you hungry?" I settle onto the stool, trying to hide the fact I'm not wearing a bra the best I can. I wasn't expecting Jude to show up at my front door and suddenly feel wildly underdressed as he stares over at me. I'm just glad Annie isn't here. Now, Remi ... I have no clue if he's here or not. He's been staying here almost every night since Annie asked him to move in, and I know she mentioned something about him playing cards with friends tonight. "We need to go grocery shopping, but I'm sure I can scrounge up something."

"Oh, I'm hungry." He finishes off his water, then rinses the cup and places it in the dishwasher. I smile to myself, loving that he knows where our dishwasher is but not his own. He turns back to me, folding his arms over his chest as he rests his back against the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen. "Just not for food."

"Not for . . . Oh."

My answer is right there in his eyes as they rake over me, dark and full of desire.

It's me.

I clear my throat, casting my eyes to the side, starting to feel hot under his stare. I want what he's offering so damn badly. But I think we need to clear the air about a few things first.

"I saw your interview from the other day."

"My interview? With Timmy?" He grunts when I nod. "I cannot stand that guy. He's so ..."

"Fake?"

"So fake. He tries to be all buddy-buddy with everyone, but it comes off forced and just so ... I don't know. I hate it."

"It was . . . interesting."

"I'm sorry he asked about you. Dylan warned me it might happen, but I was hoping he was better than that. People like him live for those gotcha moments."

I wave off his words. "It's okay. I promise. I guess I just wasn't expecting it, is all."

He reaches up with both hands, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I know this is a lot to handle. If at any point it gets to be too much, just tell me. I'll ... I'll ..."

"Jude?"

"Hmm?"

"It's not too much to handle."

He snaps his attention back to me. "It's not?"

I shake my head. "No. Not at all. It's just ... Well, I've been getting phone calls and questions."

"About us?"

"Yes. They want to know what we are."

"Oh." He sucks in a breath, then slides his eyes my way. "Do, uh, do you want to be something?"

"I mean, I kind of thought that's what we were already doing here."

"It is," he says quickly, crossing the small kitchen and rounding the counter, stepping between my legs and cupping my face in his hands. "It is. I just wasn't sure if that's what you wanted."

"I kissed you in front of the paparazzi, Jude. If that doesn't say I'm in, then I don't know what will."

"True." He presses a soft kiss to my forehead. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, I didn't know how I should talk to the press about you. I didn't know if you wanted me to ignore the questions entirely or answer them or what. I didn't want to announce to the world that my girlfriend was this hot model without her consent."

One word sticks out to me, making my heart hammer in my chest like the wings of a hummingbird.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump.

It's silly. So absurd. I'm twenty-five. Am I really going to get butterflies over being called someone's girlfriend?

Yes.

"Girlfriend, huh?"

He grins. "You caught that." Another kiss, this time on my cheek. "Yes, girlfriend. If you're okay with it, of course." A kiss on my other cheek. "Because I don't want to do anything unless you're okay with it."

"I'm okay with it," I assure him as he trails soft fingers down my cheek and my neck, ghosting over my heaving chest. He doesn't stop, trailing them all the way down my sides and to my exposed thighs. My shorts have ridden up high, practically hidden away under my sleep shirt.

"Yeah? Good. But now that we've gotten that out of the way ..." He kisses my cheek, then my jawline, then my neck, only to trail his mouth back up and start again until I'm practically a panting mess under his lips and his hands, which are still tantalizing my thighs. "There's just one other thing we need to discuss."

"What?" The single word comes out breathy as he kisses his way back to my mouth.

He pulls away just enough to peer into my eyes, his green gaze solemn. "These pajamas are ridiculous."

I bark out a laugh, shaking my head as I glance down at my very non-ridiculous and totally normal unicorn pj's, a gift from Annie last Christmas. "Like you have any room to talk, Snoopy."

"You're right. I don't. But that's all in the past. Right now we're focusing on this monstrosity."

"‘Monstrosity'?"

"Horrendous," he says, fingering the edges of my shorts, which are riding up so high he's getting dangerously close to the spot where I want him the most. "The worst offense I've ever seen."

"Is that so?"

"Afraid it is. But the good news is, I have a solution."

"What's that?"

He grins wolfishly. "We take them off."

"Here?"

"Tsk, tsk, Sunshine. You have a roommate. She could come home at any moment, and you're sitting here begging me to ravish you in the kitchen."

"Annie's at work; she's on a double. And I'll have you know I have two roommates."

"Two?"

I nod. "Remi moved in yesterday. He brought his computer and two duffel bags. That was it."

"That's ..." He shakes his head. "I don't want to talk about Remi. I want to talk about this." He tugs on the shorts. "Let's get rid of them, yeah?"

"Jude! We cannot have sex in the kitchen!" I hiss at him.

"Why not? You let me eat your pu—"

I slam my hand over his mouth, feeling him grin beneath it. "You're done."

He pulls my hand away. "Actually, I was just getting started."

"Jude . . ."

"Sunshine ..." he counters, his eyes sparking with mischief.

Then, without warning, he hooks his hands under my ass and tugs me from the stool.

I let out a loud yelp, and he shushes me.

"Stop it. You have roommates," he admonishes as he carries me through the living room.

"You're so annoying."

"Yeah, but you like it."

"I like you."

"I know you do, Sunshine." He winks at me, then brings me to my room, closing the door behind him and flicking on my bedroom light.

"Now, which side of the bed is mine?" he asks as he sets me on the mattress, then grabs the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head, giving me my first full glimpse of his shirtless torso.

God, no wonder he carried me in here like I weigh nothing. Jude is ... wow.

I was wrong before. It's very clear he spends a lot of time in the gym. He's all corded muscles and defined abs, and utterly hot.

"Ollie?"

I shake my head, swallowing as I force my eyes from his half-naked form to find him smirking at me, probably knowing full well that I was enjoying the show entirely too much.

"Are you staying over?"

"Yep," he says, climbing into the bed next to me. "But don't get any funny ideas about trying to feel me up while I'm snoozing, because I absolutely will allow it."

I laugh as I pull the covers up over us.

"Hey, what are you doing?" he asks.

"Uh, going to sleep?"

"With clothes on?" He reaches under the covers, shuffles around, then produces his jeans, tossing them to the floor. "Get naked, Sunshine."

"You want me to sleep naked next to you?"

"Yes. Who else are you going to sleep naked next to?" His brows slash together. "Actually, don't answer that," he says darkly, almost like he can't stand the thought of me being naked with someone else.

"I've never slept naked before," I admit.

"Really? That's the best way to sleep. That way, if someone breaks into your house, you can attack them. Nobody wants to fight a naked person—trust me."

"Trust you? I feel like there's a story there."

His cheeks tinge red, and now I know there's a story there. "Just get naked," he mutters.

I want to argue but instead heed his direction, tugging my top over my head. I reach under the blanket like he did, pulling off my shorts and letting them fall to the floor beside me.

I clutch the blanket tighter, pulling it to my chin to hide from him. I feel silly for it, but I've searched Google a hundred times over. Jude doesn't date women who look like me.

I'm not ashamed of my body, but I am very aware that it's different from any body he's seen this close before. I roll onto my side, sucking in a deep, calming breath.

His hand lands on my hip and I tense. Jude tugs at me, pulling me closer and fitting himself against me like it's where he belongs.

And that's how we lie for several quiet moments, Jude holding me and me holding my breath.

"Hey, Olive?" he whispers after a few moments.

"Yeah?"

"Are you going to lie still as a statue the entire night?"

I laugh, relaxing for the first time. "No."

"Good." He presses a soft kiss to my naked shoulder. "You're beautiful, by the way. Just in case I haven't said it yet."

I sigh. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Good night, girlfriend."

"Good night . . . Asshat."

He chuckles, and that's how we fall asleep—him holding me close and me thinking that maybe ... just maybe ... this thing could work.