His Greatest Treasure (Greatest Love #4)

Chapter 12

12

AVERY

We’re all red and sticky by the time we’ve spread the Jello-O all over the yard. There are clumps in the grass, on my tanning chair beneath the pool umbrella, and even stuck inside the holes in the chain-link fence.

Nova hasn’t stopped giggling since Oliver threw the first fistful, and it’s made things all the more complicated. How am I supposed to be angry about the mess and my ruined pool when she’s so happy? Especially after the stressful first two days she’s had at school.

The nerves of starting a new school in a new place have made my daughter more closed off at school than she’s ever been. She shied away from the kids in her class when I dropped her off and picked her up, and that’s just not like her.

Maybe it’s just first-week jitters . . .

“Can Oliver stay for dinner, Mom?”

I shrink into myself a bit at the question, my gut reaction being to say no. An hour of laughter with me and my daughter doesn’t erase everything prior. But damn it all to hell, when Nova grips my sticky hands and bats her lashes at me, there’s only ever one correct answer .

“I’ll ask him if he wants to join us. He might be busy,” I tell her.

I don’t want to look over to where I know Oliver’s back on his side of the fence, wiping his neck and chest with a towel. One that he stole from the back of my lounge chair before he scuttered from my yard like a rat. Shit. I look anyway.

The thick ridges of his abdomen ripple as he leans the slightest bit backward and drags the towel along them, spending way too much time cleaning in between each one. His hair is a mess, strands sticking up left and right with clumps of red gelatine. The waistband of his swim trunks hangs low on his hips and ride up high on his thighs, at least a couple of inches above his knees. And they’re tighter than they should be. I’d prefer if he wore full-length loose pants instead.

I half expected to see him sporting a farmer’s tan, but no. He’s golden all over. Sun-kissed like a swimwear model straight from Cali.

Tilting my head to the side, I jab my thumb along the ridge of my bottom lip to make sure I’m not drooling before asking, “Do you have dinner plans?”

When he whips his head toward us with both his brows up in surprise, I contemplate begging the earth to swallow me whole. I can only imagine what he’s thinking right now.

“No,” he answers, curiosity thick in his tone.

“Do you want some?”

His body shifts until we’re standing face to face, only the chains of the fence between us. “Will my food be poisoned?”

“That’s a risk you’ll have to take.”

There’s a minuscule twitch of his lip as he lifts the towel to the back of his neck and wipes it clean. “Dinner would be nice.”

“Okay,” I say, beyond awkward.

Truthfully, I blame this all on my freakish obsession with online stalking him. That’s the only reason why I can’t stop finding myself in such compromising positions like this. I was enamoured with him for so many years that it must have caused my brain to misfire.

“I’ll shower first.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” I rush out.

“Is this a truce?”

“For tonight. I’m not letting the pool go unanswered.”

He turns away from me, and a second later, his back shakes, almost as if he’s laughing? The silent type that he doesn’t want me to see.

“When do you want me to come?” he asks a tad breathlessly.

“Half an hour?”

“Alright.”

I wait for him to look at us again, but he just goes inside without a word, my pink-and-yellow towel looped around his neck. A sigh puffs out of me. Alright then. It’s good to know that he doesn’t feel any different after our Jell-O fight either. He’s still the same old grumpy Oliver Bateman.

Nova wraps her small arms around me from the side and squeezes. “Thanks, Mom.”

“For inviting him for dinner?”

A jerky, excited nod. “He’s cool. I like him.”

“I’m glad you think so, kiddo. Let’s go get cleaned up, okay? Then I’ll put in an order for pizza.”

“Pizza? Can I get ham and pineapple?”

“Sure.” Even if just the smell of the fruit on the pizza will make me want to retch. “Anything else?”

“Chicken wings!”

“Deal. How about you go inside and hop in the shower while we wait?”

She doesn’t argue. My girl loves showers and baths. She has an entire basket in the bathroom full of bubble baths and shower gels. Pampered already, she’s my twin in far more than just one way.

Once we’re inside and she’s ducked into the bathroom, I put the order in for pizza and start anxious cleaning. The vacuum hums loudly as I run it over the exact same spot in the living room carpet ten times, needing it to be as clean as possible. Hell, we’re not even dirty people to begin with. I keep a tidy, dust- and crumble-free house at all times. But as I spiral, I find invisible dust on the coffee table and a make-believe stain on the grey couch cushion that I cover with a throw pillow.

I wasn’t expecting Oliver the day he stormed up my stairs and helped himself to a view of my bedroom, but he wasn’t looking then. Tonight, I just know he will be. That smirking, Jell-O-tossing douche will be holding a damn magnifying glass over every inch of this place in the hopes of finding something to call me out for.

He isn’t going to have the chance. Magnifying glass or not.

By the time Nova cracks open the bathroom door and steps out in her tiger-striped robe and her hair wrapped in a loose towel, I’m already waiting to take my turn scrubbing clean.

“You got between your fingers and behind your ears, right?” I ask before she pads into her room.

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll be out in a couple of minutes. If you need me?—”

“Tell you. I know, Mom.”

“Yes, tell me.” I blow out a breath and nod to myself before slipping inside the hot room and shutting the door behind me.

Ten minutes later, I’m tugging a sweatshirt down over my stomach when the doorbell rings. I don’t remember the last time I could spend more than ten minutes showering and getting dressed without worrying about Nova. Actually, I can.

She wasn’t born yet.

Seven used to sound like such a blessed number when I was struggling with a newborn and a toddler, but I still worry too much. Drive myself out of my mind, more like. So much could go wrong in ten minutes when I’m not around. Showers are loud, and I don’t trust myself to hear her over the pelt of water as much as I should .

It’s all worth it in the end. Every time I see her smile or feel her arms around me in a tight Nova hug, all the stress and fear fades to the background. The love I have for her isn’t something made on this earth. It comes from somewhere else. A place pure and bright.

“Can I get the door?” she asks, sneaking past me, moving like her ass is on fire.

I laugh lightly. “It looks like you’re already going to.”

Feet tucked into a pair of fuzzy frog slippers, she slides the rest of the way down the hall with her hands held out like she’s mid-yoga pose. As she fumbles for the doorknob to gain balance, her excitement is potent.

“Hello!” she shouts after the door is opened to reveal Oliver.

I take one look at him and curse the way my lower stomach tightens. Is it common practice for men to show up to a woman’s house with damp, messy hair and black joggers that cup their tree-trunk thighs? Even though his shirt is baggy, it doesn’t do me any favours. I’ve seen him bare-chested and therefore know exactly what he’s hiding beneath the moss-green material. Row upon row of abs that deserve to be photographed instead of hidden away.

My eyes could cross with pleasure at the sight of his biceps cording and straining in the shirt sleeves, as if even sizing up in shirts is still not enough to house those beasts. He could pick me up and toss me over those girthy shoulders, and I’d purr, Thank you, Lieutenant.

Lieutenant. Fuck’s sake. The overconfident ass with his does it impress you shit. Yeah, actually. It does. But I’ll never admit it. Not even having my teeth yanked out one at a time would reveal the secrets I have that involve him. I’ll take them to the grave if I have to if it means saving myself that embarrassment.

“Do you know how to wrap your hair in a towel?” Nova asks, her voice cutting through the fog of my bitter arousal.

I lick my dry lips and slowly move toward them. “I’m sure he does. ”

“How do you wrap it?” He surprises me with the genuine curiosity in his tone.

Nova’s eyes glitter. “Oh! I can show you.”

“Later, sweetheart. We don’t need hair wraps tonight. Dinner will be here any minute.”

She pouts but doesn’t argue. Her tiny nod makes me feel guilty, and I take a bated breath.

“Your mom is right. Next time,” Oliver says.

My heart skips like a horny bitch at his support, but I don’t focus on it. Instead, I scold the damned organ and set a hand on Nova’s shoulder to guide her away from the door.

“Come inside. I don’t want bugs in the house,” I mutter.

“She makes me kill them,” Nova says, the traitor.

Oliver smirks at that, one brow pulling upward. “Even the spiders?”

“Especially the spiders. But I like doing it.”

“Not all the time,” I defend myself. With both of them out of the doorway, I’m quick to shut it and twist the lock. “It’s either that or leave them trapped in a cup just so they can escape later when I forget about them.”

“Just squash them with a shoe.”

“That’s what I do!” Nova squeals, preening under the smile he flashes her way.

“Smart girl.”

I huff at their bonding. It’s too sudden. He hasn’t even had to work to earn Nova’s affection, and she’s already handing it to him like she shares her snacks with other kids on the playground. I should be proud of her for being so kind and open, but when it comes to Oliver, I don’t want him to gain her friendship too quickly only to hurt her later on when he grows tired of whatever kind of game it is he’s playing with us.

My momma bear instincts rear up as I fix him with a tight look and wait for him to notice. He slips out of his shoes, and finally, his hazel eyes dart to me.

“Drink?” I ask, voice short and sharp.

“Water’s good.”

“Great.” Spinning on my heel, I leave him in the kitchen, knowing Nova will show him around on my behalf.

My seven-year-old daughter is proving to be more mature than me right now. More accepting and kind. I’m behaving like an immature asshole, but my natural stubbornness makes it hard to change that. Not yet, without knowing that he’s worth the effort.