Don't Mask, Don't Tell

Chapter 36

Sliding on my dark skinny jeans, I stare at the color-coded clothes hanging in my closet—Eliza's doing. Axel still hasn't told me where we're going today, just to dress comfortably.

Whatever that means.

Thanks to my best friend, I've forgotten what casual actually looks like. Most of the events we've attended over the years are high-fashion, wearing strictly couture. And in my case, her hand-me-downs.

But couture nonetheless.

Combing through the clothes, I spot a heather grey baseball tee with red sleeves that I forgot I even owned.

This could work!

Taking the shirt off the hanger, I hold it up against the closet lighting, remembering the old corporate team.

Frank used to host a charity baseball tournament as a way of employee bonding. I fucking hated it, but it made him happy and the free beer was a nice bonus. Plus, we raised quite a few dollars for the community.

Hearing the muffled yells telling me to hurry up, I slide my shirt over my head. "I'm coming!" I shout from my closet as I grab a pair of tan boat shoes—the closest thing to tennis shoes that I own besides my gym sneakers.

"That's what she said," Mickey yells back.

He would.

Heading down the hall, I throw my hair up in a loose pony, trying to make my leftover curls look intentional.

Probably should've washed my hair, even if it's only day two.

"Will you just pass the fucking orange juice?" Axel gripes, reaching for the pitcher held against Mickey's chest.

"I believe the word you're looking for is please," he sasses.

"Thank fuck you're done getting ready!" Eliza perks up from the table as I walk into the kitchen, handing me a lukewarm coffee. "These two have been fighting like children all morning."

"He started it!" Mickey chimes in, pointing at Axel. Liza rolls her eyes.

Laughing as I place my mug in the microwave, I look over at a frustrated Axel. His brows are furrowed and his jaw is clenched.

Mickey really knows how to get under his skin.

We lock eyes and his facial expression softens. A mischievous smirk forms on his lips. "Goddamn, Olivia. You look so fucking good."

"Get a room!" Mickey teases, throwing a muffin at him.

Crumbs fall down Axel's navy tee, landing in his lap. He brushes them to the floor when he stands, telling Mickey to grab a broom. He's dressed so casually—wearing sneakers, even. His leg tattoos edge out from under the ankle-length white denim pant, looking the most relaxed I've seen him. He literally makes anything look good.

Really fucking good.

"So you'll be back from your shoot tomorrow afternoon?" Mickey asks Eliza, his palm resting on her thigh as Axel shakes his head, sweeping up the muffin-crumb mess.

Last night, he had invited her to join us today—wherever we are going—but she had to work.

She nods and sets her mug on the counter, placing her hand on his leg in response. "Want to stay over when I get back?"

He nods and picks her mug back up, sipping on it like they're now an old married couple sharing their morning coffee.

Not dating, my ass.