Break Even

ELEVEN: OLIVIA

Unhinged. That's the only way I can think to describe my behavior last night. Spencer keeps calling, and I keep sending him to voicemail. He's persistent. I'll give him that. We have nothing to talk about. Not now, not ever.

"You sure you don't want to answer that?" Bryce questions as he's whipping up the most amazing-smelling breakfast.

No Bryce. I don't want to answer the guy who's calling to confront me about sneaking out of your dorm room at an ungodly hour, banging on his door, and making a scene—hard pass.

"Just my brother." I lie a little too easily. You're turning me into quite a good liar, Spencer.

I silence my phone, tossing it aside before walking up behind Bryce, wrapping my arms around his waist. "Not to mention, I'm a lot more interested in whatever smells so amazing over here."

"Oh, that's easy. It's me." He turns to me and winks. This man is gorgeous. It really should be a crime for someone to look like this.

After I was the one to initiate coming back to his dorm, he didn't push me when I changed my mind. Instead, he made sure I still had an incredible night watching movies and playing games. He makes me laugh, a lot. I like it.

"You do smell really nice, just not as enticing as that French toast." I break off a piece from one of the finished slices and then leave him to finish the rest.

My phone rings again, and this time, I decide to respond.

"Stop calling me. I don't want to talk to you."

"Olivia, wait."

"Leave. Me. Al—"

"I told Kennedy." He yells out, and I want to scream. Scream and throw something... at his head."

"What did I ever do to you, Spencer? Why do you hate me?" I try to keep my voice down. I don't want to drag Bryce into this drama; it's already a little crowded with a party of three.

"That's why I've been calling. I wanted to warn you." His voice softens, but I don't care. He's the literal bane of my existence. If I'd never met Spencer James, I'd only be better for it.

"You know, it doesn't even matter whether or not you hate me, because I definitely hate you." And I mean it. I can't stand his stupid freaking existence. It brings nothing but misery.

"We need to talk, Olivia." There's an authority to his voice. He's not asking me; he's telling me.

"You need just to disappear." I cover my mouth even though he can't see me. I didn't mean to say that out loud.

"What?" Now he sounds irritated. Welcome to the club, buddy—a constant state of frustration.

"Nothing. I'm busy right now. Stadium at two. We can talk there." I hang up the phone. The longer I play his game, the better chance he has at winning. I'm done with his little game and him.

"Breakfast is served," Bryce calls out. I throw on my best smile and head back to the kitchen.

"A man of many talents, I see."

"I could show you quite a few things, Olivia."

His eyes trace over my body. I'm sure you could, Bryce. And I should let you. Yet, at the same time, I want to correct him and tell him to call me Liv. Everybody calls me Liv. Spencer calls me Olivia.

Enough. This all ends, today.

"You intrigue me, Bryce Matthews." I bring a fork full of eggs to my lips, parting slightly to take a bite.

"I could say the same about you, Olivia." He bites into the French toast, darting his tongue out to lick up the trace of powdered sugar left behind.

"Liv. You can call me Liv."