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"This is it?"
"Yeah." He flips through the pages. Smiles as he stops. "Fuck, I should make you work more for this."
How are you going to do that? Do you need me at your service, sir?
"You were so fucking annoying, begging me. Nonstop."
I suck a breath through my nose. Attempt to push my dirty thoughts out with my exhale.
It's no good. As soon as he shakes his head you're so difficult, my head fills with ideas. Ridiculously complete fantasies where I'm the bad girl who needs to earn his favor on my back.
Or my knees.
Fuck, I don't even like that.
Or I thought I didn't.
Maybe I do. Maybe it was just Sean. Maybe there's something about Oliver.
"You ready?" he asks.
I nod.
"You sure?"
Yes, take off your pants. I want to feel you.
"Close your eyes first."
Jesus Christ.
He raises a brow. "Close them or you don't see."
Okay. I close my eyes. Attempt to inhale calm and exhale dirty thoughts. Or maybe I should keep the dirty thoughts. I've already forgotten why Ollie is trying to distract me.
"Open on three." His footsteps move closer. "One, two, three."
My eyes blink open. Go straight to the sketch in front of me. The lyrics I fell in love with the day I heard them.
I used to beg Oliver for this. Or threaten to ask Holden instead.
God, it's even better than I imagined.
A row of trees, consumed by fire, with the lyrics from my favorite song.
The Lorde song about being too much.
The perfect claiming of an insult.
I am a wildfire. I am a force of nature. You will dance in my storm and you'll like it.
It's beautiful. Sharp and bold and perfect.
My fingers move of their own accord. They reach out. Brush the paper. Trace the lines.
He looks down at me, his expression a mixture of pride and apprehension. "You like it?"
I nod. "I love it."
His smile widens. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I trace the lines again. "Can we do it now? Today? Please?"
"Right now?"
"Why not?"
He chuckles you're ridiculous. "'Cause you just saw it."
"I wanted it then. I want it now."
"Daisy will kill me."
"Is that your excuse for everything?"
He nods yeah.
"Can we do it tomorrow?"
His laugh gets louder. "You're like a kid."
"You're showing me this perfect, beautiful thing, this thing I've always wanted and telling me I can't have it."
"You think it's perfect?"
"It is." The thin lines, the deep colors, the vibrant orange. "Ollie, please."
"It's too soon."
"Don't make me beg."
"Don't beg. I can't handle it." He turns the sketchpad around. Studies the design carefully. "All right—"
"Yes."
"If—"
"Don't ruin it," I say.
He ignores my protests. "We'll do a trial run." He motions to the drawing. "Print a temp at the shop. Apply it today. If you still want it in two weeks, I'll do it."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
I throw my arms around him.
He takes a half-step backward. Then he settles. Wraps his arms around me. Pulls me closer.
"Thank you." I rest my head on his chest. My hands on his waist.
That's his bare skin against my palm. His body against mine.
It's not the first time we've touched, hugged, embraced.
But it's the first time I've needed to inhale every inch of his skin.
He holds me close for a moment, then he releases me. "I should finish your furniture."
I shake my head.
"Where are you going to sleep?"
"Finish when we get back."
"You know I'm doing you a favor?"
"I'll buy you coffee."
He half-smiles. "Hard bargain."
My eyes flit to his crotch.
He notices, but he doesn't call me on it. "Twenty minutes. I'm going to shower. And finish lunch. Then we walk over."
"Thank you."
He nods. "Thank me with the coffee."
"Really, Ollie."
He shrugs like it's no big deal, but the pride in his eyes betrays him.
It's a beautiful day. A bright blue sky, a big lemon sun, a soft breeze that turns the afternoon temperate.
Ollie shakes his head it's too fucking bright, slips on his sunglasses, slings his backpack over his shoulder. "I should make you carry this."
"It doesn't go with my outfit."
He chuckles of course. "You know what matters."
"A girl's got to have priorities." I follow him down the sidewalk. "What do you think for coffee? Blue Bottle, Groundworks, Intelligentsia?"
He makes that hmm noise. "Good day for iced. But Blue Bottle is the other direction."
"I don't mind."
"Tomorrow," he says. "You can buy some. Bring it to the shop. Do my bidding for once."
"That doesn't sound fun."
"Huh, imagine that?" He smiles.
"You're not the only one who doesn't follow orders."
He raises a brow.
I fight a blush. "You only do things if you want to do them."
"You sure about that?"
"Yeah."
He shrugs whatever you want to believe. Motions in the direction of his favorite coffee shop.
For a few minutes, we walk in silence. Nothing but the breeze, the hum of traffic, the occasional rumble of someone else's conversation.
Even as we turn onto the main drag, as we move into the coffee shop, wait in line.
This place is hipster extreme. All white walls and glass contraptions. Sparse wooden seats. Rude baristas.
