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"Right now?"
He nods yeah.
It's tempting. Very tempting. But not with Gabe upstairs. "What time?"
"Are you going to schedule me in?"
"Do you have to go to work?"
His eyes flit to the clock. "An hour. Let's go to your room. Play music. He won't hear."
"He's already suspicious. And he…" I don't know what Gabe will say, but my parents will flip if they find out Oliver and I are… involved. There goes their blessing to stay here. And here comes a bunch of extra conversations with Allison. No thanks. "My parents…"
"Yeah." He shakes his head. "You know how distracted I'll be at work? Looking at that chair, remembering you coming on my cock?"
"And I won't?"
"It's not right in your face."
"Trust me. I'll be thinking about it."
"Yeah?"
I nod.
The water upstairs runs. Oliver sighs with relief. Motions come here.
I do.
He wraps his arms around me. Pulls me into a slow, deep kiss. "You taste so fucking good." He shifts his hips so I can feel his hard-on.
"Ollie—"
"I know. After." His hand slips under my t-shirt. Up my side. Over my breast. "Just this."
"Fuck."
He toys with my nipple as he scrapes his teeth against my lower lip.
I reach for his hair. Tug at his dark locks as I rock my hips against him.
We kiss until the running water stops.
Then he steps back. Smiles a smile of pure evil. Pure I have you right where I want you.
He does.
But I do too. "After work."
His eyes stay glued to mine. "Maybe."
"Maybe?"
He nods maybe. "Or maybe I like making you wait until you're begging for it."
Fuck.
We dress. Go out for coffee. Fail to keep our hands off each other.
Ollie says goodbye with a long, slow kiss. A kiss so hard and deep it sets me aflame. I stay at the coffee shop with my European History text book.
I struggle through my reading. Even after a second iced Americano.
Then I head home. Grab my car. Force myself to concentrate at my chemistry study group. This is my major. This is what I actually need to know.
It's just so much less interesting than Oliver's hands.
Or his lips.
Or his eyes.
Or that sound he makes when he comes.
God, I need that again. That low deep groan that's equal parts demand and gratitude.
It's different than other guys. We're different. Equal.
He cares about what I need. He's fascinated by what I need. The way he looks at me…
Shit. I completely miss a question from my lab partner. I try to stare at her. To focus on her glasses. They're a transparent red. It's a bold choice. Classic and trendy at the same time.
It suits her.
And the answer is Tin.
Somehow, I make it through our session, get into my car, drive to Inked Love.
On a Sunday evening in late fall, parking is slightly less horrible than usual. I find a spot six blocks away. Speed walk the entire distance.
My skin warms as I step into the shop. It's not the change in temperature—it's always cool in here, but it's already cold outside.
It's him.
Ollie is finishing up with a client. A short guy sitting in the teal chair. The chair where he made me come.
And there's Holden. At the counter.
The counter where he made me come.
God, the man is good at making me come.
I really want him to do it again.
But there are all these people here.
And Holden is already looking at me all… Holden like. I never know with him. The guy isn't as much of an instigator as he was before he started dating Daisy, but he still lives to cause trouble.
I used to think he was a fuckboy. Always starting shit, always with a new chick, never, ever serious.
I still encouraged her to pursue him. I wasn't sure he'd deliver on the fantastic lay front, but she wanted him, and she had the opportunity. Why not seize the fucking day?
Carpe cock.
Or something.
When I saw them together, saw how hard he tried to understand her, how much he wanted to know her, how quickly he set her at ease—
They're good together. It defies reasoning—the sweet, innocent bookworm and the troublemaking tattoo artist—but they really are.
And he's… well, we're not friends exactly. But we're friendly.
He nods hey. "Heard you're coming to my party."
"Did you?" I make my voice casual. We are friendly, and he's not the type to snitch, but Daisy is his girlfriend. And that's a bond that trumps anything.
Ollie and I need to be the ones to tell her.
Somehow.
Eventually.
"Yeah." Holden nods to Oliver. "Ollie looked at me and grunted, 'you still doing your Halloween shit?'"
"And you are?" I ask.
He nods. "Wasn't the nicest invitation request I'd ever heard, but he's always on my list."
"He never wears a costume," I say.
Holden laughs true. "Always brings good shit."
So Holden doesn't know. Does anyone else know?
Does Daisy know?
I swallow the question as quickly as I can, but it's not fast enough. Holden notices my change of expression.
