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He's across the hall. In his room. In his bed, maybe.
He might be reading or drawing or working or thinking of me.
I run the water. Step into the shower. Close my eyes and will my thoughts to abate.
That blinking sign keeps flashing in my head. So I recall the sight of Oliver in his bedroom. In a towel that failed to hide his hard-on.
That look in his eyes when he's teasing me.
The citrus smell of his shampoo.
The deep tenor of his groan.
My other thoughts slip away. Bit by bit, I fade into a familiar fantasy. The two of us at a party. Outside. In some beautiful backyard.
His hands on my skin.
His lips on my neck.
Fuck, I come fast. Too fast.
It's not enough. I need more.
I absolutely, positively, can't have more.
He's across the hall. For the next few weeks. Maybe even the rest of the semester.
I have to get used to it.
Thankfully, I have half a dozen outfits here. In Daisy's closet.
She makes space for me.
We're practically sisters.
So it's pretty messed up that I step onto the stairs and see Oliver on the couch and immediately think damn, he looks like he's waiting to be mounted.
He really does, though.
He's lying back with his Kindle in his hands. All long and tall and comfortable.
His t-shirt is even pulling up his torso. Showing off that sliver of skin above the low waist of his jeans.
The tattoo on his hip. Lyrics to some grunge song. It sounds like a love song, but it's really about heroin.
He looks up at me and nods hey. "If you want to watch something, I can go upstairs."
"Or you can pretend you're staying because you're here when it's really because you love The Bachelorette."
He chuckles. "They usually pick a hot chick."
"And she has all these men vying for her attention."
"Is that your dream?"
"No." My fingers trail the railing as I move down the stairs. My feet pad the floor. It's cooler than usual. Different. This is all different. But it can be normal. Just me and Oliver teasing each other on the couch. We've done that a million times.
Usually, it's after Daisy goes to sleep. Or while she's showering. Or doing homework.
But it's the same thing.
No. Big. Deal.
"The guys are always scrubs," I say.
"You love scrubs."
I shake my head. "Is this about Sean again?"
He shrugs maybe.
I move past him. To the kitchen. Fill a glass of water. "You want one?"
"You're asking?"
"I'm very polite."
He makes that hmm gesture. Motions to a mug on the coffee table. "I'm good."
"Is that coffee?"
"Decaf."
"You're drinking decaf?" I ask.
"Desperate times."
"No better way to hide your bourbon?"
That same maybe shrug. But different. Stiffer. "There was that other guy. Before Sean."
"James?"
He nods that's it. "He was a loser."
"You know, some girls would take offense to you calling their exes losers."
"'Cause they dumped you?"
I flip him off.
He laughs, but there's still a tension to it. "He did, right?"
"I was fifteen. We dated for three months. I'm not sure it really matters who dumped who."
"Did you fuck?"
"Oh my god!" I set my glass aside. Slide onto the counter. Cross my ankles.
"You did." His expression shifts. His shoulders soften. His deep blue eyes fill with interest. "Was it good?"
"None of your business."
"Was he your first?"
"You didn't eavesdrop on me and Daisy?" I ask.
"Believe it or not, Luna, but I have more interesting things to do."
"I choose not," I say.
He chuckles of course you say that. "Was he? Or was it Sean? Fuck, have you only been with Sean?" He shakes his head sad, so sad.
"Why do you want to know?"
He stands. Moves across the room. To the kitchen island. Takes a seat on the opposite side of the counter. "Making conversation."
"Is it that unfathomable, the idea of being with only one person?"
"For you? Yeah."
"Excuse me?"
He chuckles. "You know that's not what I mean."
"It sounds like you called me a slut."
"No." His eyes flit to my chest. "But you like to show off. You like to flirt. You impart wisdom."
"I thought you didn't eavesdrop."
"You're loud," he says.
True.
His smile lights up his blue eyes. It's so beautiful. Too beautiful. It makes my heart race and my stomach flutter. Oliver's smile is rare. A treat. An incredibly delicious treat.
"You know what you want," he says. "Usually, that takes trial and error."
"Maybe I have a rich inner life."
"Maybe you've fucked a few different guys." He leans back on his hands. "No shame in that."
"You couldn't talk if there was."
He laughs as he picks up one hand. Points to his chest. "Biggest slut in the state."
"Are you? Or do you want people to think that?"
He makes that a little motion. "You?"
"I?"
"Want people to think you're experienced."
Sort of. "I want men to know they can't fuck with me. Otherwise, I don't care."
"Hmm." So much like his father's. But so different too.
"Hmm? Why are you so interested?"
"I'm not." His gaze flits to the TV. "Just figured you'd rather talk about something else."
