Page 39 of Deck The Halls & Cover The Howls
I narrow my eyes. “I’m only four years older than you, you brat. Besides, I'm way cooler,” I say with my nose in the air.
Oliver's jaw drops in mock indignation.
I raise my index finger. “You use full sentences in texts like you care about people and grammar. It’s the absolute sign of uncoolness.”
I raise another finger. “You wear really nerdy, clever, and funny t-shirts.” I pointedly look at his pink, ‘Go Away, I’m Writing’ T-shirt and raise another finger. “You cook like a really responsible adult, and you're good at it!” I crinkle my nose exaggeratedly.
Another finger up. “You’re nice and helpful to literally everybody. You—”
Oliver interrupts me, his face slightly pink. “I just need one finger to reply to all of that.” And he flips me off, putting on the most dramatic pout.
I laugh. “Okay, alright, you're the coolest and the hippest,” I walk closer to him, wrapping my arm around his waist. My lips land on his almost instinctively, my free hand grasping his neck, fingers combing his curls.
Fucking finally. I sigh against his warm, soft mouth. My lips move over his, and I get this intense need to find out just how many noises I can wiggle out of him with just my lips on his.
I'm very aware we're in a public place. But the aisle isempty, so maybe not a bad idea? I wrap my arm around Oliver's firm body to pull him in and deepen the kiss.
But then he's moving away. “We have an audience,” he says, his voice rough.
It takes a while for my brain to catch up to his words. When I do, I notice a woman looking at us with wide eyes and a frankly creepy smile. How I didn’t hear or smell the intruder, I don’t know.
“Yeah, let's go,” I take Oliver's hand, and we walk over to the seasonal aisle.
We spend way too long picking out ornaments, garlands, and wreaths for decoration. I sneakily add a big bundle of mistletoe.
By the time we reach the checkout counter, we have two and a half carts full of stuff to carry back.
He tries to fight me on payment, but eventually gives up. We carry everything to his car and drive back separately.
On the way up, I carry almost everything in one go while Oliver carries two bags, looking awkward.
“Don't judge me, I'm not making rounds to get all this shit up even if I lose a finger on the way,” I tell him, determined. I can't feel at least three of my fingers already.
Oliver laughs. “It’ll be a worthy sacrifice.”
When we’re in front of my door, I motion to my pocket.
He sets one of his bags down and slides his hand inside. My body feels the movement of his finger through the fabric like it’s etched in my skin. I can hear his heartbeat speeding up.
He quickly opens the door, and we drop everything on the kitchen counter.
“I'll leave you to deal with that,” He gestures towards the mess we made.
I nod, trying to follow his lead on how he wants to take things forward…or backward. My mind is too impulsive in his presence to make any rational decisions anyway.
“About this morning…” my mouth starts before my brain can catch up.
Oliver waves me off. “It wasn’t a big deal. I know the score.” He laughs awkwardly.
My heart dips to my stomach. “Right, of course.” I nod quickly.
“So, I’m gonna…” he points at the door and walks out while I stare at his retreating figure.
“Fuck,” I growl when I hear his door acrossthe hall slam shut.
Chapter Thirteen
Oliver
