Page 60 of The One Where They Fall in Love

What did I need to talk to her about again?

“What I’m imagining won’t take more than five minutes, tops,” I reply, trying to take another step towards her.

She rolls her eyes and lets me pull her towards me.Damn, I love when she does that. “Yeah, right,” she says, playfully pushing me away.

Elle moves herself to the tall mirror on her wall to reapply her deep red lipstick. I step behind her, pressing myself against the length of her body so she can feel how much I want her. I move her hair to the side and press kisses against her shoulder and up the back of her neck—where I’m quickly learning is one of her favorite spots.

Elle lets out a soft “hmmm,” but turns around and sidesteps me. “Stop playing dirty, Cole.” She puts her coat on and places a small bag on her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

*

I don’t know much about what Elle does, other than she works with romance books. But the soirée that her company put together for Lucy is quite impressive. It’s at a restaurant on the edge of the park, with a beautiful view of the lit-up skyline.

I try not to leave Elle’s side as much as possible, but she does quite a bit of running around, trying to get Lucy everything she needs. We’re in a private room in the restaurant, and the crowd isn’t large—mostly friends and family, with some publishing people Elle introduces me to, whose names I forget immediately.

When Elle isn’t with me, I stay on the periphery of the party, anxiety taking over as the number of people in the room increases. I keep the exit in my eyesight the entire time, and cringe anytime someone coughs. My OCD loves to shine when I’m anxious about big things in my life. And this is one of those moments.

Elle usually finds me and brings me back into the fold, which is how I find myself standing at a high-top table with a drink in hand, wishing I could rip my tie off my neck because of the chokehold it has on me.

I recognize Elle’s boss from the night in the ER as she approaches us. Her hair is big, curly, and frizzy and her clear glasses take up most of her face. Her lipstick is red and all over her teeth. All of this seems pretty on brand for her, given the stories Elle’s told me about her and her attitude when I first met her.

“Ah, so you’re the boyfriend then, right? The doctor?” she says, reaching a hand out to shake mine. I drop my hand from Elle’s waist as if I’ve been burned, and I feel a tightness in my throat.

“Anne, this is myfriend, Oliver,” Elle says, putting a hand on my chest, clearly unfazed by my panic. I straighten out my body to evade her grasp, instead holding my hand out for Anne to shake and immediately regretting it. Where was her hand before I shook it? I wonder if Elle has hand sanitizer in her purse.

“Yes, the hero who saved my life in the hospital,” she says with a gummy smile. This lady is a bit of a quack, if I’m being honest.

“You weren’t dying, Anne,” Lucy says, joining the conversation and standing next to Elle. Lucy may be oneof the coolest people I’ve ever met. She’s dressed in a simple red dress with a bow on her waist, her hair tied back in a slick bun. I can see her cheeks flush from her drink, and she’s definitely the most smiley I’ve ever seen her. I can tell why Elle loves her so much.

Everyone around me laughs. I try to let out a small chuckle to appear like I’m in the conversation, but it comes out as an awkward cough. Elle looks at me, her brows furrowed.

“Are you okay?” Elle asks when we have a moment in between conversations for just the two of us. “You’re acting a little off.” She squeezes my arm in a show of support and affection, and I cringe. The flash of confusion on her face makes something twist in my gut.

Elle doesn’t deserve this. She deserves someone who doesn’t question being her boyfriend. Who wants to stand beside her with the feeling of beinghers. Not some chump whose mind is always elsewhere.

I hate that I can’t tell if these are intrusive thoughts or just how I feel. That’s what OCD does to you. It makes you doubt who you are and what you think.

“I think I need some air,” I say, unwrapping myself from her and nodding to the other women around us. I practically jog out of the restaurant, taking in a huge gulp of air when I finally make it outside. The few people passing by on the street give me a wayward glance. I lean my hands on my knees in the middle of the sidewalk, trying to steady my breathing. Don’t panic right now.Please don’t panic right now.

Elle comes rushing out of the restaurant towards me. “Oliver? What’s wrong?” She puts her hands on my back but I immediately move to avoid her.

The hurt is plain on her face, her lips parted as if she wants to say something, but she can’t form the words. I think about a few hours ago, when I kissed the color off those lips, as if kissing them could breathe the life back into me that I’ve been missing for what seems like forever.

And now her eyes are dark, not warm and bright the way they usually are. The way I like them. They are shaded by furrowed brows, brows that make me question every step I’ve taken in the past week.

“Elle,” I say, my voice weak.

“What’s going on right now?” she demands, taking a stumbling step back in her heels.

I straighten up, running my hands down my face in frustration. Fuck, my hands are dirty. I wipe them against the side of my shirt, as if that will help me now. I scrunch my eyes closed, trying to physically push out the annoying thoughts.

Calm down. Please calm down.

“Oliver?”

Inhale. Exhale.

“I just need some space right now,” I finally say, my voice tired.