Page 81 of The Time It Takes
I walked over to the window and looked out at the ocean. I saw Oliver coming up behind me in the reflection of the glass. I turned to find him holding two bottles of water.
“One of those for me?”
He dipped his chin, tossing me one. “Drink up or you’ll feel like death in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.” I unscrewed the cap and chugged half of it.
Ollie watched as I took a stroll around his room. His vinyl collection was outstanding. He had every record album he owned spread across one wall. The record player he used was passed down from his grandfather’s father’s father…I think that was right.
We had that in common. We both shared a love for music. The words, the rhythms, the feelings it induced.
I walked over to his desk and scanned the photos across his bulletin board. There were some of him and his parents and all the trips they’d taken.
There were some of him with Dean and Taylor. Then there was Ben and him surfing side by side. There was even one of me on Ollie’s shoulders while we stood next to the world’s longest surfboard.
Then there was a picture of all of us—me, Ollie, Ben, Phoebe, Dean, and Taylor—at a bonfire last summer. I touched it with my fingertips and smiled at the memory of failing miserably at my first attempt at doing a keg stand.
I caught sight of myself in his mirror attached to the wall. I glanced down at my soaked clothes, suddenly becoming uncomfortable. I yanked off my t-shirt and started to unbutton my shorts when Oliver’s alarmed voice came from behind me. “What’s happening?”
I ignored him as I slid the shorts off and walked over to his dresser. I pulled opened a drawer and took out one of his shirts. I brought it to my nose and breathed him in. I let out a content sigh as I pulled it over my head. It was long enough to cover my bottom half. I slid my bikini bottoms down until they landed on the floor.
“For fuck’s sake,” Oliver croaked, standing quickly.
Pausing, I looked over at him. “A milkshake does sound good right now.”
He shook his head with a tight laugh. “You’re killing me, Damsel.” He leaned over me as he pulled out a drawer and handed me a pair of boxers. “Put these on before you give me a heart attack.”
When I took them from his hand, he turned away immediately, going to sit on the bed.
I slid them through my legs and turned to find Oliver watching me closely. I stalked toward him and took a seat beside him. “Who was that girl you were with?” I asked.
His features stayed relaxed as he said, “Her name’s Emily.”
I pressed my lips together and nodded, suddenly not able to look at him. I looked down at my thighs instead. "I would have never really gone for a guy like Tucker,” I told him quietly. “We didn’t have anything going in the first place, if I’m being honest, because, well he’s—” I stopped, hesitating.
“Because?”
I peered over at him. “He’s not my type.”
“What’s your type, Damsel?”
I stared at him for a while, letting his presence sink into me. I might have been a little intoxicated, but it felt like now or never. “I think you know,” I whispered.
His face softened, but I suddenly didn’t want him to respond yet. Somehow, my nerves still found a way to override the alcohol in my bloodstream. “Do you remember when we were little, and we used to sneak out at two in the morning to catch fireflies under the stars?” I asked, my voice low as if someone would overhear.
“Yeah.” I could hear the smile in his voice as clearly as I saw it.
I let out a breath. “We don’t do that anymore. I want to do that stuff again.”
I suddenly became lightheaded and fell back onto his bed, feeling like I was sinking into feathers. He came down beside me, propping himself up on his elbow. He stared down at me, his hair falling across his eyebrows as he wrapped my pinky around his and whispered, “It’s a date.”
I squeezed his pinky with my own. We stared at each other for so long, I wasn’t sure if we remembered how to blink. Nothing else was a necessity, but this. Only this.
I swallowed hard, bulking up my liquid courage. “Why didn’t you just kiss me the other day?” I asked, my words a bit slurred and my voice hoarse.
Oliver’s laugh was subtle, and I almost thought it was his answer.
“Is that what you wanted?” he asked, his voice thick with buzzed amusement.
