by Ellie Wade
It’s all very domestic, and grown-up, and I guess that’s what we are. I met Ollie when I was still in college. I was young and free, dating hot frat guys and attending themed sorority parties. Most days, I still feel like that girl, but I’m not. I’m the head of my department store. I own a home and…a Jeep. Maybe, it’s time I own a pet? I’m the woman who’s admiring her friend’s landscaping and paint-color choices, and no longer the girl doing keg stands in a miniskirt and crop top.
A few motorcycles sit in the drive in front of his large garage, one of which I know is his. Memories of our ride into the sunset on the country road come to mind, along with the emotions I felt that night.
These past few months have been taxing. I broke up with the ideal boyfriend and acquired more stress at work, and sometimes it’s lonely. Being an adult without someone to share life with can be isolating. As I sit here staring at Ollie’s house, his manly and sexy house, all I can think about is how it felt to have my arms wrapped around his waist while sitting on the back of his bike. I find myself wanting to tell him about my day—hell, my week, for that matter. I want to skip this apartment party tonight and go for a ride on the back of Ollie’s bike instead. I’m certain that if he asked me to stay, I would.
Pulling down the visor, I glance quickly into the mirror, smacking my rose-gloss-coated lips together. I loop my hand through the handles of the take-out bag and grab the white envelope of cash before hopping down from the Jeep. I walk up to his front door, and with a hesitant sigh, I rap my knuckles against the front door.
An eternity that fits exactly into the space of two breaths passes before the front door swing opens.
My jaw falls slack when a petite girl with long red curls opens the door, holding what has to be the ugliest cat I’ve ever seen. My eyes go wide when I notice the cat only has one eye, but I don’t have time to contemplate that fact.
“Um, hey. Is Ollie here?” My voice raises an octave, and I momentarily question whether I have the correct address before remembering that his bike is literally sitting in the driveway, indicating that I’m at the right place.
The girl looks young, twenty at the oldest. She’s wearing short, tight running shorts and a sports bra.
“He’s in the shower. Do you want to come in?” She sounds nice enough but something about this whole situation makes me feel uncomfortable.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.” I drop my attention toward the bag in my hand and toss the envelope with cash inside it. “He fixed my car, so I was just dropping off the money for that and a dinner to say thank you.”
“So you’re the Jeep.” The corner of her lip quirks up.
“Yeah, um…” I extend my arm. “Would you mind giving this to him when he gets out?”
“Sure.” The redhead takes the bag from me.
“And tell him I said thanks again.”
“You got it.” She nods, and takes a step back, and I swear the cat in her arms glares at me with its one eye. “Bye.” She waves.
I raise my hand to wave back, and she closes the door between us.
Is that his girlfriend? I stand, stunned. It takes me a few seconds to come to my senses and turn from his front door.
She’s cute, sure, but I didn’t picture Ollie with someone so young and peppy. I was peppy once, I think as I climb into the Jeep. When Ollie first met me, I was just like that girl but with blond hair and sans ugly cat. Now, I’m a twenty-seven-year-old, going on fifty-three.
Maybe a loud apartment party is just what I need tonight. I’ve had enough adulting this week to last me a while. It’s time to drink and forget about those fleeting moments on the back of a certain someone’s motorcycle.
“You came!” Cassie cheers when I find her out on the balcony of Asher and Everett’s apartment.
“I came.” I smile.
She grabs my hand and spins me around. “You look hot!”
“Thank you. You, too.”
Cassie’s roommate, Tannon, pulls me into a hug, followed by Asher and Everett.
“What do you want to drink?” Everett asks.
I press my lips together. “Hmm, surprise me. Anything but beer, though,” I say over the Fleetwood Mac song that blasts from the speakers. The music and people at their parties are always a surprise.
“You got it.” Everett grins, and disappears into the apartment.
“Who are all the people, Ash?” I ask, noticing that many of them are dressed up quite a bit.
“Well, Benny, over there in the tux”—Asher points at a tall, dark, and handsome guy across the room—“is a client of mine. He got married today, and these are the guests from his wedding. They only had money to reserve the hall until eight, so I told him to head on over here.”
“Your party consists of an entire wedding reception?” I let out a laugh.
“So random, right?” Tannon chuckles beside me.
“As always,” Cassie adds before taking a sip of her drink.
“Well, they didn’t all come. His grandparents, great-aunts, and stuff went back to the hotel,” Asher says.
I nod slowly. “Right…I guess that makes it totally normal then.”
“Normal is overrated, Quinn,” Everett says. Stepping onto the porch, he places a glass of clear liquid into my hand. “It’s a vodka and soda with lime.” He motions toward the glass.
“Thank you,” I say and take a sip.
“You’re looking hot as hell. Where are you coming from?” Asher asks me.
“Nowhere, really. This is all for you,” I tease.
Asher clutches his heart. “Babe, you shouldn’t have. I already kind of promised a bridesmaid she could stay over.”
I shrug. “Bummer. I guess it’s not meant to be. I really thought we could be something, Ash.”
Before Asher can respond, a woman dressed in a tangerine dress wraps her arms around Asher’s waist. “I need another drink, Asher,” she whines.
“I got ya, babe.” He spins around to face her and leads her off the porch and into the living room of dancing bodies.
I raise my brows. “Unfortunate wedding color.”
“I know, right? Orange bridesmaid dresses.” Cassie makes a gagging face.
Everett excuses himself and heads into the apartment to make rounds with their guests.
“Cassie told me about your day from hell earlier this week. How was the rest of your week?” Tannon asks.
I tell them about the past few days, including the part about breaking down after leaving Starbucks on Wednesday. I leave out foolishly wanting someone who I can’t have nor need.
“Do you miss Beau?” Tannon inquires.
“Sometimes,” I tell her honestly.
“You know, one of the groomsmen, actually he’s the groom’s brother, is gorgeous. We should introduce you,” Tannon suggests with a mischievous grin.
“Then why don’t you want him?” I ask with a chuckle. Tannon is beautiful, single, and writes gut-wrenching stories about love. She’s a total catch.
Cassie stands to Tannon’s side and wraps her arm around her back. “I already tried,” Cassie says, looking from me to Tannon. “You know our girl is too shy to hook up with a guy from a party.”
“I am not. I’m just not interested,” Tannon corrects her roommate. “Plus, I’m busy. I don’t have time for that right now.”
“There’s always time for that.” Cassie nods toward the guy, and I follow her stare to the tall guy standing at the bar in the kitchen talking to Everett. He’s wearing the pants from his tux and a white button-down shirt that’s rolled up his very muscled forearms.
“I’d definitely make time,” I blurt out, causing the girls to laugh.
“Go talk to him,” Tannon urges.
“Yes, ask Everett for a drink refill and get to know the best man. I’ll find Asher and make him play better music. I mean, Cat Stevens is classic and all, but you need some swoonier music. It’s not 1970. Seriously.”
Cat Stevens’s “Wild World” plays throu
gh the speakers. “No, leave the music. It’s sexy. I can make it work.” I grin and turn toward the open threshold between the deck and living room. “Wish me luck, girls.”
Moments later, I have a fresh drink in hand, and I’m chatting with the best man from the wedding, whose name is Mason.
Besides his startling good looks, Mason is smart and charming. He owns a business in Novi, a city about forty minutes from here. He checks all the boxes, and even if he didn’t, I wouldn’t care. This week has been too much seriousness and not enough fun. I’m channeling my inner college girl tonight. When he kisses me as we dance to Jim Croce’s “Time in a Bottle” because apparently, Asher has a seventies playlist on, it makes me weak in the knees, and I know tonight’s going to be fun.
Chapter 9
Quinn
I’m half-naked, sprawled across my king-sized bed under a sheet with an equally half-naked and snoring Mason beside me. My entire body is exhausted from our late night of drinks, dancing, and heavy make-out session.
College Quinn is back! But man, is she tired. I don’t remember feeling like this back at Eastern. My sorority sisters and I would stay out dancing the night away at Theo’s, our favorite bar, on Thursday for Greek night until two in the morning and then hang out at one of the guys’ houses for an after-party until at least four. I always arrived at my nine o’clock Friday morning class with a pep in my step. Half the time, I was still drunk and wearing my wristband from the bar.
I miss those days.
I reach for my cell phone on the end table, and the time reads eleven. It’s almost midday, and my body aches like it’s five in the morning. Crap, I’m getting old.
I toss on a T-shirt and shorts, and close my bedroom door, leaving a slumbering Mason behind me. First things first, I need water. My mouth is dry, and I’m beyond parched.
Once in the kitchen, I chug two glasses of water and think about last night. Despite the fact that I currently feel as if I were hit by a train, it was fun. Wasn’t it?
Yes. It was.
Mason is a great guy and, not to mention, gorgeous. He’s a good dancer, a good kisser, and well…pretty much aced all areas of foreplay. And yet…I don’t know. I didn’t let it go as far as sex last night, and I’m wondering why. Truth be told, college Quinn, probably would have. A small part of me, buried deep beneath the intoxicated lust-filled moments with Mason, that just wasn’t all-in.
Perhaps, I was right to hold off with Mason. Something’s missing. I should want to climb back into bed with him and finish what we started, but I don’t. There are no butterflies. No nervous excitement and underlying jitters of new possibilities. I just feel…blah.
It’s just because I’m tired and hungover. The excitement will come.
An incessant buzzing sounds from the living room, and I go to check it out. Our attire from last night is thrown about the room, evidence of our frenzied actions to remove all articles of clothing on the way to the bedroom. Ah, yes…college Quinn is definitely back or at least visiting.
After a year of playing house with Beau, the sight before me makes me laugh under my breath simply because it’s been so long since alcohol and poor decisions have led to such a night.
Searching for the sound of the buzzing, I locate Mason’s phone lodged beneath the couch. A woman named Sarah is calling. I let it go to voicemail, and after her name leaves the screen I notice several more missed calls from her and at least a dozen texts. Clicking on the text icon, I read the first few, and it’s clear that Sarah and Mason are together. She can’t be his wife, or I think she would’ve been at his brother’s wedding with him. I’m not sure why she wasn’t there last night, but they are definitely in some sort of a relationship.
And I’m an idiot.
Well, the butterflies refused to surface for a reason. My gut had him pegged, even if my brain was a little slow on the uptake.
With a sigh, I make my way toward my room and toss the phone toward him.
“Mason!” I yell, startling him from slumber. His confused stare catches mine. “I’m going to take a shower. I want you gone by the time I get out. Call Sarah back. She’s blowing up your phone,” I say, heading across the room to my bathroom. Once inside, I close the door behind me without so much as a backward glance and lock the door.
I take a long, hot shower, and when I emerge from the bathroom, a blanket of steam following me, Mason is gone. He retrieved all of his items of clothing and left. I double-check the rest of the house and lock the back door, suddenly feeling creeped out that he was here in the first place. What a douche.
The week from Hell—Eighty-Five.
College Quinn—Zero.
I get dressed, throwing on a pair of jean shorts and a faded tank top. I have no plans today except to wallow in my shame as a human. Well, that and to get rid of this headache.
An Excedrin and two espressos later, I finally feel like I could be a viable member of society again.
Friends plays on the TV, and I laugh at a scene I’ve seen a hundred times. I grew up with this show, and it will never not be funny. I love it so much.
My phone catches my eye, from the arm of the couch where the notification light flashes. Sure enough, the text icon is present on my notification screen. Clicking on my message icon, I find a text from Cassie making sure I got home okay and another from Ollie.
I quickly mute the TV, needing to concentrate. Before reading Ollie’s text, I shoot a quick reply to Cassie so she doesn’t worry. Then I open Ollie’s and stare at the words before me.
Hey! Thanks for the money and the dinner. Completely unnecessary as I told you, I was just helping out a friend. But since I know I can’t convince you to take it back, I’ll just say thank you.
A smile comes to my face. His words are friendly and completely platonic, yet I’m giddy as I write him back.
You’re welcome, but seriously, I’m so grateful for your help. I had a shitty week, and you made it a little easier. I appreciate you. Thank you so much. And I met your girlfriend. She seems nice. ;-)
I just can’t help myself with those last two sentences. I’m fully aware that I’m fishing for information, but clearly, I have no shame.
My heart beats wildly as his response comes through mere seconds later.
I don’t have a girlfriend.
I roll my eyes, thinking of last night and wondering what Mason classifies Sarah as since he stated he didn’t have a girlfriend either. Shame consumes me when I realize I’m comparing Ollie to Mason because there’s no comparison. On Ollie’s worst day, he wouldn’t even come close to be Mason’s creep status.
Well, whoever answered your door.
His answer is immediate.
She’s just a friend.
Okay. I respond, not knowing what else to say but knowing that Ollie wouldn’t lie to me.
I have something for you. Can I stop by today?
The butterflies have shown up full force and are now flipping wildly in my stomach.
Sure. I play it cool.
Great. Be there in five.
“What!” I scream, jumping from the couch.
I turn and start frantically fluffing my couch pillows. “What am I doing?” I shake my head and sprint toward the bathroom, where I proceed to brush my teeth for several minutes. I drag the toothbrush across my tongue and then rinse with mouthwash. Nothing says gross like coffee breath.
I hurry back to the living room and snatch the dress, bra, and panties I wore last night from the floor and jog back to my room, where I toss them into the hamper. I take in my appearance before the full-length mirror on my bathroom door. My hair is still wet. I have zero makeup on, and my clothes aren’t the least bit cute.
As I’m trying to prioritize which is most important—hair, makeup, or attire—the rumble of Ollie’s motorcycle can be heard from my driveway.
Crap.
Well, I told myself that I can’t be interested in him. A relationship with him is too dangerous. So this is for the best.
&nbs
p; I give myself another once-over in the mirror, and with a sigh, I turn to leave my room as a light knock comes from the front door.
I pull the door open.
“Hey,” I greet him.
“Hey.” He smiles back, and my chest literally hurts because as cute as I thought Mason was last night, he’s nothing compared to Ollie. No one is.
Ollie’s wearing a pair of perfectly fitted, faded jeans, and they aren’t the type of jeans made to look faded by the manufacturer. They’re faded from use, worn countless times by Ollie over the years, and there’s something about that, something that makes his jeans look even sexier on him. He’s wearing a plain white T-shirt, which clings to the lean muscles of his chest and arms. There’s something very James Dean about his appearance today, classic and hot, and I’m here for it.
“Do you want to come in?” I stand back, allowing him entrance.
“Um, sure.” He takes a step inside, and I close the door behind him. “So I have something for you.”
“So you’ve said.” I grin.
He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out…my driver’s license.
“It was in the envelope with the money.” He extends the small piece of plastic toward me.
I frown, remembering that the bank teller always puts my ID in the envelope with the cash and a receipt each time I get out cash from my account at the drive-through bank window.
I’m not sure what I thought Ollie was bringing me, but I’m definitely bummed.
