by Masen, Kat
Oliver feels right.
Yet, it’s all still new, so fresh, and not wanting to rock the so-called boat, I choose not to pull away and enjoy our walk together, hand in hand.
“I’ve never been to Australia,” I tell him, stopping at the fence to admire the view. “Is it like this?”
“I figured, the night I met you,” he chastises, reminding me of my humiliating effort to question his fake accent. “This view, I guess it does feel like back home. Our beaches are amazing, but everything else is so different.”
“How so?”
“We don’t tip.”
I pull back in shock. “Like never?”
He shakes his head. “Never.”
“I can’t imagine not tipping. What else?”
“Well, we drive on the other side of the road.”
“Really? But you drive here just fine.”
“I’ve practiced, but don’t for once think my heart doesn’t race when I accidentally turn onto the wrong side of the road.”
I never realized there were so many differences between the States and Australia. Now, I just want to visit to see for myself.
“What about the food?”
“Same. We don’t have as much fast food.”
The questions kept flowing, I am desperate to learn more about him.
“You live in Sydney? By yourself?”
He nods, leaning his elbows on the railing of the fence. “I have an apartment on the Quay. Makes it easier to travel back and forth to the stadium.”
I let out a loose laugh, almost a snort. “Is it a bachelor pad? Decorated in faux-fur with a revolving bed playing Marvin Gaye when you dim the lights?”
“Perhaps you’re confusing me with Prince Charming.”
“Sebastian lives with his parents,” I inform him, unsure as to why. “The King Manor is the second-largest house in the county.”
“What’s the largest?”
“My parents’ house.”
He lets out a whistle. “Must be below you to hang out with a poor boy like me.”
“Money isn’t everything,” I remind him.
Oliver gazes at me, observing my reaction to his comment. Money isn’t everything, though, so much of me doesn’t know how to exist without it. I was born into an incredibly wealthy family, and never once have I had to worry about my financial future.
That is—until now.
Oliver tugs on my hand. “Come on, let’s continue to walk around the trail.”
We stroll at an easy pace talking about Oliver’s life back home. He speaks so fondly of his family—a conditional love I can’t comprehend.
We reach a small clearing with a food vendor selling ice cream and sodas.
We walk past to see what other food is on offer until we spot an older couple arguing. The man looks embarrassed as his wife carries on, loud enough so everyone can hear.
“Oh, that poor man. What a bitch. Did she just tell him to get her a hot dog ‘you fat bastard’?”
I laugh, hearing the same thing. “I’d say they’ve been married for a while, and she controls the marriage.”
“Aint gonna be like that for me. My woman is going to be all class, not a raving lunatic like her.”
The thought of Oliver considering marriage is music to my ears. Not that I expected us to get married, but knowing he’s open to commitment seals the uncertainty wavering over me. This isn’t just an unwarranted fling. My feelings stem deeper, they have buried their roots and firmly planted a seed impossible to ignore.
“So, I accidentally saw the email on your computer screen,” I mention, hoping he’ll continue to be honest with me. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re seeing a specialist. I thought the injury was final?”
Oliver looks taken aback, the laughter evaporating from his eyes. His customary warmth gone faster than summer rain on the asphalt. Even his focus is somewhere on the people behind me as if I have become invisible to him, or he can’t bear to look at me at all. I’ve crossed some invisible line, offending him, but I am unsure why.
“You snooped my emails?” he barks, dropping my hand.
“I didn’t snoop. I was moving your laptop.”
“No one gave you the right to walk into my life and act almighty as if you know me. Jesus, Gabriella, when will you fucking learn to drop that subject?”
His comment is nasty, berating me for asking him a simple question. The hurt consumes me, followed by a stream of anger.
This is so like him.
Hot and damn cold.
One minute he’s an open book, and the next I’ve crossed some imaginary line. I just can’t win with him.
I suggest we leave, and he takes me home.
Once again, I read more into us than I should have. The way he spoke to me, the angered tone, belittled the small amount of confidence I found when I am around him. Just like my father and Sebastian, my opinion, or presence means nothing.
He drives back erratically at a speed well over the legal limit, causing my stomach to backflip from the sheer terror. I close my eyes the entire journey, only to open them when we slow down and park in the driveway.
The second we are dead still, I hop off, just as upset as he is.
He doesn’t say a word, going inside and leaving me alone. I hold back the tears stemming from my anger and head back home, sullen with a weight on my shoulder, again.
The house feels lonely. No longer the breath of fresh air I have grown accustomed to. The walls are bleak, the darkness creeping in as the sun begins to set.
For now, I welcome it with open arms, craving the solitude to allow myself to process what happened today.
Oliver Madden is a blessing and a curse.
He has a hold over me no matter how I try to shake it off.
But that’s the thing—I don’t want to shake it off.
It’s finally time to admit my heart rules.
My head is just the moron failing to catch up.
Gabriella
Two days and I haven’t heard a single peep from Oliver.
Not one text, call, or even smug walk past our adjoining picket fence.
I can play just as stubborn.
His callous words, plus mood swings, are all a bit much, and I refuse to throw myself at him like this is my fault.
The solitude gives me time to think. But thinking ends up leading to restless nights and lack of sleep. I dream but more vividly than usual. The one jogging my memory is me being caught in a maze. Every which way I turn, I face a dead end. The panic consumes me, and when the walls began to close in, I wake up drenched in sweat.
Aubrey has come to my rescue. She suggested we head over to Melrose for some lunch and shopping. It’s nice to spend time with her without the distraction of CJ.
“It’s weird eating and not being interrupted,” she says halfway through her pesto chicken salad. “If Chance were here, my chicken would be gone, and CJ would have already gotten bored, plus spilled this fancy champagne all over the table.”
I laugh, then take another sip from the wine I ordered.
“You miss them. It’s cute.”
“Am I that obvious?” She cringes.
“It’s okay to miss them. They’re your family.”
“But it’s breaking girl code,” Aubrey complains, finishing off her champagne. “Okay, change of subject. Explain to me why Olly’s in such a foul mood?”
Where do I even begin?
But if anyone will understand, it’s got to be Aubrey.
“Before you and Chance officially hooked up, did you fight a lot? I mean, fighting’s not good, right?”
Aubrey shakes her head, letting out a loud sigh.
“All we did was fight. Hot, cold, yes, no. But I couldn’t ignore the fact I was falling in love with him. It’s just one of those things. We didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, but what mattered, we did.”
“Oliver is so—”
“Stubborn, arrogant, irrevocably in love with you?”
I’m blown away by her comment.
In love with me?
Oliver is many things, but not once has he shown me any signs of being in love with me. Maybe he wants to strip me naked and have his way with me, but not in love with me. No chance.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Aubrey raises her eyebrow, followed by a crisp nod. “So, we’re still in denial phase. Gotcha.”
The heat begins to rise behind my eyelids, my mouth becoming incredibly dry. I lift my glass drinking the remainder of my wine, accidentally letting out an unladylike hiccup.
“I need more wine,” I beg, faintly.
Aubrey breaks out into laughter. “Okay, tomorrow night. You, me, and a bar with eighties music. How about it?”
“You got yourself a date, Mrs. Bateman.”
This bar is exactly what I need. A little retro, not overly crowded, and the vibe is chilled.
The music playing is all 80s from Madonna to Lionel Ritchie and even some Jefferson Starship. Although I wasn’t born in that era, I have a good appreciation for music allowing you to unwind and let loose.
The bartenders are extremely good looking. A bit young for me, but still worth admiring from the other side of the countertop. They shake the cocktail’s by hand, chatting up the other women with their sexy grins. Dressed in black buttoned shirts with pink flamingos scattered across the fabric, they complement the plain, dark walls and neon pink sign which reads Flamingo Bar.
After my third glass of chardonnay, I’m sure the air’s getting thicker until things get blurry, and we both fall into a fit of hysterics watching an older man do the robot by himself on the dance floor.
My breath comes in quick gasps between my unstoppable giggles. Tears gather in the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill over as Aubrey clutches onto her stomach, barely able to speak as she gestures for me to look at his moonwalk.
“Stop!” I latch onto Aubrey’s arm, barely able to breathe. “I can’t watch this anymore.”
We are both bending over the bar, consumed by the hilarity of the poor old man until Chance appears beside us.
“There you are,” Chance greets, leaning in to kiss Aubrey on the lips.
Mid-laugh, I stop to see Oliver standing beside Chance.
Great! What the hell are they doing here?
It’s like I cannot escape him no matter what I do.
“Oh my God. Did you leave the baby with Pixy?” Aubrey panics, stumbling off the bar stool.
“Relax. Adele is feeling better and popped by. What are we drinking?”
There’s an awkward silence between us. Oliver ignores my presence, so I chose to do the same. From the corner of my eye, he’s wearing a denim shirt with a white tee beneath it. His jeans appear dark, and I have to give it to him, the man knows how to dress.
Why does he have to be so handsome?
“Shots,” Chance demands over our silence while eyeing us both.
Moments later, a tray of drinks comes our way. Chance and Oliver don’t hold back, three in a row until Aubrey complains that drunk Chance is no fun in the bedroom. He’s all talk until he passes out only to snore like a freight train.
The wine, combined with the tequila, begins to make my head spin. I don’t need a repeat of the first night I met Oliver. My ego can only humiliate itself so much in the space of a few weeks.
“So, my boy, Olly, is heading to Colorado,” Chance says, patting him on the back. “Isn’t that where you’re from, Gabbie?”
“Yes,” I state with a slight slur. “A small county.”
Oliver exhales. “Known for snooping—”
“Excuse me?” I thunder. “For the final time, I wasn’t snooping. You know what? You’re so fucking arrogant, it’s like the whole world revolves around you.”
“Maybe it should?” he responds hastily, “Oh, I’m sorry, it revolves around you and Prince Charming.”
Aubrey is quick to diffuse the situation. “You know what? Let’s dance.”
She pulls me onto the dance floor, just in time for Cyndi Lauper. Halfway through the first chorus, a guy beside me, who’s a dead ringer for Zac Efron towers over me, nudging my shoulder.
“Sorry,” he apologizes with a smile.
“It’s fine,” I yell through the music. I motion for him to come in closer. “It’s great you’re dancing with your girlfriend to this music. Most guys hate it.”
He leans in, his warm breath against my ear. “Not my girlfriend. Sister. And I lost a bet, so it wasn’t my choice.”
I pull away, trying to hide my intrigued smile. He places his hand on my arm, a flirty gesture which I welcome, then leans back in. “Are you here with that guy at the bar who’s ready to maul me?”
Turning around, Oliver is leaning against the bar with his arms crossed firmly against his chest.
Yes, he certainly looks capable of murder.
His expression is pinched—eyes destructive as he stares at me with an unwarranted rage.
“No, I’m not. It’s complicated.”
“Well, I’m here if the complication doesn’t kill me first,” he teases.
I touch his arm, thanking him before Aubrey pulls me off the dance floor for a bathroom break.
“Oh, honey, you’re playing with fire,” she voices as soon as we’re in the bathroom.
“How can I be playing with fire? Oliver and I are nothing. Therefore, any fire is his doing and his problem.”
“Piece of advice?” Aubrey asks behind the cubicle door. “Don’t wait until it’s too late. Until you’ve both hurt each other, and there’s no turning back.”
She flushes and exits, washing her hands and quickly checking her makeup.
Back in the bar area, Aubrey walks straight back to where Chance and Oliver are seated. Chance leans into her, whispering something which makes her giggle. Chance adores Aubrey, and I wonder if I will ever have what they do. This unconditional love which appears so effortless to them.
I call for the bartender to serve me another drink, something extra hard.
“So I was thinking,” Aubrey says, a knowing grin plastered on her face as she positions herself between Oliver and me, pulling us closer in. “Olly has to go to Colorado. Who knows Colorado better than you? Why don’t you make it a road trip? The two of you. It’s a great way to cement a friendship. Iron out all the kinks… if you know what I mean? And besides, did Chance ever tell you that’s how we met?”
“He didn’t,” I mumble, thrown off by the suggestion.
“Over a broken bobblehead.”
The two of them laugh. Meanwhile, my eyes carelessly drift toward Oliver.
His expression shifts, the tilt of his head giving me a full view of the half-smile currently gracing his lips. I slide him a shot, count to three until we both down it in one go.
“So, what do you think?” I tell him, ignoring the burn running through my throat. “Road trip… just you and me? Cement the so-called friendship and iron out the kinks.”
“You’d be willing to go back home?”
I haven’t given it a thought, jumping at the chance to ‘cement our friendship.’ The thought of going home so early comes with mixed feelings. My father will wave his ‘I told you, you wouldn’t make it,’ finger. Yet, suddenly, surrounded by good and loyal friends, I have this burst of confidence.
This is my life.
Everyone around me lives life on their terms, so why am I any different?
I can do this.
Stand up to my family once and for all.
“Yes,” I announce proudly.
Oliver would have a face of an angel if his lips broke further apart and weren’t illuminated with a mischievous grin. Lifting another shot glass to his lips, he downs it in one go, sliding his tongue along the rim, tasting the salt while his gaze remains fixated on me. He has no idea what he’s doing to me—breaking down ev
ery wall inside me with the sheer movement of his tongue.
“Fine, but I’m driving,” he demands, sliding another shot toward me. “Ain’t no girl behind my wheel.”
Asshole.
“Whatever! I don’t want to drive your penis mobile, anyway.”
It goads a reaction from him, a smirk as he gestures for me to drink my shot.
“Get ready, Gabs. You’re either going to love me, or hate me, once we’ve reached Colorado.”
The scary part is, I know this will go only one way.
I can’t hate him.
Nothing could make me hate him.
It will only be a matter of time when it sways the other way.
And the worst part is, we’re halfway there already.
Oliver
I toot the horn again, yelling for Gabriella to hurry the hell up.
Why women, in general, take forever to do things is beyond me. I have one bag packed—the bare essentials. At the rate she’s going, everything but the kitchen sink will need to be loaded into the back of this Jeep.
She yells back, informing me she’ll be ready in a minute. That minute, already an extension from the fifteen minutes, she asked for an hour ago.
Women are pains in the asses.
A brown van marked with the name UPS pulls into the curb. Jumping out of his seat, the driver, in his questionable short shorts, throws me a package then asks me for a signature.
“I guess you’re not Gabriella?” he asks with a snicker.
“She’s inside, packing for our honeymoon,” I boast, happy to entertain a lie. “We just got hitched, so time to start a family. You know how it is, mate.”
His expression falls. The wanker needs to back the fuck off, and judging by my arrogant tone, he realizes and doesn’t say another word, heading back to his van and taking off in a hurry.
I make my way inside the house, finding Gabriella walking around in circles, talking to herself while making mental lists. All I can hear is the word check repeated several times. She stops at the kitchen, instantly noticing the brown package in my hand.
“Let’s get on the road.”
She quickly shifts subjects, ignoring the parcel, rummaging through her purse one more time.
