A Love Like Ours

by Micalea Smeltzer

  Ollie scribbles both our names on the paper and hands it back before pulling out his wallet.

  “How much?”

  “Uh …” Her eyes widen. “One moment, I have to ask her.”

  She disappears and we’re left alone again.

  I smile widely at Ollie. “The joys of traveling. You never know who you’re going to meet.”

  “That’s true,” he agrees, just as Cualli reappears.

  She tells Ollie the amount and they get that figured out. Ollie tucks the rest of his money away and Caulli hands him a key.

  “There’s no elevator,” she explains. “Just take those stairs there and your room will be the third on the left.”

  “Thank you,” we tell her and she smiles before returning to her work.

  Ollie and I head up the rickety staircase, dust puffing up from our feet with every step. We’ve stayed in worse places than this, though, so this is nothing.

  We locate the door and Ollie slips the key into the lock. It unlocks easily but the door rattles when he opens it.

  The door swings open and bangs into the other wall when the knob flies out of his hand.

  He looks at the knob clasped in his hand and the bare space on the door. “Oops.” He smiles sheepishly. “I can fix that.”

  “Yeah.” I laugh. “Because you’re so handy.”

  “Hey,” he says defensively, his lips turned down in a pout, “I can be handy.” He waggles his brows and grabs at my butt. “See, handy?” He grins.

  I shake my head and we step into the room, closing the door behind us. He tosses the broken knob on the bed and we look around.

  The floors are a shaggy brown that closely resembles the color of sick baby poop, and the walls are covered in a dark wood paneling. Pictures of doll houses try to make the drab room a little cheerier, but if anything they just up the creep factor.

  The bed boasts a low wood headboard in a lighter color than the paneling and the bedspread is some kind of Aztec print in orange and brown. One lone floor lamp sits in the corner with an orange shade that looks like it’s broken since it sits crookedly on the base. There’s one dresser that’s old and blue and looks like someone found it in a garage sale and slathered some paint on it, calling it good as new.

  None of that matters—the view is breathtaking.

  The window has shutters that are currently open, letting light into the room. It looks out onto the small city and the people and traffic below, but that’s not what captures my attention. Again, it’s the mountains. They’re huge and they’re everywhere, surrounding the town on all sides. It’s kind of amazing, really, that there’s a city nestled between these mountains.

  Behind me, the bed squeaks and I look over my shoulder to see Ollie has dropped onto the bed and is bouncing up and down on it. It looks like the mattress is a flimsy little thing, but again, we’ve slept on worse—like no mattress at all, and let me tell you, asphalt does not make a very comfortable bed.

  Ollie lies on his side, propping his head in his hand.

  I press my lips together, fighting laughter, but it’s futile. It bursts forth and his lips twitch, wanting to laugh even though he doesn’t know what I find so funny.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  “You look like you’re about to star in a cheesy porno on that bed.” I clutch my stomach, doubled over with laughter.

  He laughs too and pats the empty space beside him. “Come over here and we can make that a reality.” I laugh harder and tears pour from my eyes. He clucks his tongue. “Clearly, I need to work on my game.”

  I walk over to him and lie down on the bed beside him, facing him.

  “Thank you,” I say, still fighting giggles. “For finding a reason to make me laugh every day, even when you don’t mean to.” I touch my fingers to his chin, feeling the slight stubble there.

  He grabs my hand and presses a kiss to each of the tips of my fingers before holding my hand to his heart.

  “That’s what you do,” he says seriously. “When you love someone, you make them laugh, because laughter is the greatest gift we have in this word—and bonus, it’s free.” He cracks a grin. He grabs a piece of my hair and tucks it behind my ear. “You know, this place is really bad, if you want to go somewhere else I won’t be mad.”

  I snuggle closer to his chest and he wraps his arms around me.

  “I don’t want to go anywhere else,” I say. “Right here, with you, is just fine by me.” I lift my head and smile down at him. “It’s the people we’re with that matter the most and not the place. And Ollie? You’re good people.”

  He moves suddenly and I find my back flat on the bed with him above me in a push-up position. He lowers and kisses me. I expect him to pull away quickly, it’s what he’s been doing since the accident—choosing instead to let me initiate the moments between us. At first, I think he was afraid of pushing me too far too fast, but it’s been ten months and I’m tired of taking the lead.

  He surprises me, though, when he deepens the kiss. His tongue presses past the seam of my lips and I moan.

  I’ve missed this.

  I’ve missed us.

  My fingers tangle in the curls of his hair, my legs wrapping around his waist, tugging him closer to me. His hips press against my center and I moan again, my heart rate picking up.

  Our bodies and lips move together in a familiar dance.

  I bite his bottom lip and he groans with pleasure. His hands move down my body, his fingers digging into my hips with a bruising pressure. My body wiggles beneath his, desperate for more.

  He kisses his way down my neck and my back arches off the bed. “Ollie,” I whisper breathlessly, tugging at his shirt.

  He sits up long enough to rip the fabric off his head and toss it over his shoulder, and then he’s back, shielding my smaller body with his much larger one.

  My hands settle on his shoulders, my fingers tracing over the sun freckles that dot his skin from all the time he spends in the ocean. My fingers trail down his hardened chest and over the dents of his abs. As muscular and fit as he is now, it’s still impossible for me to forget how scrawny he used to be. Living on the streets, with no food, and constantly on the run doesn’t build much muscle.

  His fingers tangle in my hair and he angles my head back, taking my lips prisoner in his once more.

  My hands venture over the V indention that disappears beneath the band of his shorts and he shivers, his hips rocking.

  “Talia,” he whispers my name brokenly and when he looks down at me, I can see the turmoil in his eyes.

  I take his face between my hands and my tongue slides out to moisten my lips. “Don’t stop,” I plead. “Please, whatever you do, don’t stop.”

  That must be answer enough for him because his lips crash back to mine and he kisses me with reckless abandon. He’s wild and uncontained, the way he used to be, and I could nearly weep with joy at that fact.

  His fingers slide under my top, inching the fabric up, up, and away. I raise my arms above my head as he pushes it out of his way. He stares down at me, his eyes lingering on the curves of my breasts hidden behind the red bikini top. When I got dressed I figured a bikini was as sufficient as a bra and underwear.

  I sit up and reach around me, undoing the strings in the back.

  Ollie watches, his teeth biting into his lower lip and his eyes wild with desire.

  My heart beats so fast it sounds like the roar of the ocean in my ear.

  I lie back down, looking at him through eyes hooded with lust. He inches forward slowly, placing his hands on my waist and moving them up slowly, over my bare stomach, and up further to cup my breasts. I moan loudly when he rubs his thumbs over my nipples.

  “Ollie,” I plead brokenly.

  “What?” he whispers. “What do you need?”

  I bite my lip. “You.” I’ve only ever needed you.

  He covers my body with his again, rubbing his fingers over the crotch of my jean shorts. I hiss between my teeth, my body swollen
and needy. His touch isn’t enough. I need more. I need it all.

  As if sensing this, his fingers skim down my stomach and stop when they reach the button on my shorts. My hips jerk off the bed. “Ollie,” I beg. “Yes.”

  He undoes the button and lowers the zipper. My bright-red bikini bottom peeks through the part and he grabs the shorts on either side, yanking them down. They fall in a heap on the floor.

  He tugs on the strings of my bikini next. They fall apart easily but he doesn’t tear the fabric aside. Instead, he stares down at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. His eyes roam up my body, colliding with mine. The way he looks at me makes my heart skip a beat.

  He reaches for a piece of my hair, wrapping one of the blond strands around his finger before letting go and skimming that same finger from the middle of my collarbone, down between my breasts, to my stomach, and finally stopping at the piece of fabric that covers my bottom half. Before I can blink, the bottom is gone and he tosses it over his head.

  His fingers find me and I cry out with need, my body aching.

  “God, you’re so fucking wet.” He presses two fingers inside me easily, circling his thumb over my clit. My hips move of their own accord and I’m helpless to stop them.

  “Feels so good,” I whisper wantonly.

  My hands move down his chest to his hips. My fingers find the button on his shorts and I undo them.

  His fingers leave me and he steps back, removing the rest of his clothes, and then before the chill from the air in the room can touch my skin, he’s back, his body hovering above mine.

  He kisses me, sealing his lips over mine so forcefully I’m convinced their imprint will be branded there forever.

  He pulls back slightly and I bite my lip, missing the loss of his touch, and watch as he wraps his hand around the base of his cock and guides it to my entrance. He pushes inside a little and his eyes find mine. I nod, urging him not to stop. His fingers dig into my hips as he pushes in all the way and I cry out, not in pain but in relief.

  His lips find mine again, the pressure of them softer against mine, less urgent.

  We move together, already in tune to the familiar symphony of our bodies meeting.

  He grabs my hands, entwining our fingers together, and pins them above my head. He breaks the kiss and tilts his head down, looking to where our bodies are joined. When he looks back at me his eyes are lit with love. He lowers his head, pressing his lips to the crook of my neck. I moan and my body arches. I fight to break my fingers free from his hold but he’s relentless.

  My hips rise to meet his in a steady pace. Sweat dampens our skin but neither of us mind that—after all, the best things in life make you sweaty.

  His forehead presses to mine and his hair tickles my skin.

  My body shakes as I grow closer to my orgasm. He senses it, and reaches between us, rubbing his thumb over my clit.

  My back arches and I bite my lip to stifle my cry of pleasure as I come.

  He pumps in and out a few more times before he reaches his own climax, groaning lowly against my neck.

  I feel exhausted and energized all at the same time. It’s a strange sensation to describe.

  Ollie pulls out and rolls over, lying on the bed. I follow, sprawling my body over his. My hair fans out around me and he slowly strokes his fingers through the strands. His chest expands with each heavy breath he inhales and exhales and my body moves with the motion.

  After a moment, he begins to laugh.

  I’m still flying high from that incredible orgasm and I can’t figure out why he’d be laughing.

  Sex is not a laughing matter—but apparently, to Ollie it is.

  “What?” I ask, trying not to sound perturbed—but seriously, why the hell is he laughing?

  “That has to be the squeakiest bed on the planet. I hope the walls in this place are thicker than I think they are or else everyone in the hotel heard quite the show.”

  “Oh, no.” I cover my face, stifling a laugh. “Those poor people.”

  “At least you didn’t cry, ‘Oh … Oh, God. Oh, Ollie, you’re a sex god’ this time.”

  I lower my hands and smack his bare arm. “I’ve never said that.”

  He grins crookedly. “I know but it has a nice ring to it.” He winks.

  I shake my head and stare up at the ceiling. The fan goes around and around and—

  “Oh, my God!” I shriek. “Is that my underwear?”

  Ollie looks up at the ceiling fan and laughs heartily. “Now that’s funny—and technically, not your underwear since they were bathing suit bottoms.” He pokes my cheek.

  “Same difference,” I mumble, watching my red bikini bottoms go round and round.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Ollie says suddenly. “There’s got to be a good place to eat around here.”

  I’d totally forgotten about food, but at its mention, my stomach comes to life and I nod eagerly.

  We take a quick shower—it’s pointless really, since we’ll break out in a sweat the moment we step outside—and change our clothes.

  I follow him down the dark and rickety staircase to the main floor. I hope they can get this place in better shape. Coming from someone who’s stayed in some pretty bad places, this is right in line with those.

  Ollie pushes the front door open and we step out into the city.

  For a city that’s literally small enough that you can see practically everything from where we stand, it has a surprising amount of people walking the streets.

  “Hop on,” Ollie says, squatting.

  I don’t have to ask him what he means. I hop on his back, wrapping my arms around his neck and giggle. He holds my legs and carries me piggy-back style down the street.

  People give us strange looks and we ignore them. We learned a long time ago that you can’t let the fear of judgment keep you from doing what you want. You have to get out there, and do it, and fuck the consequences.

  We find a little place to eat and Ollie ducks inside the building. He finally lets me down when the door closes behind us.

  The place is small, and not in the best shape—although better than the hotel—but the food smells amazing.

  There’s a long counter with the food behind glass. Ollie and I walk over to it, looking at everything. There’s roasted chicken in some kind of unusual sauce that smells heavenly. An assortment of steamed vegetables sits in another container and on and on.

  The man working there smiles politely and says something in Spanish.

  Shocker, we have no idea what he says.

  We really should’ve taken the time to learn a foreign language.

  Using our limited knowledge of Spanish, we manage to tell him we want to order some food. He picks up plates and we end up pointing to the dishes we want and he scoops heaping piles of them onto the plates. Both Ollie and I get way more food than either of us will ever eat, but I think we both want to try everything since it looks and smells so good.

  We come to the end and ask for drinks. The man rings us up on his ancient register. Ollie pays and we carry our plates and drinks to the back where there’s a small area of tables set up.

  Only one other table is occupied at the moment by an older gentleman and what appears to be his adult son.

  Ollie and I sit down and my stomach rumbles loudly again.

  Ollie sits down across from me and we dig in.

  “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Hands down,” Ollie declares, sauce smeared in the corner of his mouth.

  “Better than the fish tacos at Mo’s?”

  My blood runs cold at my own words and Ollie ceases eating.

  I can feel the panic building in my body. The whirlpool of emotions that send me right back to that day.

  I was at Mo’s when I got shot picking up food for Ollie and me. He was running late and couldn’t do it, so I said I would.

  My throat grows tight, closing up, and I can’t get enough air into my lungs.

  I haven’t been b
ack in that building since it happened.

  None of us have.

  It reopened a few months later after being redone.

  In other words, once the floors were no longer bloody and the interior looked completely different.

  Even still, the memory of that day lives on forever. Not just for us directly involved, but for our whole community. People think Malibu is a pretty big place, but not for the locals. It’s impossible not to get to know everyone in some way. What happened at Mo’s affected everyone.

  “Talia,” Ollie says softly.

  The words I’m fine are on the tip of my tongue but they won’t come. They won’t come because they’re a lie and I can’t keep lying to him or myself.

  My hunger is forgotten as I stand, shoving the chair back so forcefully that it bangs into the wall.

  I don’t think. I just run.

  I run out of the building and down the street and then I keep running and running. I can hear Ollie behind me, his feet thumping against the ground as he follows calling my name.

  Eventually, I can run no more—not because I’m tired, but because I come to the end of a cliff-like area. I look down below at the rocky terrain, peppered with grass and flowers.

  I drop to my knees, the dirt and pebbles digging into my skin.

  A wail-like sobs comes out of my throat and I’m helpless to stop it. I sound like an animal being killed.

  Ollie collapses beside me, grabbing my shoulders and turning me into his body. He cradles me against his solid chest.

  “I’m so sorry.” He presses kisses all over the top of my head and forehead. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he says it over and over again. All the while I cry loudly, unable to stop it. I thought I mourned, I really did, but now I’m not so sure—because if I had surely I wouldn’t be feeling like my chest is being ripped open with pliers. “This is my fault,” he whispers, “and you’ll never know how sorry I am.”

  I try to compose myself, pulling back slightly and toying with the collar of his shirt. “Your fault?” I inquire. “How is it your fault?”

  He looks at me with disbelief written on his face, like he’s shocked that I don’t see how he’s to blame. “I shouldn’t have asked you to go there that day. If I hadn’t asked you to pick up the food you wouldn’t have been there and the baby …” He pauses, his chest heaving as he tries to control himself. “We’d have our baby.”