Chapter 22 Phoebe
PHOEBE
This feels real, but if that’s true, why does he seem to be pulling away from me now that the ring is on my finger? What if we keep pretending and get married? We could do that, right? What if what I feel is real enough for both of us? It could work. Marriages have been based on less.
I go into the powder room while Ollie showers. Don’t cry, Phoebe. You’re strong. The mirror isn’t giving me much confidence, but at least I don’t cry, so my eyes aren’t red and puffy.
This isn’t how I was planning for any of this to go.
We’ve always had a connection… At least, I thought we did.
Maybe I was delusional and seeing what I hoped to and not reality.
We haven’t spent time alone together before.
Maybe now that Ollie is getting to know the real me, he doesn’t like what he sees.
We said we wanted to kiss each other, and I thought we’d finally do that once we were back in the room, but nothing happened.
Is he waiting for me to make the first move?
Has he changed his mind? I wish I knew what he was thinking.
I know I could ask him and he’d probably tell me, but I’m scared.
At least if I don’t know, there’s still the hope he cares for me the way I do him and he’s too bashful to act on it.
If he tells me it was a momentary desire because of the situation and not because of me, my heart is going to be broken, and I don’t know if I can continue faking an engagement.
Because I’m not faking. I’m in love with Oliver King, he asked me to marry him, I said yes, and he put a ring on my finger.
We are engaged, and I want to marry that man.
I take extra care with my hair and makeup.
I’m glad I chose the plum-colored knit wrap dress.
My boobs look fabulous in it, and I love the flirty way the skirt swishes around my knees.
The black heels do wonderful things to my legs.
Is it too much? I don’t want to push Ollie further away.
Will he be proud to be seen with me? I am so proud of him, and I’m scared people are going to look at us together and wonder why a man as gorgeous as him is with a woman as…
curvy as I am. My heart will break if Ollie’s ashamed to be with me.
I hear the shower turn off and am tempted to go into the bedroom for something so I can peep at Ollie, but I don’t want to be a creeper.
A few minutes later, Ollie exits the bedroom, wearing a charcoal-gray suit without a tie and the top button of his white dress shirt unbuttoned.
A little bit of brown chest hair is visible in the small V the shirt makes, and the sight of it is so sexy.
I’ve seen him in his Bigfoot form when he’s had hair everywhere.
But that little glimpse is turning me on and making my panties damp. Who knew I had a chest hair fetish?
He's fastening his watch as he enters the sitting area, and he stops midstride when he looks up and sees me. The blush creeping up his neck amplifies the heat igniting in his eyes. Yeah. He likes what he sees. That’s half the battle.
I can get guys to want me—that’s never been a struggle.
So I’ll use the boobs and the legs and the curves and hope that’s enough to finally get him to kiss me and want me in all the ways I want him.
If I’m going to end up with a broken heart at the end of this, at least I’ll have some memories.
But damn it, I want his heart, not only his cock.
I deserve to be loved. He deserves it too. And I’m the woman meant to love him.
“Wow, you look beautiful.” His gaze slowly tracks from head to toe. He swallows, or maybe gulps, and returns his gaze to my face.
“Thanks,” I say with a soft smile. “You look very handsome. I love it when you wear your glasses.”
I really do. He gets a sexy nerd vibe, which is so unlike the type of guy I usually go for.
“Do I need a coat?” I ask.
“And cover up that gorgeous dress? Absolutely not. I thought we were eating at the steakhouse here. Is that still okay?”
I smile. “That’s perfect. I’ve heard it’s wonderful.”
Grabbing my bag, I exit the suite ahead of Ollie.
He doesn’t touch me as we walk to the elevator.
No hand at the small of my back, no holding my hand.
Nothing. No one seeing us would think we were a newly engaged couple, they’d think we were coworkers.
Or strangers. I look at our reflection in the elevator door as we descend to the main floor of the hotel.
We’re an attractive couple. We both have dark hair and eyes, and I’m above average height for a woman, so we’re both tall.
Ollie is so muscular and broad, I don’t feel like I’m too big next to him.
Other people join us on the elevator, and I move closer to Ollie, hoping he’ll put his arm around me and tuck me against his side protectively.
He doesn’t do that. Instead, he moves so I have room.
I don’t want room, damn it! I want to be cuddled and cosseted.
Treated like I’m a delicate flower for once, not like I’m strong and sturdy and can take care of myself.
I am those things, but it would be nice to not have to be.
We enter the steakhouse, and Ollie gives his name to the hostess, who starts to lead us to a table in the center of the dining room.
“Any chance we can have a booth?” Ollie asks quietly.
She changes course and places our menus on the table of a cozy booth.
I’m so glad Ollie requested this. I hate feeling like I’m on display when I’m eating.
Usually, I think people are judging my food choices, but tonight I know they’ll recognize Ollie and be whispering about Bigfoot Finds a Bride, our surprise engagement, and who knows what else.
I’ve barely opened the menu when our server comes by and asks if we’d like anything to drink.
Glancing quickly at the menu, I see a red berry lemonade and choose that. Ollie requests a Guinness.
“Do you want to share an appetizer?” Ollie asks.
I hum as I read the menu. Seafood doesn’t do it for me, and the menu is heavy on oysters and crab cakes and stuff.
“Ooh, how about the meatball? A blend of ground pork, beef, veal, Muenster cheese, marinara sauce, that sounds tasty. What do you think?”
He nods. “That sounds good. Do you want salad?”
I scrunch up my nose. “Not really. I’m looking forward to a meat coma and don’t want to wreck it with lettuce.”
That makes him laugh.
“God forbid you eat a vegetable. I’m getting the Caesar salad and the ribeye.”
“For your information, I’m getting the fresh asparagus,” I say, sticking my tongue out at him.
“And the three cheese au gratin potatoes, right?”
“Shut up,” I say as our server returns with our drinks and a basket of bread and butter.
We place our orders and start in on the bread basket.
This is nice. It feels normal. Maybe we need to keep eating all the time to keep things from getting awkward.
If that’s the plan, I’ll have to eat a lot more veggies and a lot less potatoes.
That’s disappointing. I’d much rather substitute making out for pigging out.
The meatball arrives, and we dig in. We groan in unison as we taste the meat and cheese yumminess.
Ollie’s groan, deep and even yummier than the cheese, makes my panties even damper.
If Ollie and I had eye contact during our mutual groan, I think I would’ve had an orgasm on the spot.
Thank goodness he asked for a booth. Being on display for the entire dining room would have been too much.
As we settle in to eat, I can’t help but enjoy everything to the fullest…
and torture Ollie a little bit. I play with the straw and smack my lips, bringing attention to my mouth.
And when he finishes his Guinness and orders a Coke, I’m a little disappointed.
Maybe drunk Ollie would finally make a pass at me.
“How’s your filet?” Ollie asks as he cuts into his ribeye.
Once I finish chewing, I answer. “Delectable. Incredible. Indispensable.” That makes me giggle.
“Hey, can I have a sip of your drink?” Ollie asks me out of nowhere. “It looks good.”
“Sure, but don’t drink it all,” I say, wagging my finger at him. “It’s yummy.”
Ollie grabs my glass and takes a sip. By the way his eyes widen, I can tell he likes it too.
“Scrumdillyicous, isn’t it?” I look around for our server so I can ask for another one.
“Hmm…” is all he says. I don’t think he likes lemonade as much as I do. “Excuse me, I need to use the restroom. I’ll ask for another lemonade for you if I see our server.”
Before I have a chance to thank him, he’s sliding out of the booth.
I turn my head so I can watch him stride through the dining room.
I’m not the only one watching him. Step off, beyotches, he’s mine.
I got the ring and everything to prove it.
He intercepts our server and has a brief conversation with him, then he comes back to the table.
“You didn’t go to the restroom,” I say.
He shrugs. “Once I stood up, everything redistributed, and I didn’t have to go anymore. But I spoke to our server. They’re out of the berry lemonade, but I ordered us coffees, okay? And water.”
“Oh, bummer. I really, really like the lemonade.” I’m not bottom-lip-out pouting, but that’s because I’m trying to be sexy, not petulant.
Ollie chuckles, and warmth spreads through me. I love when he does that.
“I know you do, sweetheart. But no more tonight.”
He called me sweetheart. That means he cares, right?
We continue eating and chat about the playoffs and the team he’s going to face.
I try to pay attention, but I start getting sleepy.
The coffee must be decaf. We ask for dessert to go so our tummies have enough room to really enjoy it.
I imagine us snuggled on the couch, feeding each other bites of our desserts and kissing leftover frosting or cream off the other’s lips.