Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
The click-clack of my keyboard is louder than usual this morning, mirroring the erratic beat of my mood.
Sore muscles from the hike still make every movement a chore, and my cramps are in full force. The noticeable spot on my chin showed up in time with my period yesterday evening, and I probably look as bad as I feel.
Yet, a thrill still hums through me.
It’s such a strange contrast that even Hendricks notices.
“Who set your mood on shuffle?” he teases, eyeing me from across our shared desk as I grimace from another cramp when just seconds ago, I was smiling at the memory of Grey massaging my lower back at the park.
How he leaned down and planted a kiss on my shoulder, breathing me in.
If I hadn’t already known I had a crush on him, the butterflies that erupted in my stomach at that moment would have been confirmation enough.
He background-checked me.
Is that how hackers flirt?
“Just reflecting on the weekend,” I manage, trying to ease the tension in my shoulders as I type.
“Must have been a good one,” Hendricks notes, leaning back in his chair with a curious tilt of his head.
It wasn’t a good one.
It was the best weekend I’ve ever had.
Hiking, playing with Peanut, and touching the keys of a Bosendorfer.
Not to mention that spending time with Misha and Grey filled spaces in my world that were so damn empty. And even though Oliver wasn’t there, he crossed my mind more times than I could count.
It feels a little greedy, wanting even more after such a full weekend, but that’s exactly how I feel. Like I’m missing out on something with Oliver, something that’s just out of reach.
I want to get to know him just as much as Misha and Grey.
Would asking him to go for a coffee sometime be too forward?
I chew on my lip, contemplating. It feels like it’s my turn to bridge the gap, to start a conversation that goes beyond our usual short exchanges.
I’ll shoot him a text later. Nothing big, just two friends drinking coffee.
Right?
I let the thought simmer as I refocus on the screen, the blinking cursor like a nod of encouragement.
Jamie warned me this morning that muscle soreness would peak on day two. His words echo as I shift uncomfortably, chewing on another Twizzlers for some semblance of comfort when the door opens with a knock.
Shortly after, Misha’s hands land on my shoulders, his voice low and warm by my ear. “Hey, you. Can I take you to lunch?” He plants a quick kiss on my temple, sending a flurry of butterflies through my stomach.
Fuck.
I turn to face him, and he snatches the last bit of my Twizzlers from my fingers and pops it in his mouth. “Or are we living off these today?”
“Hey, that was mine!” I protest with a pout I’m not sure is fake.
“Come on, let’s try to get some actual nutrients in your body between the sugar.” He grins, pulling me to stand. As I groan from the soreness, he jokes, “Thought I might have to give you a piggyback ride down there.”
“So not happening,” I retort, scowling, which only makes him laugh harder.
I grab my backpack and nod to Hendricks, who raises an eyebrow at Misha’s hand finding mine as we exit the office.
Oliver and Grey are already at our usual lunch spot, and food for them and us is on the table. I shoot Grey a look, trying to read his blank expression, but I catch a slight twitch of his lip as I sit down.
The same salad he has is waiting in front of me.
“Oh look, who would’ve thought I’m in the mood for salad today? Because I’m not,” I mutter, maybe a little too sharp, because Oliver reaches out and pulls my plate over to him before he pushes his in front of me—a hummus and veggie sandwich.
Much better.
“You sure?”
He nods and smiles warmly, then turns to address a scowling Grey. “No peanuts. I checked before I got it.”
Why would he need to check his food for peanuts?
I bite into the sandwich, the perfect flavors eliciting a muffled groan from me. Oliver’s smile broadens as he starts on my salad.
Misha is right.
Oliver always knows what to do to make things better.
Seizing a surge of confidence, I look at him and blurt out, “I haven’t seen you at the coffee station for a while now. Do you want to schedule a time tomorrow for our break so we can grab one together?”
Oliver pauses, fork midair, his eyes wide when he turns to me as if he’s trying to make sure I’m really talking to him.
“I…” He begins, then stops, his ears turning a shade of red that probably matches the blush I can feel spreading across my cheeks.
Fuck, maybe there’s a reason why he doesn’t really talk to me after all.
Maybe he just doesn’t want to.
We both sit there, our mouths opening and closing, the silence stretching painfully awkward.
I’m about to backtrack, to mumble some excuse, but Misha’s laughter cuts through the tension. “Oh my God, you guys look like blushing fish. Ouch!” he yelps, presumably in response to Grey kicking him under the table.
This is spiraling into a disaster. I set down my sandwich and fold my hands in my lap, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.
God, I’m such a bloody muppet.
Oliver reaches out and hesitantly takes my hand from my lap. When I don’t pull away, he gives it a reassuring squeeze. His touch is tentative, yet it anchors me. I look up, preparing for the worst, but instead, he asks quietly, “Does ten work for you?”
The relief that floods through me is palpable, and I can’t help the grateful smile that breaks across my face. “Yeah, ten works great.”
We go back to eating, and the guys talk about some AI breakthroughs a competitor company had. I listen with interest but keep my mouth shut.
I’ve said enough for today.
When I’m done with my sandwich, I put my ankle over my knee, massaging my calf.
Misha watches me with a mix of concern and humor in his eyes, “Is that my fault?”
“Yours, mine, the mountains…” I reply with a shrug.
“If you’re gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough,” Grey murmurs beside me, a teasing smirk on his face when I shoot him a glare.
“How about we chill and watch a movie tonight? At our place,” Misha suggests.
Oliver nods. “Sure, but Morgan is there, so she will probably join us.”
I hesitate, unsure if I want to hang out with a stranger tonight, feeling the cramps tightening. “I don’t know. I don’t feel so good.” And I just want to curl up in my sweatpants to look and feel miserable while stuffing my face with ice cream.
“Come on, let us take care of you,” Misha insists. “I can put some ointment on your oh-so-strong calves. And you can come in sweatpants, feel at home. Grey could cook us dinner.”
I look at Grey, who shrugs nonchalantly. “Sure.”
“I’d rather have popcorn and ice cream,” I admit, thinking about the tubs that will arrive after work with the food delivery.
Oliver smiles. “Morgan and I bought lots of snacks on our way home. She lives off them.”
We stand and take our trays back. Misha puts his arm around my waist when he whispers conspiratorially. “Come on, what do you say?”
Part of me wants to dive back into my AR work to bury the discomfort in productivity. But the thought of an evening surrounded by them is too tempting. “Do you guys have strawberry ice cream?” I ask. “Just so I know if I have to bring my own.”
Is that weird?
Grey smirks, catching Misha’s eye. “We do,” Misha confirms with a grin. “A whole tub just for you if you come.”
“Fine,” I agree with a sigh.
The prospect of a cozy evening with friends and strawberry ice cream somehow makes the rest of this crampy Monday much more bearable.
Outside their apartment on the eighteenth floor, I hesitate, the buzzing in my head a mix of excitement and nervous energy.
Should I knock, ring the doorbell, or just text?
Before I can decide, the door swings open, revealing Misha with that infectious grin of his. “Why did I know you’re lurking out here?” he teases, flashing back to our meeting before gently tugging me into the apartment.
The guys’ place is strikingly different from mine—darker, way bigger, and more masculine. Dark wood furniture dominates the space, complementing the expansive windows that frame the Seattle skyline, much like my own view but somehow more imposing.
A big, sleek black couch faces a projector screen, ready for movie night. The ambiance is cozy, with dimmed lights casting soft shadows, and the air is tinged with the scent of coffee and freshly popped popcorn.
Grey bustles around in the open kitchen while Oliver leans with his hip on the kitchen island, his back to me.
Beside him is a striking redhead with collarbone-length hair.
She’s beautiful, with pale skin and freckles, and she’s short—probably a head shorter than me.
Her vibrant hair contrasts with the muted tones of the room.
As soon as she sees me, her face lights up with a smile, making her even more beautiful.
“Look who I found,” Misha declares, and Oliver turns, giving me a warm smile that mirrors his sister’s.
They do look somewhat alike.
“Perfect timing,” Grey says, filling a bowl with fresh popcorn.
The redhead makes her way over to me and studies me for a long moment.
I’m wearing my pink sweatpants, like they told me to, and a white Henley. My hair is in a braid over my shoulder, and that damn spot on my chin is even redder than this morning.
God, I should have put in more effort.
She sure looks like she did, even though she’s in leggings and an oversized green sweater the color of her eyes.
“Hey, Amelia, I’m Morgan. I’m so happy to meet you.
But I have to say, you don’t feel like a stranger.
” Morgan laughs, and she is one of those people who is so confident they make you squirm when they’re this straightforward.
“You’re even prettier than Oliver said,” she adds, which sends a wave of blush across my cheeks.
“Morgy,” Oliver hisses from behind her, but she waves him off.
“Oh, shut up. Amelia knows she’s that kind of eternal beauty.”
“Says you,” I manage to quip back, and Morgan’s laughter fills the room, warm and inviting.