Chapter Twelve
Matt
My eyes open to an empty apartment. Oliver’s absence feels like a part of me is missing, the warmth of his body pressed against mine still fresh in my mind.
He must have snuck out after I fell asleep. It's truly a testament to how deeply I slept if I didn't hear my noisy human move my arm, get ready, and walk out of the apartment.
I realize I have a smile on my face and this weird fluttery feeling in my stomach. It could be hunger, but I feel lighter and almost giddy in anticipation of something.
You know what? Not even gonna go there.
I knew I shouldn't have bought that fucking croissant. Who am I kidding? I knew exactly what I was doing. Hell, even Nick knew what I was doing.
I wish I could just pretend that what happened with Oliver didn’t mean anything, but my stomach sinks even thinking about it. I’ve wanted him for as long as I’ve known him. It’ll kill me to walk away from him when the time comes. I can’t think about that yet. I just…can’t.
Compartmentalization, the ultimate key to remaining sane.
I sigh and check my phone. The LA WRB chat is buzzing. The unofficial one, not the ones with the higher-ups. Apparently, we’re meeting for lunch today.
I check the time. I have approximately twenty minutes. Good. A distraction. I rush out of Oliver's house to get ready, and I’m out the door in fifteen.
When I enter the buzzing cafe, everyone is already sitting and chatting loudly. That's what you get when all your friends work in emergency services. Punctuality isn’t even a question.
I take the empty seat next to Sloan while they continue arguing about something I can't figure out yet. Again, not a rare thing. The argument, not my lack of understanding. Actually, no, I don’t get what these people blabber about half the time.
“So, what's up with the Christmas party?” Bree interrupts Marcus’s lecture on nail hygiene. I’m suddenly very tempted to join the hundreds of thousands of bacteria that live under my fingertips.
Nick responds before I can. “Oh, Matt is trying to seduce the human across the hall.”
I glare at him. “No, I’m—”
“Ooh, Oliver? That's so cute. You guys are finally getting together?” Camilla rests her elbows on the table and her face on her palms.
“What, no—”
“Marcus owes me fifty,” Sloan announces.
“He didn't say they’re together yet, Sloan,” Marcus retorts. He turns to me. “You aren't together, are you?”
I sigh. “If you just let—”
“It’s just a matter of time. Remember, how we got completely sloshed last time we played ‘Matt Whines About His Neighbor?’” Bree says.
I glare at everyone. “I don’t whine!” Yes, because that was the important part, Matt.
“Whine, gushing, rhapsodizing, they’re all the same,” Camilla waves me off.
“Point is, Oliver has our approval,” Sloan nods sagely.
“No, he doesn’t. We haven’t even met him yet!” Marcus argues.
“And that’s going to change at this seduction Christmas party,” Nick says gleefully.
“It’s not a seduction party. I'm trying to distract him because someone decided to volunteer me for the job!” I glare at Nick.
“I’m just glad he’s alright. With the bodies piling up, this Dalton guy is definitely dangerous,” Bree says, stopping the string of curses I’m telepathically shooting at Nick. It’s not a thing werewolves can do, but this could be the day I discover a new hidden talent.
“And now we have to pretend we have Christmas parties every year,” Nick grins. And telepathy still isn’t my superpower.
I narrow my eyes, even though I one hundred percent agree that it might have been a stupid idea. “I couldn't come up with a better way to keep him busy. He was asking a lot of questions,” I complain. It might have come out a little whiny.
“Again, you could just sleep with him,” Nick says matter-of-factly.
“Hands down, the easiest way to distract someone,” Marcus agrees.
“Yes, you should sleep together,” Sloan nods excitedly.
“No, wait. Don't. That would be…unprofessional,” Marcus backtracks.
“You know, I’m thirty-four. Officially old enough to make decisions about who I should and shouldn't sleep with. Thank you very much,” I say, done with the topic.
“But you never hook up with humans,” Camilla points out.
“Well, that's also a decision I make.”
“But it's a stupid decision,” Sloan insists.
“I think it's completely fair,” Marcus says.
Nick glares at him.
“Okay, I also think it's stupid, but he…I mean...I can’t win!” he huffs.
Sloan looks gleeful beside me.
“I'm not sleeping with Oliver,” I announce, and her smile turns into a frown. What’s a little white lie between friends?
“Whatever. I'm still bringing those Jell-O shots.”
Everyone at the table groans.
“Do you even remember what happened the last time Camilla took those Jell-O shots? My wife is still trying to find someone who can fix the damage on our wall,” Marcus snaps.
“I threw one vase. I thought it was a Jell-O vase,” Camilla says.
“Why would a vase be made of Jell-O?” Marcus asks.
“I don't know what was in those shots,” Camilla whines.
Sloan smirks dangerously. “Don't worry about it.”
We all constantly worry about it.
The conversation naturally moves to the recently recovered bodies since all of us are involved in the case in some way or another. We’re all self-diagnosed workaholics. Comes with the territory of having two full-time jobs.
“I still can’t figure out what they were trying to achieve.
The size and angles of the lacerations on their fingers definitely suggest they were trying to fit in claws.
But was it a wolverine experiment gone wrong, or were they trying to figure out a way to shift humans? I don’t know,” Marcus says, frustrated.
“Whatever it was, it wasn’t making them strong,” Camilla adds. She was the doctor who tried to save the two humans who were still breathing when I found them. “It might very well have killed them.”
“At least one for sure. But for the other four found in the fire, it was smoke inhalation. The chemical cocktail and botched surgeries sped the process up,” Marcus points out.
“I also think…Okay, this might sound weird, but maybe this Dalton guy killed the two people in his apartment out of pity,” he adds hesitantly.
“Mercy killing?” I ask, surprised.
“I don’t know. Their insides were all but melted. They were suffering from multiple organ failure. They would have died by themselves soon enough. Why else would he want them dead instantly?”
“Because he’s a sick person?” I suggest.
Nick hums. “I see your point, Marcus. But Matt could be right, too. He did run away right after murdering them.”
“Maybe he was going to get help to dispose of the bodies,” Sloan suggests.
“I guess the only way to know for sure is to find the guy or some solid evidence,” I say. “Did you find information on the owner of the apartment?” I ask Nick.
“Yeah, both were owned by a shell corporation. Now that the humans got the FBI involved, we should know soon enough. Meena told me the one at your place was rented by a similar corporation. So, your man Dalton is definitely not clean.”
When we leave, it feels like I understood the case better before I learned all this new information.
As I try to piece things together, I get a text from Oliver. Our text chain looks awfully empty for people who’ve been hanging out almost every day for the past week.
I’m going grocery shopping for the party. Any requests?
I park in front of our apartment building.
I can join u. Where r u? I reply. There’s no way in hell I’m letting him pay for anything related to this ridiculous party. In fact, I was prepared to file a claim with the Bureau at this point.
He drops me a pin to a place hardly ten minutes away.
As soon as I spot him, I want to grab him by his waist and kiss the hell out of him. But that would be wrong with a capital W.
Oliver already has a cart full of stuff by the time I get to him.
“How many people do you think are invited?” I look at the overflowing cart, confused.
“Recipes take ingredients, Matt,” he says.
What recipes require a large pack of fennel seeds, I wouldn’t know. So, I leave it up to him.
While we stroll down aisle after aisle, Oliver keeps adding to the already brimming cart. Before it can overflow, I run to the front of the store to grab another one. Might as well get into the spirit.
He smiles at me thankfully, giving me the full cart and taking custody of the new one.
“What are you planning to make?” I ask, staying away from the conversation we’re both clearly avoiding.
“Honey-glazed ham, garlic chicken pasta, a charcuterie board, and gingerbread for dessert,” he recites while my eyes almost bulge out of my head. “And since your friends are bringing mac and cheese and Jell-O shots, I won't bother with them.”
“You were planning to make Jell-O shots?”
“I’m young and cool, Matt. Of course, I was going to have Jell-O shots at the party. But I get why you’re surprised, old man.” He hip checks me, his eyes laughing.
I narrow my eyes. “I’m only four years older than you, you brat. Besides, I'm way cooler,” I say with my nose in the air.
Oliver's jaw drops in mock indignation.
I raise my index finger. “You use full sentences in texts like you care about people and grammar. It’s the absolute sign of uncoolness.”
I raise another finger. “You wear really nerdy, clever, and funny t-shirts.” I pointedly look at his pink, ‘Go Away, I’m Writing’ T-shirt and raise another finger. “You cook like a really responsible adult, and you're good at it!” I crinkle my nose exaggeratedly.
Another finger up. “You’re nice and helpful to literally everybody. You—”
Oliver interrupts me, his face slightly pink. “I just need one finger to reply to all of that.” And he flips me off, putting on the most dramatic pout.
I laugh. “Okay, alright, you're the coolest and the hippest,” I walk closer to him, wrapping my arm around his waist. My lips land on his almost instinctively, my free hand grasping his neck, fingers combing his curls.
Fucking finally. I sigh against his warm, soft mouth. My lips move over his, and I get this intense need to find out just how many noises I can wiggle out of him with just my lips on his.
I'm very aware we're in a public place. But the aisle is empty, so maybe not a bad idea? I wrap my arm around Oliver's firm body to pull him in and deepen the kiss.
But then he's moving away. “We have an audience,” he says, his voice rough.
It takes a while for my brain to catch up to his words. When I do, I notice a woman looking at us with wide eyes and a frankly creepy smile. How I didn’t hear or smell the intruder, I don’t know.
“Yeah, let's go,” I take Oliver's hand, and we walk over to the seasonal aisle.
We spend way too long picking out ornaments, garlands, and wreaths for decoration. I sneakily add a big bundle of mistletoe.
By the time we reach the checkout counter, we have two and a half carts full of stuff to carry back.
He tries to fight me on payment, but eventually gives up. We carry everything to his car and drive back separately.
On the way up, I carry almost everything in one go while Oliver carries two bags, looking awkward.
“Don't judge me, I'm not making rounds to get all this shit up even if I lose a finger on the way,” I tell him, determined. I can't feel at least three of my fingers already.
Oliver laughs. “It’ll be a worthy sacrifice.”
When we’re in front of my door, I motion to my pocket.
He sets one of his bags down and slides his hand inside. My body feels the movement of his finger through the fabric like it’s etched in my skin. I can hear his heartbeat speeding up.
He quickly opens the door, and we drop everything on the kitchen counter.
“I'll leave you to deal with that,” He gestures towards the mess we made.
I nod, trying to follow his lead on how he wants to take things forward…or backward. My mind is too impulsive in his presence to make any rational decisions anyway.
“About this morning…” my mouth starts before my brain can catch up.
Oliver waves me off. “It wasn’t a big deal. I know the score.” He laughs awkwardly.
My heart dips to my stomach. “Right, of course.” I nod quickly.
“So, I’m gonna…” he points at the door and walks out while I stare at his retreating figure.
“Fuck,” I growl when I hear his door across the hall slam shut.