Chapter 25 Ollie
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
OLLIE
The sound of Lila’s giggles echoes down the hall before I even knock. I don’t even get a chance to rap my knuckles on Jacko’s front door before it flies open and a small blur of pink unicorn pyjamas and wild curls comes barrelling into me.
“OLLIEEEE!”
I stagger back a step as she launches herself at my legs. I scoop her up without hesitation, spinning her in a circle until she squeals like she’s just been set loose on a carnival ride.
“Oi, careful!” Jacko calls from somewhere behind her, but there’s no heat in it.
I grin as I set her on my hip. “There she is. My number one girl. Have you been causing trouble?”
Her eyes sparkle, mischievous as ever. “Maybe.”
“That’s a yes,” Jacko mutters, appearing in the hallway with that eternal mix of fondness and exasperation that only a kid like Lila can summon.
“Bear made pancakes,” Lila announces proudly, pointing toward the kitchen. “With chocolate chips.”
“And strawberries,” Jacko adds. “Don’t make me the villain here.”
I laugh, carrying Lila into the kitchen. Maya is at the counter, tying her apron, and she gives me that soft smile she always does, like I’m already part of this weird little family they’ve stitched together.
“Coffee’s on,” she says.
“You’re a saint.” I plop into the chair with Lila still perched on my lap, and she immediately starts chattering at me about school and her friends and some elaborate plan to build a castle in the garden with cardboard boxes.
I listen like every word is gospel, nodding solemnly when she tells me the castle needs a moat, gasping in horror when she explains the dragons might escape otherwise. Jacko rolls his eyes at me, but I see the smirk tugging at his mouth.
“Don’t encourage her,” he mutters, but it’s too late. Lila’s already plotting how to recruit me as her knight.
By the time breakfast winds down, Lila’s sticky with syrup and Maya’s ushering her toward the sink. Jacko jerks his head toward the back garden, and I follow him out into the cool air.
He grabs two beers from the outdoor fridge, because of course Jacko has an outdoor fridge, and hands me one. It’s barely noon, but who’s counting? We sink into the deck chairs, watching Lila bounce on the trampoline.
For a while, we just sit. Comfortable. The kind of quiet that doesn’t itch at your skin.
Then Jacko clears his throat. “You’ve been different lately.”
I take a swig, keeping my gaze on Lila. “Different how?”
He shrugs. “Not in a bad way. Just lighter. Happier. Like you’ve got something going on that you’re not telling the guys.”
My pulse stutters, but I force a smirk. “Maybe I’ve just been sleeping better. New pillow. Memory foam. Changed my life.”
“Uh-huh.” Jacko gives me the look, the one that says he’s calling my bullshit without actually saying the words. “Look, I’m not Murphy. I’m not gonna take the piss or give you grief. I just… if you’re seeing someone, I’d like to know you’re not getting in over your head.”
The words stick to my tongue. I want to tell him everything. About Chloe. About how she’s more than I expected, more than I deserve. But the fear knots my stomach. The fear of the team finding out, Murphy exploding, tabloids sniffing around.
So, I hedge. “There’s someone. Kind of.”
Jacko’s brows lift, but he doesn’t press. “Serious?”
I hesitate, then nod once. “Feels like it could be.”
For a moment, silence stretches between us. Then Jacko leans back, taking a long drink. “Follow your heart, mate. You deserve that. And don’t worry, I’m not saying a word. Not my business to spread.”
Relief unfurls in my chest. “Thanks.”
“Just don’t be a dick about it,” he adds, smirking now. “If she’s making you grin like that, she’s worth keeping.”
I laugh, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah. She really is.”
We lapse back into silence, watching Lila’s curls bounce as she flings herself into the air on the trampoline. I can’t help the thought that sneaks in. This, this little slice of chaos and warmth, is what it might feel like to build something real with someone.
The rest of the afternoon drags. Training, errands, the usual noise of life. But the whole time, I’m buzzing under my skin, counting down the hours until tonight. Dinner with Chloe. Our second proper date that isn’t stolen in hallways or tucked into her kitchen at midnight.
By the time I get home, I’m a wreck of nervous energy.
I shower, change, stand in front of the mirror like a prat debating which shirt makes me look less like I’ve tried too hard.
In the end, I settle on the navy button-up, the one Murphy says makes me look like I’m trying to impress someone. He’s not wrong.
I spritz cologne, it’s the new one Tom Hardy advertises. A guy’s gotta try right? Then I run a hand through my damp hair, and for a second, I just pause. Staring at my own reflection, at the stupid grin that won’t quit tugging at my mouth.
God, I feel like a teenager again. Heart thudding, palms sweating, replaying every look, every laugh she’s given me. It’s bizarre. And it’s brilliant.
By the time I’m in the car, my knee’s bouncing like I’m waiting for a shootout. The drive feels endless, every red light mocking me. But then I’m there, pulling up outside her place, and all the nerves quiet into something steadier. Excitement. Want.
She opens the door before I can knock, and the sight of her with soft curls loose around her shoulders, dress skimming her thighs, a smile lighting her whole face, punches the air right out of my lungs.
“Hi,” she says, a little breathless, like maybe she’s been pacing too.
“Hi.” My voice comes out rough, but I can’t stop grinning.
We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other, until she laughs and grabs her coat. “Ready?”
“Always.”
As we walk toward the car, I can’t resist brushing my fingers against hers. She glances at me, and when our hands thread together, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
Dinner’s at this little place near the river, one of those cozy spots with low lighting, wooden tables, and fairy lights strung in the windows. It’s not flashy, but it feels warm, intimate, like the kind of place where people come when they want to actually see each other.
The hostess leads us to a booth tucked in the corner, and I can’t stop staring at Chloe as she slides in across from me. The candlelight flickers against her skin, catching in her hair, and I swear I forget how to breathe for a second.
She notices, of course. “What?” she teases, raising an eyebrow.
I shrug, fighting a grin. “Nothing. Just… you look unfairly good. Like, ‘I’m gonna get carded ordering wine’ good.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “That’s your line?”
“Not a line,” I protest, hand pressed to my chest. “That’s pure honesty. You should appreciate how rare that is for me.”
“Oh, I appreciate it.” She leans forward, eyes glinting. “Even if you sound like you’ve been practicing in the mirror.”
“Alright, harsh,” I chuckle, picking up the menu. “But for the record, the only thing I practiced in the mirror was which shirt didn’t make me look like a complete tosser.”
Her gaze drops to the navy button-up I picked, lingering just long enough to make my stomach flip. “You chose well.”
I swear, I could float right out of the booth.
When the waiter comes by, Chloe orders pasta and a glass of red. I order the biggest steak on the menu with a side of extra fries and a beer, because subtlety has never been my strong suit. She smirks at me as the waiter walks away.
“Steak and fries with extra fries?”
“Listen, I burn a thousand calories an hour on the ice,” I say, dead serious. “This is survival, not gluttony.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “You do realise you’re basically a golden retriever with skates on, right? Constantly hungry, always bouncing, outrageously loyal.”
I lean forward, grinning. “I’ll take it. Golden retrievers are everyone’s favourite.”
“True.” She tilts her head. “But they also get themselves into trouble. A lot.”
“That’s fair.” I tap my beer against her glass when it arrives. “But you know what else they are?”
“What?”
“Good company.”
Her smile softens, and for a moment the banter fades into something quieter. Warmer.
Our food arrives, and we slip back into easy chatter.
She tells me about a disastrous group project she once had in uni, how one of her teammates did nothing but still managed to take the credit.
I nearly choke on my steak laughing when she admits she left passive-aggressive sticky notes all over his part of the presentation.
“You’re devious,” I say, wiping my mouth with a napkin.
“Strategic,” she corrects, twirling pasta around her fork. “I prefer strategic.”
“Well, remind me never to get on your bad side.”
She smirks. “You already have. Multiple times.”
I clutch my chest like I’ve been wounded. “And yet, here you are, voluntarily having dinner with me. Again.”
“Maybe I like watching you squirm.”
The heat in her gaze lingers just long enough to send a thrill racing through me. I cover it by taking a long pull of my beer, but inside, I’m buzzing.
By the time dessert menus arrive, I’m already stuffed, but Chloe insists on sharing something. We end up with a molten chocolate cake, and she laughs when I try to sneak the first bite.
“Excuse me, sir,” she says, swatting at my fork. “We’re supposed to share.”
“Sharing is not my strong suit,” I say, but I surrender anyway, cutting us even halves.
When she takes her first bite, her eyes flutter shut for a second, and my brain short-circuits. Forget the cake. Forget the restaurant. All I can think about is her.
“Good?” I ask, voice rougher than I mean it to be.
She opens her eyes, smiling. “Very.”
I grin, trying to act casual even as my pulse hammers. “Told you sharing was worth it.”
We linger long after the plates are cleared, trading stories, laughing over silly team antics, comparing the worst injuries we’ve ever had. She rolls her eyes at me when I admit I once sprained my wrist trying to do a backflip into a pool at a teammate’s party.
“You’re impossible,” she says, but she’s laughing so hard she nearly spills her wine.
And I can’t help thinking, this is it. This is what I’ve been craving. Not just the heat, not just the rush. This. Sitting across from her, talking like we’ve got all the time in the world.
When the bill comes, I don’t even give her a chance. I slap my card down, ignoring her protests.
“Ollie,”
“Nope. Not happening. I’m paying. You can get the next one.”
“The next one?” she teases, but there’s a softness in her eyes.
“Already planning it,” I say, leaning back in my seat with a smug grin. “I’m thinking mini golf. Or maybe bowling. Something I can definitely beat you at.”
She snorts. “Please. You’d lose on purpose just to make me smile.”
And yeah, she’s not wrong.
The drive back to her flat is quiet, but it’s the good kind. She rests her hand on my thigh, casual, and my whole body hums with it.
When we pull up, I don’t want the night to end. Not ever. But she leans over, kisses my cheek, and whispers, “Come in for coffee?”
And just like that, every nerve in me sparks to life.