18. Ollie
Chapter 18
Ollie
I’ve got a nice little buzz on, and it feels too early to call it a night.
“Shall we open another bottle?” Megan asks, and I’m pleased she feels the same way. Obviously, I look at her arse while she walks away. I can’t stop at this point.
“So what’s the deal with your van?” she asks, topping up my glass, then hers. She tucks her feet underneath her while she gets comfy, and I’m grateful for a topic of conversation that won’t have me thinking about her dating some other guy.
“I bought her a few months ago and I’m converting her into a campervan so I can go travelling.”
Her eyebrows lift and she tries not to smirk. “Her?”
“Oh, yeah, it’s stupid. People think of their vans as female. I don’t really know why.”
“Like ships. I get it. Where are you planning to go?”
She listens intently, her head tipping softly against the back of the sofa while I talk her through the progress so far, all the things that are left to do, and my plans for when I’m finished. The Cornish coast, across the Channel to France, Scotland’s always been a dream. Anywhere I can see the world beyond my parent's friends' summer houses and the places they deemed worthy of a visit.
“The North Coast 500 sounds amazing. I’ve seen videos online.”
“Have you been travelling much?” I ask.
Her half-hearted smile wanes as she thinks about her answer. “A few city breaks, but that’s it. Travelling never really felt like an option for me. My dad has such a strong work ethic, I think he'd have had a heart attack if I suggested a gap year.”
“It’s never too late, you know.” Her soft hum tells me she doesn’t agree, but she keeps going.
We talk about hypothetical adventures, what-could-have-been for her, what-could-still-be for me, until she yawns loudly.
“Oh my goodness,” she says, sitting up and covering her mouth. “It’s almost midnight.”
“Oh shit. Are you gonna turn into a pumpkin?”
“Ha ha,” she says, sarcastically. “I don’t usually stay up this late. Or drink a whole bottle of wine. You're a bad influence, and you’re the one who said you needed an early night.”
“You’re right. I’ll tidy up here, you go get ready for bed.”
Why does everything I say sound like I’m hitting on her tonight?
After loading the dishwasher, and plumping all the sofa cushions to her exact standards, I head for the bathroom just as Megan steps out, crashing into me. Fresh faced and beautiful, her lips are shiny from whatever she’s just applied.
She’s changed into soft pajama bottoms in a dark green, and a matching top with little straps that sit delicately on her shoulders. Her hair is pulled into a low ponytail and what I’d really like to do is wrap it around my hand, tip her head back and kiss her until those straps fall down.
“Oh, sorry…” she says. “I’ll just—”
We do a little half-dance in the hallway, both darting one way, then the other. She chuckles awkwardly, until I grab hold of her shoulders, and her laugh dies in her throat. I spin us both until we’re where we wanted to be, but my hands don't seem to be able to let go.
“Thank you for dinner,” she says, eyelashes fluttering as her gaze drops from my eyes to my mouth.
Hers press together like she wants something but is too afraid to ask for it. Whatever it is, I think I want the same.
If this was a first date, I’d ask if I could kiss her, and when I could see her again, but this isn't a date at all. It's Megan, and our situation is complicated. Risking our friendship, if you can even call it that, for a goodnight kiss isn't worth the fallout. No matter how tempting it is to drag her closer and pull her mouth to mine.
She clears her throat, and I come to my senses, dropping my hands. When she heads for her room, I stare at the ceiling instead of her.
“Hey, Ollie,” she says, one hand on her door frame. “If you want to bring people back here, you should know your bed squeaks a little. So if you're going to have sex in it, make sure you do it sideways. That’s what Hattie used to do.”
I pinch my lips together. “You don't have to worry about that. I already fixed the bed.”
“Oh. OK,” she smiles. “Night then.”
“Goodnight.”
After brushing my teeth, I flop on top of my covers. My body is wiped after the craziest week of my life, but my mind is busy untangling the knowledge that Megan’s definitely thought about me having sex, and now I’m dying to know who she imagined me having it with.
From the brief glimpse I’ve seen when she’s left her door open, I know her bed is right on the other side of the wall to mine.
There can’t be more than a couple of feet between where we lay our heads at night. As I sink into my pillows, a faint noise travels through the wall, and unless she’s using her electric toothbrush for a second time, there’s only one thing it could be.