20. Megan
Chapter 20
Megan
“Oh my god, Megan,” Kara whispers, clamping her hand on my thigh the second Ollie is out of earshot. “You did not tell us he is hot!”
“What? No, he’s not.”
He is, and I know it.
I know it because the way he gripped my bare shoulders in the hallway last night made my nipples tighten. Made me want him to kiss me. Made me wish he’d shove me up against the bathroom door and jam his knee between my thighs.
And I know he’s hot because all of that made me go to bed and get off at the thought of it. That’s how touch starved I am. I was worried he’d be a dirty pervert, and it turns out I’m the one with the objectification problem.
I’m blaming the wine, but I don’t tell my friends about that part of our evening.
“Please don’t tell me he just lounges around the house in those sweatpants?” Hattie says, her fingertips pressed to her cheeks. “I’d never get anything done.”
Kara swoons. “That arse is tight. I bet he does loads of squats.”
“It’s all that building work. Your dad has got a great arse, too, Megs.”
I roll my eyes and top up my coffee from the cafetiere. “Will you please stop. I do not want to think about my dad’s bum, and Ollie is too young for you.”
“Looks like he's all man to me. You’ve won the roommate lottery there, babe. What is he, twenty-two?” Hattie asks.
“Twenty-three.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” she says, throwing her hands in the air. “I’ve shagged men younger than that.”
“We’re just teasing, lovely. Obviously, we know nothing will happen between you two,” Kara says, and my back stiffens.
Obviously? Why, obviously?
Is it because I’m old and pathetic, and what would anyone want with me? And because he’s young and adventurous and only here for five minutes before he drives off into the sunset to live his wild and free life.
“Still, there’s no harm in looking while he’s here. And if you don’t want to look, we’ll do it for you,” she laughs.
“I was worried he’d drill a peep-hole in your wall, but now I’m hoping he does,” Hattie cackles. “Then you can peep back.”
Ollie pokes his head into the hallway when I’m saying goodbye to Hattie and Kara. I get a waft of his shower gel, fresh and minty, and it does something chemical to my brain before it occurs to me it's the same one I use. Smells much better on him.
“Nice to meet you. Thanks again for the pastries.”
“See you again soon, Ollie,” Kara says, but Hattie just waves him off, already halfway down the hallway, phone in hand, no doubt texting Rob.
“See you soon, babe.” I wrap both arms around Kara and she gives me a big squeeze before running off to catch up.
I close the door and double lock it, since Ollie and I are both in. Rationally, I know the boy who tried to break into our building is unlikely to return, but it doesn’t hurt to be extra safe.
“Your friends seem nice,” Ollie says behind me, and I spin to face him in the middle of the hallway.
He really has no business looking this good. I will myself not to look down. Hattie and Kara have gotten all in my head about sweatpants and thighs and…
Oh shit, I’m looking.
His hair is still damp from his shower, dark locks drying in soft natural curls people can only dream of. I’ve never been into guys with longer hair, but Ollie is so attractive I’m tempted to reconsider my stance. Except, I refuse to become one of those women who will drool over anything that moves just because I haven't had sex for a while.
“Yeah, they’re great. Sorry, I’d have let you know they were coming, but they just turned up.”
A frown flashes across his forehead. “What if you were out?”
“Where would I be?”
“I don’t know. Anywhere.”
“Well, I wasn’t out, but I told them to give me a heads up if they want to come over again.”
Ollie closes the space between us, cupping my shoulders with a reassuring squeeze. It’s the same thing he did last night and, right on cue, my body reacts in the same way, heat pooling in my core.
“Megan, it’s fine. This is your house. You can do whatever you want here. Don’t worry about me.”
“OK.” I back up, needing space to process the way my body responds to his most innocent of touches. My backside bumps against the side table, rocking everything on top.
His eyes cast down to the new addition, and he points behind me. “What’s this?”
“A lamp.”
“Yes, I can see it’s a lamp. Where did it come from?”
“I bought it this morning. You asked me to leave the light on if you’re coming home late, so…”
It seems stupid when I say it out loud, but his comment stuck with me. It is really easy to bump into things in our narrow hallway. Rob used to do it all the time when he visited, and I was a lot more gracious about it then.
“You could just leave the hallway light on?”
“It's broken,” I scoff, skirting past him to go back to my room. “And anyway, the big light is an act of violence.”
“What?” he laughs, folding his arms across his chest. It has the incredible effect of tightening the material at his shoulders as they bulge. All I can think about is what they’d feel like if I dug my fingernails into them, clinging on for dear life as he…
Stop it, Megan!
“The big light is the enemy, Ollie. Aggressively bright, and terribly unflattering.”
“Are you serious?” he laughs.
“No big lights,” I say, pointing in his face. “That’s a rule.”
“Why don’t you just change the bulbs?” he says. “Or better yet, put a dimmer switch in?”
“We’ve been over this. DIY is a foreign language to me.”
He cocks his head and stares down at me. He’s so much taller up close. I feel like I’m about to be in big trouble and I kind of like it. “I’ll sort it, but thank you. For the lamp.”
“You’re welcome. Consider it an apology for last night.”
He frowns and scratches at the back of his neck. “I thought we had a nice time last night?”
“We did. Except for me crying and generally being an absolute mess of a human. I haven’t really talked about the breakup with anyone and it all just came tumbling out.”
“Not even your friends?” he says, pointing towards the door. My mouth pinches into a half smile, a lump forming in my throat.
“Kara was getting married at the time,” I shrug. “I didn't want to pull focus from that.”
Tears prick at my lashes, then I’m in his arms, face pressed against the soft t-shirt that covers the warm planes of his chest muscles. My arms hang limply by my side and I blink a few times, unsure if I’m imagining this or if Ollie is actually hugging me.
“You got much planned for today?” he asks, hands sweeping up to my shoulders as he puts space between us. He squeezes them once before letting go, that gentle gesture fast becoming a thing we do.
“I’m going back to bed with a book. You?”
“Van stuff.”
“Cool. Good luck.”
Good luck?
I cringe inwardly. Dinner last night was supposed to clear the air between us, not stir up a load of unwelcome fantasies.
This isn’t like me, and Ollie isn't my type at all. I’m obviously just out of practice when it comes to men and projecting onto the nearest available specimen, but if it’s not a trick of the light, then whatever he’s got under those sweatpants is a very good specimen indeed.
“See you later, then,” he says, dragging me back from my disgraceful thought spiral.
“Yup.”
I’m barely back in bed five minutes when my thoughts return to Ollie in his sweatpants, and my hand drifts inside the waistband of my own.