33. Ollie
Chapter 33
Ollie
How am I supposed to focus on the rom-com Megan picked out when she’s sitting there wearing my hoodie with nothing underneath? Normally, I’d hate someone I live with touching my stuff, but with her it’s the opposite effect. I want to give her everything I own.
There’s always been something about women in comfy clothes that does it for me, and tonight is no different. Curled up under her blanket with her hair in those pretty pigtails, she looks cute as fuck, all snuggly and relaxed.
She looks like a girlfriend.
Megan got all shy and embarrassed when I pointed out what she was wearing, but making her blush is fast becoming my favourite hobby. Serious is her default state, and there’s nothing like earning an eye roll or a pout. Now she’s perked up a bit, it makes me want to mess with her more.
I tell her to stay put while I clear the table, leaving a few snacks to enjoy with the rest of the movie. Once I’m sure she’s thoroughly distracted, I duck out to get changed, stopping by her room on the way back. She’s so engrossed in her phone it takes a few seconds for her to notice me, and even then she does a double take before her mouth falls open on a gasp.
“Is that my bathrobe?”
I give her a twirl in the middle of the room, pulling it tighter around my waist and pretending to flip my hair back over my shoulder. Her robe is white and fluffy, and I keep going until my preening has her in stitches. That’s all I wanted, to make her laugh.
“What? Isn’t this what roommates do? Share each other’s clothes and shit? You started it.” I point to my hoodie she was clearly in no hurry to change out of. And honestly, it looks way better on her than it does on me.
“I think it's a bit short on you,” she says, pressing her lips together while blatantly staring at the spot where it hits my thighs. “Wait, are you naked under there?”
“Maybe,” I laugh, wiggling my eyebrows.
Her mouth falls open, her cheeks flush, and her chest rises. When our eyes lock, she bites her bottom lip, and I realise I’ve made a big mistake.
This was meant to be a joke, not a move, and now I’m paralysed under her stare. She is so beautiful. All I want to do is climb on top of her, tug that lip free, and spend the rest of the night tasting it. I want to get my hands caught up in her hair and make her feel as good as she deserves to feel.
“Just kidding,” I cheer, throwing her robe open to reveal my shorts and t-shirt. Megan develops a sudden fascination with the remote control buttons, and I can’t tell if she’s relieved or disappointed. Either way, I quickly tie it up again before my semi-hard dick makes itself even more obvious. I sit back down, thankful for the abundance of blankets she keeps around.
“I got us something else,” I say, pulling two slim packages from the pocket of her robe and holding them up. “Do you want intense rejuvenation or deep invigoration?”
Her eyes flick back and forth between the two. “You bought face masks?”
“Sure,” I shrug. “It’s Friday girl's night, right?”
Megan stares at me while she processes what I’ve just said. I nudge her knee with my foot to snap her out of it. “Hurry up and pick. I need to know what happens at the end of the movie.”
She opts for rejuvenation, whatever the fuck that means, and gets to work applying her mask. I’m a lot less graceful with this shit, tearing into the packet and grappling with the floppy, wet tissue paper that comes out of it.
“I have no idea what I’m doing here,” I admit after a couple of minutes. Megan, or this creepy ghostface version of her, shifts onto her knees beside me and takes it from my hand.
“Tip your head back,” she says, pushing my hair away from my face and tucking loose curls behind my ears. Being this close to her feels as natural now as it did when I held her in her bed the other night, and that’s the most confusing thing about living with Megan.
She and I are such opposites. Her with her routines and her obsession with doing everything right. Me with my inability to sit still and desperation to get out into the world and do shit on my own. Nobody could ever have convinced me I’d meet someone who makes me want to sit in on a Friday night and do skincare for fun.
With careful precision, she unfolds the mask and lays it on my skin. The shock of it makes me suck in a sharp breath. “Shit, that’s cold.”
“Don’t be a baby,” she teases. “Stay still while I get the position right.”
Her eyes roam my face while she concentrates on smoothing the sheet over my skin, her fingertips stroking across my cheek, down the bridge of my nose. I daren’t breathe while she presses carefully around my lips, then brushes her thumb over my lower one.
“How do I look?” I whisper.
“Terrifying,” she says, rubbing the residue into the backs of her hands. “You’re all set.”
I expect her to move back to her end of the sofa, but happily she reaches for the remote and the bowl of popcorn, and sinks into the cushions right next to me. I keep my arms stretched out because, in this position, it’s almost like she’s back in my arms, and that’s as good as I’m going to get.
“God, this is so nice, Ollie,” she sighs. “I really needed this. Thank you.”
“Anything for you,” I say without thinking, and if she didn’t have a white sheet plastered to her face, I’m sure I’d catch her blushing.
“You ready to keep watching?” she asks, and I hum my approval, but I couldn’t tell you a single thing that happens on screen. I’m too busy taking in the slope of her neck, the way she tugs the sleeves of my hoodie down into her palms. Her nose crinkles when something amuses her, and when her eyes flutter closed, I let her body soften into mine.
None of my past relationships lasted long enough to reach the labels stage, so it’s hard to explain how I’ve gone from not dating at all, to making dinner and running baths for a woman who lets me hold her while she sleeps.
She’s out cold by the time the movie ends, so I carefully peel off her mask and carry her through to her bedroom. The next morning I wake up alone, with her fluffy bathrobe still balled up against my face.