7. Just Shut Up and Sleep With Me Already
7
JUST SHUT UP AND SLEEP WITH ME ALREADY
OLIVER
I decided to start earning some points in my corner. And by that I mean taking Mallory home after she decided to chug the entire half bottle of alcohol I gave her at Marcus’ party. I know I shouldn’t have done that, but she needed it. And getting Mallory to do something she doesn’t want to do would’ve earned me a kick to the nuts. And she’s drunk so her conscience has gone out the window, she’d do it extra hard. It just means I need to stay and make sure she doesn’t choke on her vomit in her sleep. Earning me extra points for the bet I rigged in my favour.
I give Shawn my spare key and he unlocks the door for us. I stride in, carrying Mallory in my arms bridal style. I set her down on the back of her sofa, holding her up by shoulders.
“So we’re gonna get an uber home, you coming with us Cap?”
I let go of Mallory’s shoulder to reach into my jacket pocket for my keys, and that’s when I hear a thump. I whip my head towards Mallory, who’s lying on the floor, giggling like a maniac. She doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by the fact she just landed on hardwood floor. She’s definitely going to have a bruise tomorrow.
“Oh fuck,” I mutter, bending down to pick up the giggle monster from the floor. When she’s on her feet, she dusts her butt with her hands, and I swear to god, it took all the willpower I have to not peek my head around to look. She looks up at me for precisely two seconds, then runs to what I presume, hearing the vomit noises, is the bathroom. “I’m gonna stay,'' I say, shrugging off my jacket. I reach into the pocket and toss Shawn my keys before I fold it on the edge of the couch.
“You want us to wait for you?”
I shake my head. “Doesn’t look like Abi’s home yet, so I’m going to wait for her to come home.”
Abi didn’t come with us after we left Marcus' party, which didn’t bother Mallory in the slightest. Even though I know Abi was hesitant to leave, she had an emergency or something. Mallory had the rest of us looking after her, so reluctantly, and a lot of coaxing from Mallory, Abi left. In fact, Abi texted me when we we’re on our way home saying she’d be back soon. So I could stay until she gets here and then leave. But we both know that isn’t going to happen. No need to say it though. They know, and they’ll definitely give me shit for it later.
It’s a well known fact in the house that I tend to put Mallory first. And by this, I mean that I sometimes leave in the middle of hanging out if she needs me. But I only do it because I know she needs help, she needs me.
They think I'm pussy–whipped. Tommy keeps making this running joke that I'm her fluffer, like in a porno. That I do things for her without expecting anything in return. Like it’s friends without one crucial benefit – sex. The truth is, I like doing things for her. Whether it's picking her up from somewhere, taking her somewhere, going to the mall with her, studying with her. No task is too inconvenient for me. I will always help her out if she needs it. Sometimes I let their words sink in when they’re rimming my ass. But only for a second, because then I remind myself that I'm her best friend. Me. And this is what best friends do, and at the end of the day, I'd rather be a friend to her than nothing at all.
I also trick myself into thinking that one day she’ll realise I'm basically her boyfriend without the perks, then she’ll confess her love for me and we’ll be together.
Can’t blame a guy for trying, right?
The guys leave and I lightly knock on the bathroom door, wanting to see if she’s okay. She doesn’t respond, but not because she doesn’t want me to come in, but because she can’t speak in between the massive amounts of vomit currently spewing out from her. When I hear her sniffle in between the noise, I make the executive decision to just come in. As soon as I see her frail body hunched over the toilet bowl, something in me snaps. I kneel behind her, gathering her hair with one hand, rubbing her back in soothing circles with the other. I’ve never done this before with her. Mallory doesn’t normally drink to the point where she’s projectile vomiting. I have no idea if this is crossing a line or not. But when my palm touches her back, instead of stiffening, like I thought she would, she leans into me, her entire body softening.
“I’m dying,” she wheezes, resting her cheek on the lid.
That definitely is not sanitary.
I grab the hand towel from the rack and run it under the water for a second.
“You’re not dying, silly goose.” I move around her, crouching in front of her, and reach up to wipe the side of her mouth. But like a fucking idiot, I hesitate, hoovering just next to her face, unsure if this is crossing her boundaries or some shit. I don’t know. I really have to stop letting Tommy get into my fucking head.
She leans into my touch, nuzzling the towel with her cheek. Her eyes are closed, when she slowly blinks them back open, she smiles at me.
I’m freaking the fuck out.
I know every single one of her smiles. But the one she just gave me, I've never seen before. I can’t describe it, but it’s almost like she–
“Stop spinning, please.” she whines, leaning her head against the tile.
“I’m not spinning Mallie, your head is spinning.”
She shakes her head softly. “Nuh–uh,” she whispers, her voice gravelly. “You’re all… slanted.”
I grin, trying my best to hold my laughter in. I lean down on my side, pressing my cheek against the cold tile.
“Am I slanted now, Mallie?”
She smiles at me. It’s her happy smile. “All better. I told you that you were slanted.”
“You are always right, aren’t you, Dolcezza mia?”
She opens her mouth to respond, but then closes it immediately. And does the same thing, over and over. Like the drunk side of her wants to speak, but the side of her that’s still sober isn’t letting her. Instead, she smiles at me, and it’s that fucking smile that I can’t figure out. I frown at her, raking my eyes all over her face, but it just makes her smile deeper.
“Mallory,”
“Mmhmm.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Right now?”
I nod, swallowing as I wait what feels like a century for her response. Then when she does, her words hit me like a fucking snowplow.
“I’m thinking about how pretty you are.”
“You uh, you can’t call a guy pretty, Mallie. It does terrible things to our egos." I let out a nervous chuckle, hoping to lighten the mood.
“I know,” she says, letting out a sigh. “But I just wanted to tell you while I still could.”
“Because you’re drunk?”
“No, silly. Because I–”
“What the fuck are you two doing on the floor?”
I whip my head around to see Abi standing at the door with Marcus, staring at us with shit eating grins on their faces. I shoot up onto my feet, doing my best impression of the floor is lava.
I rub the back of my neck. “She, uh, she said I was slanted.”
“So instead of helping her up from the floor, you decided to… sit on the floor with her?”
I sigh when Abi’s smirk deepens.
No regrets, remember.
“It’s all good dude,” Marcus folds his arms across his chest. I note Abigail’s slight stiffness at this move. “I probably would do the same thing for my girl.”
I roll my eyes. “She’s not my g–”
Abigail interrupts me by putting her hand in the air. “Whatever, loverboy. Do me a favour and go get a towel from the cupboard in the hall. Let Marcus out while you’re out there. It’s time her royal highness showers off her puke.”
I frown, whipping my head round to Mallory, who’s curled up in a ball on the floor. I rake my eyes down and yep, she has puke on her dress. I didn’t even notice. Abigail walks into the bathroom carefully picking Mallory up, gagging once she becomes eye level with her dress.
“Jesus, Ashby, how did you not smell that?”
Probably because my nose was too busy getting abused by her sweet fucking cherry perfume.
I shrug, opting to keep that little bit of information for myself. “Come on man, I'll show you out.”
I lead Marcus down the hallway but he doesn’t make any effort to move. Instead he stands there, staring at the girls. One in particular, I assume. “Tomorrow?” He says, waiting for her response.
It doesn’t come, but Marcus offers a small smile as he tucks his hands into the pocket of his jeans, walking towards me.
I open the front door, holding it out for him. “You want to tell me what that was?”
He walks out the door, turning to face me for a brief moment. “Do you?”
That’s all he says before we fistbump. Before I close the door, he holds out his hand, his gaze immediately hardening.
“About what happened… thank you. If you hadn’t done it, I would’ve. I’m glad she has you.” He holds out his hand and we exchange a one–armed bro hug. “Take care, man.”
We say our goodbyes and I close the door behind him, locking it.
I walk over to the closet, reaching down to grab a towel when I hear the shower running.
I have the towel in my hand, but I can't move. I can’t fucking move, because down the hall is Mallory. Naked Mallory.
I’ve never seen her naked, truth be told, but I've seen her in a bikini .
Her in that tiny fucking green bikini is what I jerk off to.
Her in the shower.
Which is right now.
Two doors down the hall.
“Ashby, hurry up and bring the towel!” Abigail screams. I close the door and head down the hallway, mentally preparing myself for probably nothing.
It’s fine. Everything is fine. Abigail isn’t going to let you go in there anyway. You’ll just crack the door open and–
She’s in her underwear.
Mallory is standing at the door in a black lacy bra and matching panties under her tights. She looks up at me, and theres that fucking smile again. I need to know what that smile means. Even if it kills me, which it damn near might. As soon as I realise what I'm doing, who I'm looking at, I drop the towel on the floor.
“Fuck.” I mutter, whipping around to face the wall.
Do not get a boner. Do not get a boner. Do. Not. Get. A. Boner.
I hear Abi snicker from behind me, snatching the towel from the floor while muttering something. I don’t hear it all, only the words pussy and how are you captain – something along those lines.
“I’ll go, uh, wait… somewhere else.”
I don’t wait for a response. I practically sprint to Mallory’s room, slamming the door shut behind me. I look down at my jeans and note the slight bulge.
Fuck.
I rearrange down there when I go snooping around her room. I’ve been here a few times. She has a king size bed in the middle of the back wall, four white pillars on each corner of the bed. A flower comforter resting under what looks like a million pillows. She has two white shelving units on either side of them. Opposite her bed is a giant square mirror, that is seriously bigger than it needs to be, and each corner of her lemon yellow walls are covered with bookcases – filled to the brim with every genre she enjoys. Above her bed is the thing that catches my eye the most.
A poster. Well that’s new.
It’s a pink frame with a painted red cherry in the middle. Painted onto the cherry are the words big boobs, big dreams.
I am definitely asking her about that when she sobers up. I walk in front of one of her bookshelves, dragging my finger along the spine of some of the books. I land on one particular one that makes me smile. It’s not a long one, so the spine is basically non–existent.
The usual black cover is tattered and bent, the corners folded in every which way. It’s a play. The book is so old that the title is basically unreadable, but I know what it is.
The brilliance in the light by Jacob Winstead.
Mallory’s had this play since she was little. It was the last thing her mother gave to her before she left. She never told me that, but I know it is. Her dad mentioned it to me a while ago. She’s had the same copy for almost fifteen years.
My heart aches for her when I think about it. I don’t know alot about her parents divorce. All I know is that her mom is a doctor, and when she got pregnant with Mallory, she wasn’t prepared to give up even more of her time to take care of her like she did with her older brother Henry. Her dad refused to let her get an abortion, saying she’d regret it in the future. When Mallory was born they split up. Then one day she got a job offer she couldn’t refuse, and took off to another state, without so much as a word. To either Mallory or Henry.
My fists clench at my sides just thinking about it. How could anyone take one look at her, especially as a baby, and not want her? How could anyone not like her? Mallory is the best, most sweetest person I have ever met in my entire life. I don’t ever want to know what life would be like without her. So the fact she willingly chose to leave and barely stay in contact?
Lets just say that Harper Meyer is officially on my hate list.
“Having fun snooping?”
I lift my head up and drop the book I was holding. I whip my head round to find Mallory wrapped in a bright green towel, dripping wet, standing in her doorway.
I can’t catch a fucking break.
My eyes widen to the point of popping out of my head as I turn to face the wall. I’m trying to be a gentleman. Best friends don’t watch each other get dressed. I’m doing the right thing. But then she laughs. She fucking laughs at me. And not a little snicker. No, no. My girl is full on cackling at me.
My girl.
I really need to make sure I don't accidentally say that out loud.
“Since when did you become a prude,” she says, opening what I assume is her closet door. Allowing me to turn around while she changes inside.
“I’m not a prude.”
“I know that, dumbass. I catch you gawking at any girl that walks by with big boobs.”
“I don’t do that.” Lie. I do. Though I thought I was more subtle about it. Clearly I'm not good at hiding anything. Except my feelings, apparently.
She rolls her lips at me. “That is such crap! I see you, Olive Oil. You basically undress every girl with your eyes.” And although she whispers this next part, I don't think the drunk part of her got the memo, because my heart cracks in two, when I hear her say “Everyone except me, apparently.”
I try not to think about that last bit. Because if I let myself, even for a second, I’ll think and think and think and th–
“What are you wearing?”
Mallory steps out of the closet in a giant oversized black shirt with the spider symbol in the middle. I drag my eyes down her body. Skin. So much fucking skin.
She’s wearing my shirt.
Mallory closes her closet door as she takes a brush through her wet hair. “Oh yeah, I stole your shirt.”
“I see that. When. How. Why.”
“Uh, I think the last party you threw, when Tommy threw his drink on me –”
“Accidentally—”
“Oh that's total crap! He found out I wasn’t wearing a bra and pretended like he tripped.” She wasn’t wearing a bra. Like she isn’t right now.
“You grabbed me this to wear and never asked for it back. So I never reminded you.'' She throws me a simple shrug as she trails over to her bed, pulling back the comforter.
“Are you coming to bed or are you just going to stand there blinking at me?”
Coming to bed.
I think I'm having a stroke. Or a dream. A very bad dream. I swallow, continuing to stare at her, shuffling on the spot. I can’t decide if I love or hate the drunk version of her.
“God,” she huffs. “That’s one more thing I hate – you have longer eyelashes than me, we get it. Stop flaunting it already.”
Love. definitely love.
“I um, I can sleep on the co–”
“Oliver Marco Ashby, for the love of god, just shut up and sleep with me already!” She rolls her eyes as she flops her head onto the thousand pillows that grace her headboard.
Well you don’t have to tell me twice. I take my belt off but keep my jeans on as I slide into her bed. I plop myself on top of her comforter, folding my hands against my torso. Mallory flips onto her side. I can feel her eyes boring a hole through the side of my head. I grip my hands tighter, trying to stop them from reaching out to her.
“Ollie?” She whispers, and I feel the ghost of her fingertip on my elbow. “Can you look at me?” She says, and fuck. I really can’t say no to her. I crane my head slightly to face her, and it’s that mind–fuck smile again. “I don’t need anything. I just wanted to fall asleep looking at something pretty.” I swallow. I’m dead. I died and went to heaven, that’s the only explanation. “I love your eyes so much.” Is the final thing she says before her lashes flutter close.
I don’t know how long I stare at her for. Could be ten minutes, could be a few hours. I don’t move a muscle. I just move my eyes all over her face, memorising every lash, every crease, every freckle. I’m not sure why I do this, only that I need to. Because after everything she’s said tonight, this bet is either going to make us, or break us completely.