18. What The Fuck Is a Fluffer?
18
WHAT THE FUCK IS A FLUFFER?
MALLORY/OLIVER
MALLORY
I’m in trouble. I’m in so much fucking trouble. Why did I think that I could be okay sleeping in his room , let alone his bed. I thought everything would be okay, he would sleep on the floor, I would sleep up here. We would be fine. But then I heard him tossing and turning, until he eventually let out an exasperated sigh and called out my name.
“Mallory? Are you awake?”
Yes I did pretend I was asleep, but I had to! I was already freaking out about sleeping in his bed, so I figured if he thought I was asleep, then he would go to sleep and save the Q+A for the morning. But then I heard rustling. I heard movement. Then I felt the mattress dip beside me. I turned my head slightly so I could see him. Ollie was asleep with his back facing me. He was next to me. In bed. I was in his bed.
This is physically killing me. Mainly because I could still smell his cologne still and every time I breathed in, it made me want to cry .
But it’s okay. Because tomorrow I’m going to tell him that I’m going home to dad’s house. He’ll kill me one he finds out about my apartment and will most likely move us to California sooner; but I’ll take whatever punishment he wants. Because trust me, nothing is more torturous than the boy you have a secret crush on, sleeping next to you, shirtless, in his boxers, smelling so fucking good.
Sweet Jesus, I might have to build a pillow wall. It can’t get much worse than this.
It got worse. So much worse.
I eventually fell asleep after around an hour of just staring at his back. His perfect back. It felt okay, everything felt like it was going to be okay. Mostly because I had the best sleep of my life in that bed. Seriously, he needs to tell me what mattress this is. Everything seemed to be fine, and I was so embarrassed about last night and how against this I was. I definitely over–reacted. I mean, we’re just sleeping in the same bed, plus, to him, we’re just friends anyway. So he doesn’t have any reason to be bothered about this arrangement. He doesn’t need to feel like he’s dying inside. Because I am. Every time he moved I got a whiff of his cologne — how does it last this long?
But then I opened my eyes, and that’s when it all went to shit. My plan to be causal and okay for the next two to four weeks is down the fucking drain. Because I opened my eyes to Ollie, asleep.
On top of me.
His legs are twisted and tangled with mine. His arm is wrapped around my waist, holding me in place with a deathgrip, like he’s trying to keep me here in this moment with him. His head – this is the best part – is on my chest. His gorgeous lips are parted slightly, hovering over my breasts. Every time I breathe, he stirs, which just makes him press his lips deeper into my – his – shirt. I feel my nipples pebbling, and if I can, then he definitely can too. But nothing comes close to what I feel poking into my stomach.
He’s big, from what I can remember from our summer together.
But right now, I’m really hoping it’s just something he left in his pocket. Like mentos.
Except, he doesn’t have pockets. Because he sleeps in his boxers. I carefully peel the comforter back, which I know I shouldn’t do, but god damn I’m so curious.
I take one peek then quickly cover him back up.
His boxers have little hockey sticks and pucks on them.
I can’t decide if that’s weird or cute or not. Judging by the heat that just ran straight to the space between my thighs, I think it's hot. But then again, that could be because of anything. Like what I saw straining against his boxers, for example.
I can’t think about this. Maybe this is a dream, just a stupid dream. A stupid, cruel form of my very vivid and overactive imagination.
I close my eyes, and will myself back to sleep.
This isn’t real, I chant. This is not real.
But also, I hope to god it is.
OLIVER
We cuddled last night. We fucking cuddled. I didn’t mean to do it, I just – I was content with sleeping on the floor. It was hard and it hurt like hell, and I knew my back would kick me for it later, but I'd do it. I was going to do it. Every damn day if it meant she wouldn’t have to. If it meant she would sleep in my bed content and comfortable. Everything was fine, I was almost drifting off into a very uncomfortable sleep. But then she – she fucking tells me that it’s okay to sleep next to her. It might be okay for her to sleep next to me and be in a deep fucking sleep. But me? Oh, no. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I’d sleep better on a bed made of nails than I would next to her. But when it comes to Mallory, my self control is running low.
One night. I thought to myself. Just sleep next to her, for one night, then make up some excuse on why I can’t do it again.
As soon as I pulled the covers over me, I knew it was such a mistake. She hasn’t showered so her cherry perfume is everywhere. Her hair smells like lemons. Every time she moves, she – accidentally I think – moves back toward me, and having her pressed up against my side just feels so fucking good.
One night. I close my eyes, and let myself sleep next to her, near her, for one night. What’s the worst that could happen?
So, sleeping in a bed next to the girl I'm secretly in love with, probably wasn’t the best idea I've ever had.
Evidence: I'm currently on top of her.
You heard me. I open my eyes, and the first thing I see are her tits.
My chin is currently resting on one of her tits, and my mouth, right by her hardening nipple. I could feel myself getting harder by the second, so I had to move away from her as quickly as I could without waking her. I managed to do it, tucking my comforter into her body so she’s warm. I need to shower before I leave my room. I rush into the bathroom and close the door behind me, blasting the cold water onto my body, letting the tingling sensation run through me.
Never again. We cannot sleep in the same bed. That is definitely enemy territory.
The guys and I walk back into the house from the gym and come to a screeching halt. Mallory is in the kitchen, In shorts, bent over. Looking for something in one of the bottom cabinets.
Shawn’s not looking of course, and neither is Cory. I glare at Tommy who’s watching her with a gigantic grin on his face. “Now that,” he says, pointing at her, “Is something I could get used to seeing everyday.”
Mallory immediately straightens, her face turning a light shade of red. “I didn’t hear you guys come – I didn't know anyone was – I couldn’t find the cereal.” She waves her spoon in her hand, like we wouldn’t have believed her otherwise.
“It’s in the cabinet next to the fridge.” Shawn says. We walk further into the house, Cory closing the front door behind him. Mallory grabs the box of cereal and starts pouring it into her bowl. I walk over to the fridge and take a swing of the milk.
“Nice sleep?” I ask, pushing the milk carton toward her with my finger. I just wanted to see if she was going to mention what happened last night, if she even knew about it. She immediately straightens at my words, her hand freezing mid–pour.
“Yeah it was good, comfy. How was the floor? ”
She avoids my gaze, turning around to put the cereal in the cabinet. If I were to look at her, I wonder if I'd find a challenge in her eyes or genuine curiosity. I opt for the latter. If she was aware I accidentally groped her in her sleep, she would definitely say something.
But then again, maybe she wasn’t okay with it? Maybe I need to apologise?
“Fine. The… the floor was fine.”
I will, but not in front of the guys.
It’s been over a week and I haven’t brought it up. But considering that the next night I gave up and slept on my bed, but as far away from her as possible, she tugged herself onto me, so I’m thinking that maybe she doesn’t mind. At all.
“So you would say: ‘Mi piacciono le ciliegie'."
Mallory has been begging me to teach her Italian for a while now. I give her a few quick tips every now and then, but never a proper lesson. She cornered me yesterday, and I finally gave in. I never have been good at saying no to her.
"Mi…picasso–"
“No,” I laugh, underlining the word again. “Not Picasso, piacciono.”
“Which of the words is cherries?”
“Cillegie.”
"Ci–cill–ciliegie? So its…Mi piacciono le ciliegie? I like cherries?”
I just stare at her. Opening and closing my mouth like a goddamn fish. When she wanted to learn Italian, I didn’t think anything of it. But hearing it from her? Hearing her speak Italian? Sure her accent needs some work, but the words… If she ever wanted to bring me to my knees, this is how she would do it.
Now. I could tell her now.
I go to open my mouth, but then Cory slumps down on the couch next to us, completely oblivious to the private moment we were having. “Tell me honestly, Mal, why are chicks such mind fucks?” He slides down the cushion even farther, dragging his hands across his face.
“What girl are you tangled with this time?” She tries and fails to hide her laughter. Cory can be… well, he’s the man slut of the group. Everyone assumes it’s Tommy, and don’t get me wrong, he is, but Cory takes the crown. He was good for a while. But then something happened this year and suddenly, he’s back to fucking random girls.
Cory’s cheeks start to pinken as he nervously checks the open door. He leans over to me, and I back up a bit, slightly confused. “It’s Juliana.”
Excuse me?
“The girl you’re sleeping with is J–” He covers Mallory’s mouth with his hand, which I immediately remove.
“No no no,” he hurries to say. A little too quickly if you ask me. “It’s not – It’s just, I–” He sighs, staring at the ceiling. “She’s Jules, you know? My best friend’s annoying little sister, maybe – it’s not my fault I – ugh,” he grabs a pillow from behind me and screams into it. I glance at Mallory and we both share the same bewildered expression. “See? Mind–fuck! I think the Iliad is easier to read than her.”
“ You’ve read the Iliad?” Mallory asks.
“I’ve skimmed it.” He mumbles.
“And why, perchance, would a criminology major who doesn’t read, ‘skim’ the Iliad?” I say, raising my eyebrow.
His pink cheeks darken. “We uh, gotta talk to you, Cap, in the kitchen. Now.” He says before he darting out the living room.
“That was weird, right?” Mallory says.
I shake off whatever the fuck just happened, and write a long sentence on the piece of paper, getting her to read it over and over again. Trying to say it and understand what it says. “Here, try this. I’ll be right back.”
Amo Oliver. è un dio del sesso ed è il miglior giocatore di hockey di tutti i tempi. è il più grande di tutti i tempi e non troverò mai nessun altro come lui.
I love Oliver. He's a sex god and the best hockey player of all time. He is the greatest of all time and I will never find anyone else like him.
I get up from the couch and walk over to the boys huddled over the kitchen island. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I slide it out to check the screen.
Quinny
Wanna hang out?
Me
Sorry. Busy.
Quinny
Whatever, I don't even care .
I type out a quick message then lock the screen when I see those blue dots in the corner. It buzzes again.
Quinny
I’m not available right now so do whatever you want.
I really can’t get rid of this girl. I’m frowning at the guys when Mallory shouts to me from the other room. “What the hell did you write? I know it’s about you.”
I smile, but make no effort to turn around. “Figure it out, Dolcezza mia.”
I hear her grumble. “You still haven’t told me what that means either!”
“You’ve got the italian dictionary, figure it out. And no cheating using your phone.”
I can feel her glaring daggers into the back of my head as I walk up to the island, bracing myself on my forearms. “What?”
“Cap, you’re so fucked,” Shawn says, and as if on command they all fold their arms in front of them, like some sort of dad stance. I glance over at Cory and his face is the same as theirs.
Forgetting our talk ever happened then? Got it.
I narrow my eyes. “I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Shall we go through the list,” Tommy says, lowering his voice so Mallory doesn’t hear him. He raises his hands in the air, preparing to count with his fingers. “One, you dropped everything to pick her up when her car broke down, and continuously offered to drive her places, even though she can drive . Two, you give her Italian lessons so she can be bilingual.”
“Which is hot, by the way.” Cory adds.
“Stop interrupting me. Three, you let her sleep in your gigantic comfy bed and you, kind sir, sleep on the floor. Four, you buy her those special skin care mask things and help her do them, thus making her skin prettier, which makes her look that much hotter.”
“And last but not fucking least, you let her live here when her apartment flooded.” Cory adds.
“You sir,” Tommy says, “are her fluffer.”
Shawn blinks at him. “Wait, what the fuck is a fluffer?”
“Like in porn. You know, when they get the actors prepared and ready so when it’s time to film, it gives the illusion that they just like…willed it to happen. I don’t fucking know, but you get my point.” Tommy goes back to folding his arms around his chest.
Cory leans in closer to me, and the boys follow. “You’re giving her all the boyfriend perks, but you know, not the title.”
“Well, not all the perks,” Shawn adds. “Bottom line is, you’re making her more attractive to other guys.”
“Or one certain guy, who, you know, publicly declared he likes her by asking her out multiple times.”
They all glare at me, again. Like everything Gus has done is my fault. But you know what? They’re not together. So, I don’t call that a loss.
“I think you should just ask her out, dude.” Cory says. Just go for it. If she says no–”
“Which she won’t,” they all say at the same time. I turn around to look at Mallory, who’s hunched over on the couch, legs splayed over the arm of the chair. Her eyebrows are narrowed as she carefully mouths the words I wrote .
“Then at least you’ll know.” Cory walks around the island to pat me on the shoulder. “Then you can also tell her that you’ve been calling her ‘my sweetness’ since freshman year.” Dolcezza mia. “You have the speech, and you know what to say. Just do it. go for it.”
“That applies to you too man,” briefly looking at Tommy before directing my attention back to Cory. “Go for it.”
I can do it. I can do this. I pull out the crumpled piece of paper from my pocket, scanning the lines over and over and over again. It’s time. Worst case, she doesn’t love me back, which is fine. I’ll deal. Because then at least I'll know. I take a deep breath, and walk over to her, sitting on the edge of the coffee table. I look at her, looking at the freckles dusting her cheeks. I go to speak, but she beats me to it.
“Okay, so I think I got the first part: ‘Amo Oliver. è un dio del sesso’ – is that right?” She looks up at me, beaming. Those beautiful brown eyes looking right through me. I close the paper and slide it back into my pocket.
“Yeah, uh, that’s – that’s right.”