first touch
LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO BY HOZIER
The night’s winding down. Most of the team is figuring out Ubers and slipping out the back door, their voices hoarse from laughing.
“Make sure he gets home okay,” I tell Brennan as he helps Luke into the car they’re sharing. Luke is still mumbling the chorus of “Party in the USA” like it’s the national anthem.
I slip my jacket on, still feeling the ache in my cheeks from smiling and laughing so much tonight.
It’s been fun. More than fun, really. It’s one of the best nights I’ve ever had—the kind that makes me forget why I made rules in the first place.
“You wanna get in? There’s room,” Brennan says, his hand on the handle of the open door.
“No, thanks,” I tell him. “I can walk it. I only live ten minutes away.”
“You’re sure?” he asks, his voice slurred.
“Promise,” I say with a smile. “Just get that one home.” I tip my head toward Luke, still singing in the back seat.
I turn around and Oliver is standing behind me, like he’s waiting for me.
“I’ll walk you,” he says, zipping up his jacket like this isn’t a discussion.
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m aware,” he says simply. “I want to. You’re not walking alone.”
The words are simple. They’re not showy or performative. There’s no hero complex. He’s just steady, protective.
I like it.
I nod. “Okay.”
It’s cold, like it would be in December, but it’s not bitter. The streets are mostly empty—the only sounds are the faint chatter from inside the bars and the echo of our footsteps.
Neither of us speaks at first. It’s not awkward, there’s just no rush to fill the silence. It’s comfortable, like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
He’s got his hands tucked into his pockets, and he keeps glancing over at me. I need to say something. I need to fill the silence, otherwise he’s going to hear my heart thundering in my chest.
“Thanks for walking me,” I say softly.
“Always.” He looks over and meets my eyes. That one word feels like a promise.
“I didn’t know you could sing like that,” he says after a moment.
I laugh a little. “It was just karaoke.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “That wasn’t just karaoke, Addison. That was real. You felt that. It was… moving.”
I glance over and his eyes are already waiting for me. There’s no banter, no teasing. Just genuine awe.
It wrecks me.
Because until I locked eyes with him on that stage, I had no idea what song I was going to sing. I looked at him, made a snap decision, and just let it out. I could blame the alcohol, but I know I didn’t have enough.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice quiet.
“I mean it, Addie. You were brilliant.”
He grins, boyish and sweet, and my chest practically explodes. I fight the urge to brush it off, because I feel seen. Really seen. Not just as the woman who flew across the pond to run press conferences and manage brands, but as Addison. Addie.
I don’t even just want him to keep seeing me that way—I want to show him more of it. Every unpolished part of me.
But then, in a far back corner of my brain, a voice screams about the rules. It screams about Matt, reminding me of what happened before, and why I have these rules in the first place. But then I see Oliver, and he looks at me like there’s no one else in the world, and I just don’t care.
We round the corner onto my street and I’ve never been so unhappy to see my apartment building.
I glance over at him, nudging his arm with mine. “Okay, so that goal…” He smirks. “Oliver, it was insane.”
He lets out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I was, uh… a little wound up.”
“Wound up?” I repeat, disbelieving. “You looked like you were angry at the ball."
He glances at me sideways. “I was.”
“Why?”
“Why?” His jaw ticks. “You know why.”
I blink. “Do I?”
Oliver stops at my front steps, turning to look right at me. “The way he talked to you, like he still has a right to you. I—”
“Matt?”
“Yes,” he says, eyes locked on mine. “I pictured his head, then I struck the ball dead center. It helped.”
I bite back a smile, because the heat in his voice sinks right into me.
We reach my apartment door too quickly. I slow to a stop, pulling my keys out of my pocket, suddenly wishing I’d lost them tonight.
“Thanks again for walking me,” I say, voice quiet as I turn around to face him.
“Yeah.” Oliver nods. “O-of course.”
There’s a long beat where neither of us moves. I open my mouth to say something to fill the silence, but he takes a step closer. His hand comes up, cupping the side of my face, and he kisses me.
He kisses me like he means it, like he’s stealing the air from my lungs. Like he’s been holding back for so long, but he can’t anymore. I can’t either.
It’s soft at first, but then his other hand slips around my waist and it’s pent-up, soul-deep need.
And I’m kissing him back, like I’ve wanted to for weeks. Like I should have kissed him back in Stratton Wood.
His thumb brushes the line of my jaw like he’s memorizing every inch of me.
But then he pulls back.
His hands drop, and I see the panic flicker in his eyes as he steps back, like the weight of what happened hits him all at once.
“Goodnight, Addison,” he says too fast, voice tight.
Addison. Not Addie.
And then he’s gone.
And I’m left in the doorway, tracing my tingling lips, whispering “damn it” to the empty hallway.