Nineteen #2
I take a shower after him and it is sensory overload.
As soon as I walk into the steamy bathroom, the scent of him surrounds me.
His shampoo bottle reads “fresh scent,” but it smells like cinnamon and minty aftershave, undeniably him.
As I stand in the shower, I can just imagine him standing in the same spot, water running down his body, soap lathering in all the places.
It’s possibly the fastest shower in the history of the world.
When I exit the bathroom in my oversized pajamas, I see that Oliver has made the couch up into a bed. Two pillows are stacked on one end, and a sheet has been tucked over the cushions. A Stanford blanket is folded in the middle.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I say softly. Oliver shrugs. He is laying on the bed scrolling through his phone, one hand bent behind his head as a pillow. When I move the blanket to lay down and get settled with Thor, I see a glass of water on the side table next to the couch.
“Is there anything else you need?” Oliver asks, putting his phone down.
“I’m good, thank you,” I say, pulling Thor to my chest and petting his head. I’m glad the back of the couch hides my face from Oliver, because I can’t seem to stop smiling. Oliver Cole made a bed for me. He got me water. He’s taking care of me.
“Hey,” Oliver says, making me turn around.
He’s leaning forward on the bed, resting on his forearms. I’ve been around Oliver for a while now, but something feels different.
Something has changed. I’m suddenly taken aback by how beautiful he is.
His hair is wet and a few long strands rest on his forehead.
A faint stubble shadows his face, and his Adam’s apple bobs with each breath he takes.
He looks like the Mediterranean version of Chris Hemsworth, and I almost let out an obnoxious laugh at the idea that I’m about to sleep on his couch.
“Hmm?” I ask, trying to reign my thoughts in.
“Will you tell me what happened with Henry?” he asks, and I’m so caught off guard that my stomach drops a bit, like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. I had almost forgotten about Henry. “He said things didn’t work out.”
I’m not really sure what to say. My conversation with Lucy from the other night is screaming at the forefront of my mind. But what is the point? It doesn’t matter if I feel… whatever for him. Oliver doesn’t want what I want, right?
“There’s not really much to say,” I finally admit. “He’s great. Literally everything I want on paper, but—”
“But?” Oliver prods.
“Something didn’t feel right, I guess,” I say, barely above a whisper. Oliver inhales sharply. He nods, swallowing audibly. There’s more words hanging in the air between us, but they float away as Oliver adjusts himself in the bed and lays his head down.
“Goodnight, Elle. Get some sleep.”
I sigh, resting my head on the pillow, knowing it won’t be that easy to fall asleep now. “Goodnight, Oliver.”
*
As it turns out, living with Oliver doesn’t change a whole lot about our established dynamics.
When I wake up in the morning, he’s still sleeping, so I sneak into the bathroom and get dressed quickly, opting to grab breakfast on my way to work.
I can’t help but take in the sight of him as I tiptoe past him.
He is asleep on his stomach, an arm thrown across a pillow and his face mashed into another.
Thor migrated to his bed during the night, and is curled in a ball next to Oliver.
I smile, thinking of when Oliver insisted Thor wasn’t allowed to sleep in the bed.
Oliver’s hair looks long, strewn across his face and hiding his eyes.
I’m transfixed by the outline of his shoulder blades and the defined muscles that sculpt his neck.
I imagine running my fingers along them, feeling the soft, sensitive skin of his back.
The very idea makes me shiver, and I scurry away.
Monday and Tuesday pass quickly, since I only see Oliver for the brief period between when I come home from work and he leaves for his night shifts. I also schedule myself for yoga classes those nights, to keep our time together in the apartment to a minimum.
When Thursday rolls around and Mikey tells me that it’s going to be at least a week to fix the window and patch some floors in my apartment, I know I have to do something.
I can’t afford to live in a hotel for a week.
I’m going to have to go home and commute for the time being.
In the meantime, I’ve decided I have to do something to thank Oliver for letting me sleep on his couch.
I’ve just returned to my desk after our weekly editorial meeting when I take out my phone to text him.
Elle
I’m cooking tonight. Don’t make plans.
Oliver
You could simply say Oliver, would you like to have dinner with me tonight?
Elle
That’s what I said.
Oliver
No, you told me not to make plans. Telling not asking.
Elle
I’m offering to make you dinner because you’ve been letting me sleep on your couch for three days!!
Oliver
It’s not what you said, it’s how you said it.
Elle
Did you just quote Friends at me?
Oliver
Do you think you’re the only one who watches that show?
I don’t notice I’m grinning until my cheeks start to hurt.
I quickly put my phone down and cover my mouth with the back of my hand, trying to focus on my computer.
But I just look past the document on the screen, seeing my reflection.
It’s not lost on me that my mood has been uncharacteristically upbeat over the last few days, and I wish I could say it wasn’t because of Oliver.
I feel less stress since breaking things off with Henry, as terrible as that sounds.
It’s just that I felt like I had to try too hard with him.
And I am so jaded from imagining my life as it could be—a life like Lucy’s, with a partner that I feel comfortable with, that understands me, that wants me to be happy—only to have my hopes crushed every time.
It just seems so impossible to me. But now that Oliver is in my life, I feel the possibilities running across my brain again.
I look forward to the brief few minutes a day I get to see him.
It’s the thing that’s keeping me going right now
However much I like spending time with Oliver, though, hope turns back to disappointment when I remind myself that he is not my partner. He’s my friend. Just my friend.