“Yeah? Will every food place you suggest be near your apartment, Blair?” he teases, playfulness in every word.
My face burns at the implication, and I close my eyes hard. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I promise, hands clenching in my backpack. “I only meant—”
“I’ll eat breakfast for dinner with you, wonder girl. You don’t even have to ask.”
It’s dark by the time we’re done eating, and my mouth hurts from smiling and laughing at Oliver’s sense of humor. He pushes the door open for me, having insisted on doing that and paying for our meal, and walks beside me down the sidewalk toward his car.
But I’ve put off the tipping for long enough, and I suck in a breath to ruin the mood. Thankfully, even though he obviously hears the loud intake of air, Oliver lets me speak. “You don’t have to tip me when I stream, Oliver,” I tell him, hating the way I sound almost whiny.
“Of course I don’t,” Oliver agrees, lightly wrapping two of his fingers around two of mine. Juniper’s warnings loom in my brain; the most recent being that I’m letting this move too fast with a boy I know too little about.
And maybe she’s right, but there’s something about Oliver that I can’t let go of. I like him; more than I reasonably should, and unless I’m misreading a lot of things, he feels the same about me.
“But I like doing it. And it’s not putting me out at all, Blair.” He slows to a stop beside his car, smiling sweetly at me in the dirty light cast from the street lamps above us. If this were a movie, it would give him a sweet halo, a romantic glow, even. But instead, it mottles his face in light and shadow, giving him an almost macabre grin instead of the smile he’s wearing for me.Even his eyes, his gorgeous green eyes that are brighter than most I’ve seen, read sinister in the waning light. And for some reason, it makes me pause and justlookat him.
You really barely know him, Blair, Juniper’s voice echoes in my head.What if he wants this for all the wrong reasons? What if there’s something you don’t know about him that will hurt you in the long run?
I stomp down on my thoughts when Oliver starts talking. “If you really want me to, if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll stop.”
“I just don’t want to feel like you’re paying me. I like you,” I admit. “You don’t have to pretend to be just some guy, because I like you with or without the money you send.”
“Then I’ll stop,” he offers, not making any kind of big deal about it. I thought he’d be a little miffed, or tell me it was an insult to his manhood. “I’ll just have to buy you dinner more, instead.”
My mouth twitches with a smile. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Sure it isn’t,” Oliver teases, striding quickly to the other side of the car as I get in the passenger seat, directions to my apartment on my lips that he follows to perfection. At last he ends up in our parking lot, in the guest spot, and I hate how little I want to leave him.
“Do you…” Juniper’s horrified look fills my head. I know what she’d think of this, but she’ll be at class for another two hours. Such is the life of a marketing major. “Do you want to come in?”
Oliver doesn’t answer immediately. He traces the back of my hand that rests on my lap, obviously thinking about the question. “Is your roommate here?” he asks finally, not looking up when I shake my head.
“No,” I say, when it’s obvious he hadn’t seen the movement. “She won’t be home for at least two hours.”
“Do youwantme to come up?” He finally looks up at me, and the sarcastic words about playing Trivial Pursuit or Uno die in my throat.
“Yeah,” I murmur, more softly than I’d intended. “I do; but only if you want to.”
His grin is wicked, eyes bright as he gets out of the car and I follow. He waits for me to take the lead, following close at my heels and riding the elevator silently, save for his soft humming and the way he taps the toe of one shoe on the floor.
Am I really letting him come into my apartment?
Am I really doing this?
There’s nothing wrong with it. Nothing wrong with any of this, even though my heart flutters in my chest like I’m taking some huge risk. He’s not dangerous. Or mean. He’s justOliver. Who I’m falling hard and fast for, sure, but at worst this doesn’t work out and I have some regrets.
At best, it does, and the possibilities of that are both terrifying and exciting.
I step off the elevator on my floor, my keys in hand as I walk to the end of the hallway. My awareness prickles, and I feel almost as if my neighbors are watching me as I casually unlock the door to my apartment and bow him dramatically with a grin on my face that matches the one on his.
At least, it would if mine wasn’t half made of nerves.
“Nice,” he appreciates, walking through the foyer and into the kitchen as I lock the door behind me. My keys are hung on the wall before I follow him, trailing behind as he walks around the apartment to see as much of it as he can. “Juniper’s room?” he assumes, jabbing his thumb toward her door.
I nod, heart flipping in my chest like a fish out of water as I push my door open with one shoulder. It’s not like it’s impressive, or fun, or something interesting.
It’s just my room.
Oliver waltzes inside and flips on the bedside lamp like he owns all of it. He walks to the window, looking all around the view, and at my desk where I stream from. His eyes flick to mine when he does, but I all but ignore him as I take off my shoes and lay my laptop on my desk, and place my backpack in the chair.