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I open my eyes fully, find Doliver a foot from me, and scream. Shooting upright, I push myself into the opposite corner of the couch and stare at the man I’m obsessed with who is now sitting on the floor.
Knees jutting and hands planted on the carpet between them, he perches like a frog.
The man thousands of girls write fanfiction about is sitting like a frog two feet from me.
His eyes wide.
His lips turned ever so slightly down.
He composes himself well enough to look away, scratch one tan and white cheek, and readjust his sitting position so it’s less amphibian. Against all logic, he blushes. Heat fills the patchwork of his palest skin, and it might just be the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my entire life.
The sight leaves me exquisitely breathless.
“Brittny, meet Ollie,” Willoughby offers. “He’s…” She blinks between us, contemplates, folds her arms, and tilts her head. “Something else.”
Without looking at me, he lifts his hand in my direction. “…hello.”
Oh my word. He’s shy. He’s literally shy. Shy and capable of producing dimples?
I won’t survive this.
I must return home at once and rewrite the suave lead in my fanfiction. No. Start a new fanfiction. No. I cannot continue writing about someone I now know in real life. That’s weird. Really weird. Inappropriate. Creepy. I don’t want to be creepy.
Limbs shaking, I reach for his hand, aware a moment too late that I’m sweating buckets.
I’m very creepy.
Crap.
Doliver, like a saint who fits even more perfectly into the glorified image I have of him, doesn’t say a word about it as my clammy hand closes around his, shakes once, and releases.
“It’s like raising a child,” Zylus murmurs.
Doliver jerks his attention toward the other man. “Shut up.”
“Zy, you’re embarrassing him.”
Red flares across Doliver’s ears as his back straightens. “N—” He winces, whimpers, drags a hand up and across his face. “Please stop.”
Pressure builds in the back of my throat, rising higher and higher, practically choking me. Before I know what’s happening, I blurt, “I’m so sorry.”
Doliver looks at me.
“I’m so, so sorry.” I stumble to my feet, teeter back into the center of the living room, trip over something invisible, and near wipe out.
“Pila, are you all right?” Willoughby asks the air.
I’m too overwhelmed to compute what a Pila is as I frantically regain my footing.
Words tumble out. “I’m so sorry, Doliver. I— I saw you talking with Willoughby in town, and I know it’s been a year since she invited me to movie night, but it was Thursday, and she said the invitation never expires, and I know that usually doesn’t actually mean I can just show up unannounced months and months later, but I’ve been following you and your work for so long.” I’m blubbering now, barely able to contain myself. I’m a mess. Barely an adult. Choking back tears and making an utter fool of myself. “I couldn’t believe it. My brain wouldn’t leave me alone, and I had to make sure. Even just ask if or how she knew you. I…I don’t know. I’m a terrible person. A stalker. A creep. I’m so sorry.”
“Easy.” Doliver’s calming tenor flows across my frazzled nerves, and my heart leaps as he rises to meet me. His cool hands clasp my elbows, slip up to my biceps.
His warm brown eyes focus on mine, and stunned silence buzzes in my ears.
His lips move.
I cannot hear a thing.
