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His index finger hooks beneath my chin, and I dissipate.
“Whoa there.” Doliver’s eyes go massive as my knees give out, causing my body to careen into his.
I gape, try to get my legs to work again, stammer, “I… I’m so… I…” My brain is broken. Like, more than usual. Normally, it’s not the best brain out there, but it hasn’t killed me yet—despite numerous attempts and recurring demands that I drive into oncoming traffic. Right now, I don’t trust it to keep me breathing.
“That’s what you wanted me to be like with you?” Willoughby asks, an edge of disgust in her tone.
My gaze cuts toward her and Zylus as the man wraps his arms around her shoulders. “Maybe.”
“You repulse me,” she murmurs, even as the corner of her mouth curves upward.
He kisses her cheek. “I do not.”
Her eyes roll. With a hefty sigh, she claps her hands. “Movie night. I made cookies. Brittny, sit. Have a cookie. Ollie, help her.”
Doliver gets me back to the couch, but I jolt upright before my rear fully comprehends its return to the soft velvet. It’s thanks to either a miracle or him having supernatural reflexes that I don’t slam my forehead into Doliver’s chin. “I should go,” I state. “I shouldn’t be here. Yes, you somehow know Willoughby. Mystery solved. I am shaken to learn that you must live around here, but I won’t tell anyone. I promise. I won’t be creepy anymore either, starting the second I leave. Double promise.”
Willoughby pushes the popcorn bowl into my hands. “My name’s actually Willow. Ollie just calls me Willoughby…” Her attention lands on Zylus and pulls away. “…for reasons.”
“Uh…”
She plants her hands on my shoulders and displays surprising strength when she returns me to the couch. Next thing I know, she’s pushed Doliver down beside me—his thigh against mine.
His face heats as mine explodes crimson.
Nodding decidedly, Willow looks between us, tilts her head, then says, “Actually. You know what? Pila, I need the remote.”
A tiny error message fills my brain, disappears, and it’s like the past few moments have been erased by the time I register that Willow is suddenly holding the remote and flicking through movies on the TV. She settles on a horror film.
Dread builds in my chest.
She presses play.
“Wi—” Doliver starts, but she pushes the tray of cookies into his hands, leans in, and narrows her eyes.
“Do. Not.” Rising, she tosses her hair back. “Come on. We’re going on a heist.” She swipes a chocolate chip cookie on her way to the door, then…
Then I’m alone with Doliver as eerie music whispers through the surround-sound speakers.
Wh…
What just happened?
For many long moments, I don’t think I’m breathing. My heart pounds in my ears as I stare at the bowl of popcorn in my lap and try to rewind. Am I good at social situations?
Ha, ha. Nooo. Nope. Not even remotely.
I talk too much, too loud, too enthusiastically. I’m needy and clingy. I miss cues. I exist on the edge of conversations, hearing only half of what’s said, doing my best to mimic the responses of those around me or reply to expressions instead of words.
Do I know for an absolute fact that whatever just happened was not a social norm I somehow missed reading between the lines on?
Yup.
In what universe do I appear unannounced at a stranger’s house and wind up sandwiched against my celebrity crush?
A fanfiction one?
Did I fall asleep while writing the next chapter of This One’s for You, Beautiful, also known as my critically-acclaimed Wattpad Doliver fanfiction? (Yes, the critics are tweens. They’ve still left raving reviews, thanks.)
