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I might start hyperventilating.
Doliver swears softly beside me when I still haven’t managed to pull myself from this dream or nightmare. Rubbing his eyes, he lifts the cookie tray, sets it on the coffee table in front of us, and picks up the remote. He turns the TV off, clipping a scream I didn’t realize had started.
Honestly? I’m just relieved it’s not my scream.
“I’m so sorry about this, sunshine.” He blows out a breath.
My brain lags on that nickname. Sunshine. Like his latest song. Am I in love? I think I’m in love. Still. Even though I’ve met him in the flesh and men are supposed to be extremely disappointing once that happens.
I think I’m…insane.
I know from personal experience nothing too good to be true can be trusted.
It doesn’t matter if you’ve spent three years memorizing someone’s schedule from six hours away, learning their exact texting styles for every one of their emotional states, and staying up late on the phone, just to listen to them breathe and remind yourself you aren’t alone… The moment you meet for the first time, everything you think you’ve built, everything you swore you could trust, falls apart.
Mentally and emotionally, I remember.
I remember that pain. I remember my walls and the reason I have them. I remember that even though every song Doliver has ever sung resonates with the deepest parts of my soul, out here—in the real world—he is a stranger, and I’ve just been left alone with him.
Moving to sit squarely apart from me on the couch, Doliver clasps his hands together between his knees, rubbing his thumb against his index finger. His throat bobs. “My friends…they’re…interesting.” His words are slow, cautious, picked through a bit at a time. His mouth opens and closes. He wets his lips, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.
A moment ago, it felt like he knew what he wanted to say but was having trouble getting it out. Now that he’s looking at me, there’s nothing. His lips part, and thoughts hang suspended in the world between us, frozen, drifting like snowflakes toward warm earth.
“It’s okay,” I offer, even though I don’t know why. Nothing about this situation is okay. I’ve not faced emotional whiplash this severe since the fight I had with my parents when I told them I was moving to Virginia. The compulsion to assure those around me saturates every cell of my being, and I can’t break away. “Are you…okay?”
He blinks, gives his head a slight shake. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.” He cups his hand to his mouth, swipes down. “And…and you? Are you okay?”
I nod, too quickly.
“You can tell me the truth.” Sincerely, he watches me in the kind of way that makes me want to believe him. When I don’t elaborate, however, he makes a vague motion around us. “Are you suggesting this was a perfectly normal experience for you? You’re often set up on dates with complete strangers by complete strangers who abandon you in their house?”
I gasp. “I-is that what just happened? Your friends just set us up on a date?”
His eyes go full-moon wide. “W-was that not obvious?”
“Nothing that has happened from the moment I stepped foot in this house has been obvious!”
His mouth opens, then his brows knit. “Fair point.” Cutting his fingers through his hair, he throws his head back against the couch cushion and laughs.
Dimples.
No.
“Wow. I am so sorry.” Planting his palms against his face, he hides his dimples away.
Clutching the popcorn bowl, I search through a hundred words, attempting to locate the right ones, and settle on a very articulate, “Um…I don’t mean to be…rude? It’s just. Well. Why would your friends try to set you up on a date with…me?”
Doliver takes a deep breath, shoots me the kind of smile that makes my insides melt into pudding, and says, “That is an excellent question.” His smile falls, and his face pales. “I don’t mean… It’s not strange that it’s…well…you. It’s not… I just… I mean it’s a good question. It deserves an answer. I’m not going to give a clear one.” He closes his eyes, covers his face again, and sags forward against his thighs. “Shut up, Ollie.”
I stare at him until the prickle of nerves in my gut starts to settle. He is adorable.
Probably on purpose. In order to lure me into a false sense of security before dumping me over text and heading to Oregon.
Yeah. All guys are the same.
I ask, “Why aren’t you going to give me a clear answer?”
He mumbles against his thighs, “Because. I’m embarrassed.”
