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This entire situation clicks.
“Is this some kind of bet?”
He lifts his head.
“You know. Those stories where the best friends give the other friend a task of some kind—date the loser, make her the prom queen, break up with her in front of everyone.”
“That sounds horrible.”
“It is. Is that what’s going on?”
His head shakes. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Then…”
His shoulders droop. “My friends think I require an intervention when it comes to my love life.”
My brows rise. “They… But you’re dolivers_not_trending.”
Yet again, heat rises to his painted cheeks. “…yes, well. That is part of the problem, isn’t it?” Chewing his lip, he glances at me, then away. “Brittny…let’s say there’s this…girl.”
My heart clenches a bit, but I nod. “The girl?”
“The girl?”
“The one you always say I love you to at the end of every video. That girl.”
He smiles weakly and rubs his arm. “Yeah. That girl.”
I might scoot in a little. Even though my chest feels funky at the idea of this confirmation that there is a girl, I am nothing if not here for the Doliver Lore. “Yes? What about her?”
His smile deepens just enough for one dimple. “I love her. But I can’t find it in my heart to tell her directly, so I sing to her instead and hope that’ll be enough to bring her some comfort and get the overwhelming feelings I have for her out of my body.” His hand closes around his arm, leaving indentations in his flesh.
“Why can’t you just tell her?”
“I’m terrified of condemning her to a life with me.”
My brow furrows, and I try to do the math, but it isn’t mathing. “I don’t understand. Isn’t that her decision? You say hey, I like you, and then she decides whether or not she wants to be with you?”
“Let’s just say things are a little more complicated than that.” Unlatching from his arm, he rubs his temple. “A lot more complicated, actually.”
I guess I can understand that. Love is so messy. Even when you swear you’ve found the most secure love there can be and trust it to the point you’re willing to throw everything you’ve ever known away just for a chance with it…it leaves you stranded.
Lifting a popcorn kernel out of the bowl, I roll it between my fingers. “So your friends saw that I had a pulse and decided simulating a date would help you get some romantic experience?”
Doliver grumbles, “My friends saw an opportunity and threw me gloriously under the metaphorical bus for what I can only assume they believe is my own good.”
I have so many questions.
First, if he lives around here, why have I never seen him before? Second, if he doesn’t live around here, why is he visiting friends who throw him under metaphorical busses? Third…darn that third. It’s the one that slips out of my mouth. “Can I help, somehow?” I ask.
He stares blankly at the carpet in front of him for a while, then closes his eyes. “For right now, is there anything I can do to make this unexpected situation more…comfortable? Would you like me to take you home?” He juts a thumb toward the coffee table. “With a bag of absolutely all those cookies?”
I have never heard a more tempting option. Halfway to agreeing, I remember that even though I’ve spent the last seven months with this man’s voice saturating every inch of my existence, he is not someone I know. He’s a stranger. And strangers shouldn’t have such easy access to my home address.
So I shake my head, stand on still-trembling limbs, and force a smile. “I’ll take one cookie for the road and see myself out. I really am sorry for disrupting your evening. I just sometimes get these things in my head, and…yeah…the intrusive ideas won tonight.” With any luck, I won’t listen to them when they tell me to walk into the woods until I find a pack of wolves willing to dismember me.
Doliver stands, lifting the platter of cookies between us. “You’ve not disrupted my evening. I’m sure Willou…Willow would love to have you over again. Just, not when I’m here.” Red erupts in his cheeks, and he straightens. “I…not that I wouldn’t want to see you again. It’s just I’d rather not be… I’d rather you not be…” His mind goes entirely blank.
