Ollie
Worst Way by Riley Green
The bass from the band thumps through my chest as I shoulder my way through the crowd at The Black Dog, dodging swinging elbows and shouting greetings as half the town seems determined to stop and say hello.
“Hey, Ollie!” someone calls out from somewhere in the bar.
I lift a hand in response, weaving past a group clustered near the bar and angling toward the back. The place is packed—all noise and warmth. It’s been cold as hell outside, and everyone must have cabin fever and wanted to show up at The Black Dog at the same time.
I spot our booth and aim for it like a man on a mission, smiling and waving, but no longer stopping to chat.
Poppy’s laughing so hard at something, she has to grab Violet’s arm, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, hair twisted into that messy knot she does when she’s exhausted. Cami’s mid-story, hands flying, clearly thriving off the attention. My sister loves to tell animated stories.
I slow down and take in Poppy in her element with the people she loves and who love her. God, she’s beautiful when she forgets to be guarded. And the truth is, I love seeing her relaxed and happy. Lately, these moments have been few and far between due to life repeatedly kicking her butt. I do everything I can to lessen her load, but I know she treasures these moments with our friends when she gets to just be Poppy. And have some fun.
I slide into the booth just as Violet finishes whatever punchline has them all cracking up.
“About time,” Cami says. “We were taking bets on whether you’d get stuck talking to half the town.”
“I powered through,” I say.
Poppy takes a sip of her drink, then sets it down between us. The ice clinks softly, and my eyes track the movement without meaning to. I clock the faint mark her lips leave on the rim before I can stop myself.
I don’t hesitate.
I reach for it and lift it, taking a drink from the exact spot she just did. It’s instinct. Familiar. Comfortable. And the second the cold hits my mouth, I’m aware of her freezing beside me.
“It was touch and go,” I add, like this is nothing. Like my pulse didn’t just kick hard in my chest.
I swallow and glance at her over the rim. Her eyes are on me, wide and curious, something warm flickering there that makes my grip tighten just a little.
“You know that’s mine, right?” she says.
I nod, calm on the outside. Anything but on the inside.
“Yeah,” I say easily. “I know.”
I set it back down between us, close enough that our fingers almost touch.Almost.
The space hums. Familiar. Loaded.
I lean back like I didn’t just do something that feels a hell of a lot like crossing a line I’ve spent years pretending doesn’t exist.
Poppy furls her eyebrows together. “You look tired. You doing okay?”
“Productively tired,” I tell her. “I got a lot done today.”
I finished up the paint, and the carpet gets installed in the morning, but I’m not telling her that.I just need to convince her to move in there.
I grab a menu and pretend to read it while my brain does an unhelpful replay of seeing her naked the other morning. That memory isn’t going anywhere. Ever. Poppy is gorgeous.
She catches me looking and lifts a brow. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “You just look… happy.”
She smiles, “I am happy.” But I don’t miss it. Behind the smile there are layers of worry and sadness I wish I could take from her.
The music is live and good, the table shakes as someone dances past, and Poppy’s knee bumps mine under the table. Neither of us moves away. In fact, somehow, we end up closer.
