“That was a no-brainer, Ryan.” He says it like reconnecting with someone who vanished from your life for a decade doesn’t require deliberation. Like the answer was always going to be yes, I’ll accept.
“I was surprised you did it pretty quickly,” I point out.
“I was browsing the web. Your request was the best notification I received.” He nudges my knee with his. “Honestly? I’d been hoping you’d reach out. I just didn’t want to push.”
Across the cell, Drew wolf-whistles. “Are you two having a moment? Because I’d like to remind everyone that we’re in jail, and Gerard’s balls are in my peripheral vision.”
“My balls are in everyone’s peripheral vision,” Gerard says proudly. “They’re very prominent.”
“Nobody asked, Gerard,” Nathan says.
Oliver ignores them, his attention still fixed on me. The underwater lights of the pool have been replaced by the harsh fluorescent glow of the holding cell, but somehow, he looks just as good. Better, maybe, because there’s nothing to hide behind now. No water, no darkness, no ten years of distance.
He leans back against the concrete wall, large hands resting on his spread thighs, eyes closed. The pose makes him devastatingly, irrevocably sexy.
And I will never admit that aloud. Not to Oliver. Not to Jackson. Not to the cold concrete bench currently numbing my ass. That particular confession will die with me, buried alongside my dignity.
“You’re staring,” Oliver says.
“I’m not staring. I’m assessing.”
“Assessing what?”
“Whether the bench can structurally support you. You’ve gotten…large.”
One green eye opens, and the smirk that crosses his face is lethal. “Large, huh?”
“Muscularly speaking.”
“Uh-huh.” Both eyes open now, and the amusement in them is infuriating. “You know, you’ve changed too.”
“I’ve barely changed at all.”
“That’s not true.” His gaze sweeps over me—quick and respectful, but thorough enough to make my skin prickle. “You’re still you, but…more. More confident. More present.” He pauses. “And you filled out.”
“I weigh a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, Oliver. I haven’t filled out.”
“You have.” He says it with such quiet certainty that I don’t know how to argue further. “You just don’t see it.”
“Where are Kyle and Alex?” I ask, partly to move the spotlightoff me, and partly because I’m realizing I didn’t see them in any of the golf carts or being ushered into the row of cells.
Oliver glances around and notices the same. “I guess they managed to get away. Kyle’s good like that.”
“Think he’s good enough to bail us out?”
Oliver snickers. “Depends on his mood. We should try to sleep and worry about that in the morning. They’ll probably release us around nine a.m. with a slap on the wrist and a call to our parents. But you can give them my parents’ number if you don’t want them to call your dad.”
I gawk at him, disbelief warring with something I’m too afraid to identify in my chest. Even after all this time, he’s still protecting me.
PART II
JUNE
11
OLIVER
Making coffee for a living has its pros and cons. Pro: I get to meet new people every day and learn something about them. Con: The routine of it all allows plenty of time for my mind to wander.
