“Just didn’t sleep that well and woke up early. One of those days, really,” he says. “You just got back from your shift?”
“Yup.” I pour coffee into two mugs and sit beside him, maintaining a little distance.
“Shit, you must be really tired.”
“Not anymore, I’m not,” I confess.
“Umm, right. So, I went to talk to one of our neighbors yesterday.”
I tilt my head in confusion at the sudden change of topic. “You did?”
He nods. “The guy on the eighth floor.”
I groan internally. Of course, he did. How could I be so stupid as to believe Oliver would give up on finding out more about what he saw? Especially after I bragged to Nick that I have everything under control! My sweet little human is too curious for his own good. Yes, at least within the confines of my head, he’s my human.
“What did you guys talk about?” I ask casually, taking a sipof my coffee. I need it, and maybe a thousand more, to get through this conversation.
“He brought up the guy from 8D after he was done checking me out. But then he decided the football match was more interesting,” he rolls his eyes.
He did what now? “The guy in 8A?” I ask.
“Yeah, you know him?” He narrows his eyes.
“Might’ve seen him around.” Might give him a visit soon, too.
“Oh, right,” he says, looking everywhere but me.
“So this guy …you were flirting with him for information?” I ask. I don't know if I’m hoping for him to say yes or no.
“What? No, Matt, I don’t flirt with people for information. I’m not a Bond Girl,” he huffs, giving me a glimpse of the Oliver I run into in the hallway every few days.
He’s too adorable with his pouty lips and squinty eyes. Ah, I missed him!
“I just mentioned Dalton, and he didn’t say anything new. Just stuff I already know,” he continues, looking at his coffee mug.
Oh, right, I have work to do. “Like what?”
“That he was a creepy dude who didn't talk to anyone.” He sounds defeated. Then he turns to me. “Look, maybe your theory about him being on drugs was right. But I just have to know, okay?”
He looks at me like he desperately wants me to understand him. He’s confused, scared. Maybe he doesn’t even believe what he saw anymore. But he’s not going to give up. Discouraging Oliver won't be as easy as I initially thought.
Staring into his beautiful, tired eyes, I want to confess everything. So, I nod, helpless against his liquid blue gaze andpleading face.
“I’m probably going to talk to some more people and see what I can find. Maybe they saw something too, and then I’ll know for sure my mind isn’t making things up.” His eyes are trained on me, begging me to support him.
I can’t even come up with a good lie. Ugh, what did Nick get me involved in? Then an idea starts taking shape in my head.
“You’re right.”
“I am?” he asks, suspicious.
“Yeah. Maybe I dismissed it too quickly. I’ll help you,” I say, determined.
Maybe he needs to earn the explanation to get this out of his system. I get it. When you’re scared, you need something to do. It's difficult to just sit and accept that you had no control over anything, even for a moment. That you were completely helpless.
Plus, if I can go on these excursions with him, I can divert all the flirting, I mean, investigating Oliver is suddenly into.
I absolutely cannot afford to fail. It’s necessary that Oliver doesn't find out the truth. I look at his innocent face, his sharp, tense jaw, his sweet, pouty lips, his big eyes, his cozy outfit, and all I want to do is wrap him up in a blanket and cuddle him.
