I already regret calling her. She was my best friend growing up. Then my pretend girlfriend. My life wasn’t the most fun, surprisingly, but Anna was always there. She could have been a popular kid, with her blonde hair and blue eyes. She didn't care about her reputation, though. She said, “This isn't life, Ollie. This is all temporary.” She was my anchor.
“What happened? Tell me everything,” she pushes, and I suddenly feel like teenage Ollie again. I confess everything except the weird sighting and my amateur detective skills.
She listens patiently through all of it. “So let me get this straight. You're telling me the guy brought you croissants after you made out, then you slept together, then you went and called it a one-time thing on his face, and now you’re crying about it?”
When she put it like that, it sounded a little too simple. “It's not that simple,” I insist. “He doesn't do relationships, and I'm not his type.”
“Well, both of those are his decisions, aren't they?” she says. “Why are you making decisions for him? What doyouwant?”
“Well, I want him, but I can't have him reject me. We live across from each other. It'll be awkward, and I like him too much to have no part of him at all,” I admit, my heartbeat picking up. “Also, I'm helping him organize this Christmas party. He's relying on me. I can't make things all awkward now,” I add to offset some of the vulnerability that leaked out.
“Well, that's one way to live. You can pack yourself inside your safe bubble, not dating anyone, not risking your heart ever. Or you can go and fucking talk to Mr. Tall, Dark, and Thick across the hall and lethimtell you what he feels.”
“You know it's not that easy. He’s so kind and nice and beautiful. And I know it seems simple, but there’s no way our relationship would survive a rejection.”
“I know, but there’s no other way, babe.”
I nod.
“Listen, I wish we could talk more, but I have a meeting in two minutes. Maybe I can call you once I’m back home?”
“No, it'll be too late here. I'll call you over the weekend,” I promise.
“See to it that you do this time,” she says sternly.
I make myself a quick dinner. Halfway through, I realize I got used to cooking for two people. Five, if you count Matt’s calorie needs. One week and I’m cooking dinner for him by mistake. I’m so fucked!
I finally go to bed, prepared for a restless night of sleep.
The nightmares keep me up. The glowing eyes, the chase. But this time, there are two sets of footsteps behind me. I don’t even have to turn to know it’s him.Matt.
***
My mind is all over the place the next day. Emily catches me distracted twice, and Sophia watches me, concerned the entire time.
“Are you sure you're okay?” Emily asks after we’re done.
My body crackles with nervous energy. Did I let my stupid heart get me fired?
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while now,” she continues.
Oh no, oh no, oh no!
“You're doing a great job, Oliver. I know I don’t say that often enough. You should be proud.” She pats my arm, smiling. “Now, you look stressed out. Go have some fun, dude. You deserve it.”
I nod. Oh, thank god! Her approval eases some of the tension in my stomach.
Back at my apartment, I wonder if I should check with Matt. We still haven't decorated the tree, and I need to discuss his schedule, so I can prep the food accordingly. No, maybe he’ll think I’m being too clingy.
I wait for him to come to me instead. When he doesn't, I prepare dinner, then pace around after eating.
Why the fuck am I being so fucking weird? He asked me to help him with the party. Of course, I’ll need to discuss that with him.C’mon, Oliver!
When I step out with the intention of knocking on his door, I remember he probably has a shift. I roll my eyes at my antics.
My mind has been a chaotic mess lately. With so much going on, I haven’t even really thought about my investigation. I’ve gotten way too comfortable waking up drenched in sweat,twice most nights. I even forgot that I was going to talk to Dalton’s downstairs neighbor.
No better time than now. I turn to the elevator, sans cupcakes this time. I go to the eighth floor to do my routine knocks on Dalton and Marge’s apartments. When they both adamantly remain unopened, I take the elevator down. Don’t judge me. I now have a thing with taking stairs at night.
