She clears her throat before reading the card aloud. "Olive and Avery. Head to the nearest se—yeah, we’re not doing this card. What’s next?" She scrunches it up and tosses it in the bin, but I catch it before it sinks to the bottom.
"I may not be good at hitting a ball with a stick, but I am good at catching things."
She groans. "You’re arrogant, you know that?"
I mimic her then clear my throat, and read the card out loud. "Olive and Avery. Head to the nearest sex shop, and pick one item each."I raise a brow at her, and I can’t help the way my mind wanders.
That blue dress does not leave a lot to the imagination, that much is certain. It’s silk, and hugs her in all the places it’s supposed to. But now that Orlando has putthatthought in my mind, thatimage… I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this.
But the picture is there, and I can’t shake it.
It throws me, just for a second.
Long enough to know I’m in trouble.
"Would it be such a bad thing?" I tease, but she pinches her nose and rolls her eyes for so long that I get the message loud and clear. "Got it. Not happening."
I shouldn’t have said it.
None ofthatbelonged in the moment. But it’s already out there, and I hate that a part of me meant it.
I shake the thought off.
This isn’t the time. And she sure as hell isn’t interested in me like that.Or at all.
We spend the next few hours roaming the streets of New York City for our next locations, and it isn’t lost on me that people are watching the two of us very closely.
A few have stopped to ask her for photos, which surprises her every single time, and the few that recognize me, shout things at me as if they’re in the crowd and I’m on the court. As though I’m made of stone, and not affected by the words they say.
All things I’m used to hearing, sure, but called out to me while they think I’m on a date? Not okay.
We’ve played golf, watched averyshort film, sang karaoke at some bar downtown, and gone to an arcade where she schooled me at literally every single game we played.
After each location, I asked if she wanted to head home. I didn’t want to force her to stay if she didn’t genuinely want to be here. And if I was being honest with myself, a little part of me felt glad that she always shook her head in response, and kept moving to the next destination.
We then had to go off script and find a store that sold shoes, which happened to still open at eleven at night because her feet were on the verge of ‘bleeding so much, her toes might drop off.’
Word for word, that was her exact description.
There wasn’t even a drop of blood in sight.
Conversation has been sparse, with secret glances at her when I knew she wasn’t watching, and it’s made me enjoy thisdate-for-charity-and-not-at-all-realmore than I thought I would.
It’s been nice to get out, but not have to force conversation. And it hasn’t been awkward, either. Not since the very beginning, anyway.
"Down to our last card, Olivia." I know that isn’t her name, but I like watching how frustrated she gets whenever I call her that. Instead of waiting for her to call me an asshole, I continue before she gets the chance. "Any guesses on what it could be?"
She glares at me. "Okay, Elf Leader. If you can guarantee me food, I’ll let you…" She holds her stomach as it grumbles, while I pin her with a glare. "Your name." She clarifies. "It literally means‘ruler of elves’.God, it’s not funny when you have to explain the joke." She shakes her head.
Of course, I knew what she meant. It’s my name, for God's sake. My mom’s nickname for me when I was younger was‘Elfie’.Thankfully, she stopped calling me that when she realized I would be the tallest person in our family by a long shot. I haven’t thought about it in years, but Olive just calling me that sparked the memory.
Instead, I focus on the words she almost said, but didn’t.
"What will you let me do, Olive?" I take a step closer to her, catching her off guard. I watch her swallow hard.
She clears her throat, shakes off her nerves, and steps closer. "Whatever. You. Want. To. Me."
Fuck.
