It's Friday night, and I'm sitting at the bar, having dinner alone. At least there's a cute bartender to flirt with. He's just my type, too, tall strong, and buff. And, with a constellation of tattoos running up and down his muscular arms.
He notices me looking at him and winks. "Can I get you anything else, doll?" he asks, with a wide, sexy smile.
I smile back. "I'm good, thanks."
Still in my reverie, I notice someone taking the seat next to mine. My face falls as soon as I realize who it is.
Oliver. My cocky, arrogant coworker who seems to enjoy contradicting and antagonizing me. More than once, I've imagined punching his stupid, handsome face. He's the last person I wanted to see tonight. Just my goddamn luck.
He flashes a slow, confident smile, and I can't help but notice how gorgeous he is. He probably knows it too, the bastard. They always do.
"Mind if I join you?" he asks. "My buddy is over there desperately flirting with a cute girl and it's just too painful to watch," he laughs. He has a sexy laugh, I have to reluctantly admit.
"If you want," I say coolly, bracing myself for the inevitable backhanded compliment. He always seems to enjoy playing with me, keeping me dizzy and off-balance, the fucker.
Before I have to endure his irritating banter, I freeze. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Jack—and his wife—and my heart drops. I grab Oliver's arm, panicking. "My ex is here. I have to go," I gasp.
Until tonight, I'd managed to forget about Jack, the charming man who told me he was separated, on the verge of divorce, but was actually just cheating on his wife. That charming man was a liar and skilled manipulator, and I never saw it coming. I'll always hate him for that. And I hate myself for letting it happen in the first place.
He never deserved my love, that's for sure. But, looking at him now, I remember the man I thought he was, and despite myself, I miss that version of Jack. I squeeze my eyes shut, a desperate attempt to stop myself from crying.
Oliver softly murmurs, "Let me walk you out," and I can only nod as I choke back tears. He guides me to the door, placing his hand on the small of my back. I suddenly realize how safe and protected I feel with him.
Wow.
"I get it," he says quietly, and somehow, I know he does.
He looks down, frowning when he sees my hands are still shaking, and says, "Let me drive you home."
Once again, I'm only able to nod in reply. He gently puts his hand on my arm and guides me to his car.
As he drives me home, we're quiet for a few minutes. Then, I softly say, "Thank you. It was really hard to see him."
After a long, quiet pause, I add, "He was having dinner with his wife. He'd said they were separated, but it turned out he was just cheating on her the entire time. That was the first time I've ever seen her, and it was just..." I say, swallowing back tears.
Finally, I gather my composure. I don't want to cry in front of Oliver. I'm accepting his ride home, but nothing more.
I sigh and look out the window. "I know, such a cliché, right? I never thought I'd end up as somebody's goddamn mistress. But I did. I let him manipulate me, and I feel so stupid for it."
"It's a cliché because it's common," he says softly. "That doesn't make it hurt any less."
"And you're not stupid," he adds. "From the sound of it, he was just a really good liar. You didn't deserve what he did to you. Any of it."
Then, he pauses for a moment. "I'm glad I was here to drive you home, at least," he says quietly.
There it is again. The unexpected empathy and kindness.
"That's a lot to be reminded of," he says, squeezing my hand gently. "But you're ok now. This is just the echo of what he did to you."
I nod, slightly stunned by his insight. Perhaps there's more to Oliver than I thought.
So then, when we pull up to my apartment, I ask hesitantly, "Hey, do you want to come up for a drink? I could use the company."
I'm tense, I realize. I'm tense and nervous with Oliver, and it's all because I just want to keep spending time with him. I wonder what he's thinking. Am I too eager? Too pathetic to have friends who will come cheer me up?
He smiles and says simply, "I'd love to."
I fucking love his smile, I realize with a start. It's the first time he's really smiled tonight, and I don't want to stop looking at him. I smile back, a small, shy smile. When his smile widens, I feel... warm.
. . . . .
And now, he's here, and I actually want him here, and I don't know what to do or what to say. He's calm and relaxed as he asks for a gin and tonic, and I'm taking desperate breaths and willing myself to
calm the fuck down
. As I press the glass to his hand, our fingers briefly touch, and he flashes a slow, lazy smile. '
"Thank you," he says, his eyes never leaving mine.
I'm still a nervous mess when I sit next to him on the couch, so I grab my pipe. When I light it and inhale the strong, fragrant smell of cannabis, my breathing finally starts to return to normal. Well, sort of.
"Can I have a hit of that?" he asks in a low voice, his eyes intently watching my lips pressed against the smooth glass.
I hand him the pipe and light it for him, which suddenly feels like such an intimate gesture. As he grins and exhales the smoke, the air is suddenly electric. I am now acutely aware of how close we're sitting... and my nipples harden. My heart is racing, my breath is slow and ragged, and my skin is warm and flushed.
"Thanks," he says, returning the pipe, and this time his fingers linger on mine. I look down, blushing furiously.
"Hey," he says after a moment, lightly touching my arm. "You deserve so much better than that jackass. You're smart, talented, successful." He pauses, "and, beautiful, though you don't need a man to tell you that." He smiles at me then, kindly, gently.
And now, at his unexpected kindness, I'm nearly in tears. I swallow hard and look away, because I know if I look at him, I'll be a complete mess.
My breath catches, and he softly murmurs, "Are you ok? I didn't mean to upset you."
I look up at him and shake my head, and somehow, miraculously, manage not to cry. Somehow, things feel... better... when I'm with him.
He puts his arm around me, and, after a moment, I rest my head against his shoulder. He exhales softly and holds me more tightly, more protectively.
I hate that I'm so upset, and that Oliver is the one comforting me, but he's so kind and so gentle that my resistance finally softens.
"I'm so sorry he hurt you," he says in a low, husky voice, and I just want to melt in his arms. There's an unmistakable heat in his voice and gaze, and I shiver.
He doesn't stop there, of course, the beautiful bastard. He strokes my hair gently and murmurs comforting words in my ear. "It's ok. Let me help. Let me make it ok."
I feel so...
safe
with him. I want to stay in his warm embrace, his arms wrapped around me, holding me tight, our lips locked in a passionate kiss, our bodies crashing against each other. The sweet nothings he'd whisper in my ear, the dirty, filthy things he'd tell me to do, and his praise and worship of my pussy, my mouth, my lips, my tongue. I want it all. I want it all from him.
Finally, I pull away, not sure I want to be having such an intimate moment with Oliver. I'm keenly aware of the warmth and weight of his arm, still draped loosely around me, and now he's looking at me with dark, low-lidded eyes.
