Then last night happened.
With a man, who never was supposed to be in the equation.
Inside that bedroom, I don’t know what came over me. That whole Bianca call threw me into a tailspin. For all I know, he is still seeing her because he has a life back home, a life I know nothing about because he purposely keeps it from me.
But he promised me nothing’s going on.
And I choose to believe him.
Lying there, beside him, knowing how much he’s wanting to take it further but respected my boundaries makes me crave him even more.
Oliver understands me, and I don’t have to play the good girl around him. He knows me better than anyone else, a realization which terrifies me.
I desperately wanted to climb into bed with him last night, feel his masculine touch all over my tense body. Yet, that guilt, the one which halts my every move, the one that consumes my conscience, can only give him so much.
It isn’t what he wants. I’m certain he wants to fuck me into oblivion.
But perhaps, what I gave him was more than I have ever given anyone else. The intimacy we shared, the private moment behind closed doors, it was an act many people, including myself, had somewhat felt ashamed of baring to another person.
It didn’t take me long—my body reacting to the movements he made in his bed. I pictured his beautiful hand wrapped around his cock, each stroke, and finally an orgasmic explosion.
In the light of day, the weight of my actions is standing right in front of me dressed in a pair of denim shorts, a Yankees cap, and a white Adidas tee. How can he look so irresistible, yet so casual at the same time?
Oliver hasn’t said a word, nor treated me any differently. It’s as if last night never happened, and I don’t know how I felt about that.
Before we step into the car, I ask him to stop.
“About last night—”
“We don’t have to talk about it.”
“We don’t?”
“Nope. Secret’s safe with me.” He winked.
It’s as if he has climbed into my mind, read my thoughts, taken notes, and done everything right given the unusual and complicated circumstances. Maybe he can read minds? I examine his face—it doesn’t alter nor appear any different.
You’re ridiculous. Read minds? He’s not Edward Cullen for Christ’s sake.
I thank him with a smile, hopping into the car while buckling my seat belt to start the next leg of our journey.
Oliver spent the morning checking the car to make sure everything was up to standard, confident we wouldn’t encounter any problems on our final leg of the journey. The town mechanic suggested keeping a close eye on it.
We drive for a few hours, admiring the scenic view of the mountains, talking about movies, a little bit about sports, which mind you, I have no interest in whatsoever. I often bring up David Beckham—the only thing I know about soccer thanks to his incredibly good looks. Oliver rolls his eyes, quick to point out that my obsession was borderline creepy, and that he’s old enough to be my dad, to which I argued.
It became a pattern of ours—talk, laugh about what we are conversing in, argue because we don’t agree on something followed by dead silence.
Right now—you could drop a pin on the floor and hear it crash landing.
All over what drink is better—Pepsi or Coke.
Stupid. Everyone knows it’s Coke.
Our silence continues until we hit the state of Utah. The southern part of Utah is a land of unsurpassed, surprising beauty. It’s characterized by contrasting landscapes of snow-capped mountains, orange sandstone cut by erosion into bridges, arches, and strange sculpted red rock. I relax into the seat, staring out the passenger window and taking it all in.
“Welcome to Utah,” he mouths.
“You want to stop? You know, check out some sites?”
“Are you avoiding going home?” Oliver turns his head to wait for my response, then quickly back to the road.
I am a prisoner out on parole, an ankle bracelet strapped to my leg, and going near the prison is causing the bad nightmares to return. The anxiety begins to cripple me. I don’t know why or how this has chosen to consume me at this very moment.
“Gabs? Are you okay? You look… pale.”
I shake my head, the air restricting in my throat making it impossible to breathe. Oliver pulls over, and I hear the gravel crunching beneath the tires. As soon as the car stops, he leans over, placing his hand on my shoulder and massaging it with ease. I close my eyes, wishing this life, my life, could be different.
“I’m confused,” I whisper, my voice croaking. “I don’t know any different, Oliver. I was raised in a world of power and money. Women don’t make their own fortune. They bank on their husbands and become trophy wives.” I stare directly ahead of us, nothing but open road, open desert, and endless possibilities.
“You… you are different to them,” I stutter, rubbing my hands against my thighs.
“Them?”
“My father, Sebastian…” I trail off. “You make me feel worthy like I’m worth something.”
Oliver’s hand graces my cheek, a gentle caress against my heated skin. The simple touch prompts me to close my eyes. How can this be? In simply one move, a gesture of kindness, and he has calmed my world and reined in all focus on him.
“Look at me,” he begs.
I turn to face him, opening my eyes painfully slow. His eyes are boring into me, reaching inside every part of me, igniting a flame once dwindled. My breathing slows to a regular pace, certainly enough, so my skin begins to cool, and I’m able to focus on his beautiful face.
“You are worth everything. And any guy lucky enough to call you his, should worship the ground you walk on. You get me? Don’t feel anything less than that.”
I want Oliver to worship the ground I walk on. I desperately want him to tell me to turn back around, get far away from here, and make a life on our own. Drive back to our oasis, Hermosa Beach, where life is simple without the pressure of anything else.
“Why do you have to say the most perfect things sometimes, you’re annoying that way,” I whisper, lowering my head.
“Because I want to get you into bed, so it seems like the easiest way to do it.”
I slap his shoulder, and he grabs my hand, kissing the side of it. “I’m serious about you being worth it, Gabriella. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, you fight hard for what you want. You don’t accept the first roadblock. There are always hurdles, the universe is fucked that way. But never underestimate the power of your own self-worth.”
“Thank you,” I mouth, resting my face in his palm. “And about the bed thing? You don’t have to butter me up, I’m already as buttered as you can get.”
Oliver laughs, turning the engine on. “I’ve unleashed the dirty beast within you.”
“Oh…” I grin. “This could get worse, but you need to drive, and I need to sit here so nothing good can come from dirty talk.”
“You’re killing me. You know that, right?”