Oliver continued to hold my stare. “I didn’t either.”
“Well, you know what? Maybe we should have,” Jake said. “Because look at us right now—three motherfuckers drinking beer in Amsterdam like no time has gone by at all.”
Except in my mind, a world had gone by in the last six years.
The biggest difference was the diamond sitting on my left hand right now.
The waitress dropped off the tiny glass of beer that wasn’t much bigger than a shot glass—a way of drinking here that I was still trying to get used to.
“To old fucking times,” Jake said as he held his glass in the air.
Oliver and I did the same, and as I took a drink, I looked at Jake. He still had black plastic-rimmed glasses, although they’d changed shapes since I last saw him, and he still wore just an old T-shirt, both of his arms now full sleeves of colorful tattoos.
“Are you doing good?” I asked him.
Jake wasn’t the kind of guy who got serious too often, but there had been moments—like the time he’d told me how badly Oliver was going to hurt over me leaving—that I got to see the deeper side of him. But from the way Jake was looking at me now, I knew I wasn’t going to see that side. Tonight was all about fun.
“I’m doing really great, lovely.” He twisted the glass on top of the table. “I got myself a flat overlooking the Thames and a stable job in finance. Life is excellent. Well”—he lifted his beer and took a drink—“it would be a hell of a lot better if this one would come home.”
“I’m perfect right here,” Oliver shot back. “Your arse just needs to come and visit more often.”
The waitress stopped by our table again and said, “Can I get you anything else?”
“A round of tequila shots,” Jake replied. “And please make them extra cold.”
“I have to be at the office by seven tomorrow morning,” I said to Oliver, my hand going to my forehead as I anticipated the headache I was going to wake up with.
He laughed. “Me too, sweet girl.”
I didn’t have a chance to respond before Jake was grabbing my attention. “One beer, one shot, and then I promise you can go to bed.”
I smiled at them both. “We all know that’s the biggest lie in the world.”
The three of us couldn’t stop chuckling because we knew I was right.
Five hours later—my phone showing it was well past midnight—I looked at Jake and said, “I told you so. Now, I need to get home before tomorrow turns into the longest day of my life.”
Jake’s expression turned sad, his hand clasping mine in a tight grip. “Sweetheart, you are going to be deeply missed.” He kissed the center of my palm, his beer-soaked lips leaving a mark after he pulled them away. “Let’s not go another six years, all right?” I nodded, and he held out his arms. “Get over here.”
As I hugged him, memories of our time together began to fill my head, the partying and late nights and the laughs. It was only a semester, but we’d spent almost every day together, and we’d all been so close.
Once I’d left, everything had changed.
“So fucking great to see you.” He kissed the top of my head. “Take care of yourself.” I tightened my grip for a second longer. “And take care of him.”
My arms loosened as I glanced up at Jake, our gazes holding while I took a step away from the table. “Good-bye,” I whispered.
“I’ll walk you out,” Oliver said from behind me.
I grabbed my jacket off the chair and hung my purse across my body, and Oliver’s hand went to my lower back as we walked to the front. He opened the door before I had time to reach for it, the wind hitting my face as soon as I stepped outside. And once I got out here, I saw it was completely different than when I’d first arrived.
Amsterdam felt alive.
“I’ll walk you back,” he said in my ear. He stared at me with a narrow gaze, breaking it for just a second to look at the commotion at his right and his left. “You’re not going by yourself.”
“I’ll be fine.” I lifted my hand to wave, and he caught it. And because I’d had the beer and tequila, my balance wasn’t the best, and his gentle tug caused me to stumble back.
“Chloe …” He caught me against his chest, his hands instantly cupping my face, thumbs grazing under my jaw, just like they always used to. “I’ve missed this, sweet girl.”
I stared at his lips, remembering the way they used to feel and how they’d tasted and how I was able to close my eyes and see the details of his smile. How his presence had felt like the safest, warmest place in the world.
How that heat and protectiveness was seeping over me right now.
Oh God.
I tried to take a breath, and his scent grabbed ahold of me, a tightness now moving into my chest. “Oliver …”
His mouth came closer, hovering in front of mine.
As I swallowed his air, feeling the heat come off his body, I could almost taste his skin.
And it was wrong.
But it was right.
And that thought was too much, yet it wasn’t enough.
Everything inside my body hurt, and I was tingling and pulsing at the same time.
I couldn’t find air, no matter how hard I tried, but there was an overabundance hitting my face.
I just couldn’t.
I couldn’t.
I couldn’t …
Oh God, no.
His lips were on me, and as soon as I felt them, I pulled my face away and breathed, “No …”
But his hands didn’t leave, and his grip didn’t loosen. While my chest heaved, he continued to hold me and wouldn’t let go.
“Chloe …” he said again.
When he leaned forward, he didn’t put his mouth on me but kept it an inch away. He stroked my cheek, staring at me in a way where I forgot we were standing on the edge of the busiest sidewalk in Amsterdam, six years later. And instead, it felt like we were standing just outside the airport, getting our chance once again.
But it was different this time.
I was different.
And while I got used to him being this close again, I took in his gaze, a place I used to want to live in forever. A place that was so comfortable, familiar, and the tightening slowly started to lighten.
“Sweet girl …”
Closer.
Only air separating us.
I sucked in a mouthful. Holding it. Feeling the breeze move through my chest.
His mouth softly brushed mine once more, and a spark shot through me.
A warmth.
An energy I remembered and had missed.
I didn’t fight the feeling in my body.
I didn’t pull away.
I didn’t think I could.
I reached forward, fisting his sweater in my palms, squeezing it with every bit of strength I had.
And when his lips grazed mine, they stayed there. His heat shot straight down my body, and I felt it in my toes.
“Oliver …” I breathed, inhaling his scent as my lips parted, a name I hadn’t said like this in so long.
A tremor moved through my chest, and I squeezed his sweater even harder, my mouth opening again for his tongue. His palms pushed into my cheeks, his body pressing into mine.
And I remembered.
Like his lips were whispering memories, I could recall every time they’d kissed me, and every feeling came back, every emotion filling me.