Right Man, Right Time

The sun glitters in through Ollie’s white curtains, stirring me awake.

I’ve paid thousands of dollars to have a comfortable bed I can sleep in at night and for some stupid-ass reason, when I sleep in Ollie’s bed, it feels like the best sleep I’ve ever had. In the back of my mind, I know why, but the front of my mind doesn’t want to acknowledge it.

It’s too fucking scary.

My brain, my heart, they’re not ready for the truth.

“Good morning,” I hear Ollie say from over by her desk.

I peep open my eyes to find her sitting cross-legged in her desk chair with a to-go cup of coffee in hand . . . still wearing my button-up shirt. When I saw her in it last night, I had this overwhelming sense to walk up to her and say, “Mine.” To let everyone around us know that she belongs to no one but me. And even though it’s the only shirt I have here, I’ll walk out of this dorm without a shirt on before I remove it from her body. That shirt was meant for her.

“Morning,” I say as I sit up in bed and rub my eye with my palm. “What time is it?”

“Eight fifteen. Want some coffee? Ross dropped it off.”

“Sure,” I say.

She walks over to me and takes a seat on the edge of the bed and hands me her coffee.

“Isn’t this yours?” I ask.

“I don’t mind sharing, and it’s not like your lips haven’t touched mine before.”

“True.” I lean against her headboard, take a sip, and instantly regret it. Fuck, I forgot she likes the sweet stuff. “Jesus,” I say, pulling the cup away and handing it back to her.

She chuckles. “Don’t be a black coffee snob.”

“Ollie, that’s not coffee. That’s milk and sugar.”

“It is not. There’s coffee in here. If there wasn’t, I wouldn’t feel so awake right now.”

“It’s all in your head.”

She pushes at my chest. “Look who woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

“I actually slept great,” I say, glancing up at her fresh morning face. She is so fucking beautiful, it hurts. And seeing her like this—in my shirt, no makeup, fresh from bed—makes me want to pull her down on the mattress and claim her.

“So did I.” She smirks. “You kept me warm.”

“Do you get cold often?”

“There’s a draft from the windows. Especially now that the weather is getting colder, I tend to wear more clothes when I sleep, which I hate. I prefer to wear practically nothing.”

“How did you sleep in my shirt?”

“Perfect,” she answers. “If you weren’t here, I would have removed my thong, but I thought I should keep it on out of respect.”

“I wouldn’t have minded,” I say, wishing she slept without it so she was fully naked under my shirt.

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

She hops off the bed and says, “What are you up to today?”

“Meeting up with Holmes to go over plays and get ready for the season. Our first game is in a week and a half. I want to make sure we’re game ready. We also study our opponents and their weak spots. Although they could have worked on them over the off-season, it’s always good to be prepared.”

“I guess I had no idea you study film.”

“All fucking season,” I say as I move the covers off the bed. I reach for my pants and shuffle them over my legs.

“Is that why you don’t have a lot of time to do anything?” she asks.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

She glances down at my shirt, then back up at me. “Oh, do you need this?”

“Keep it,” I say. “It looks good on you.”

Her cheeks blush, and she smirks over her coffee cup. “You know, Silas, some people might consider that flirting.”

“Consider it a compliment,” I say as I reach behind her and grab my jacket. I shake it out, then slip it over my shoulders, only to button it up in the middle. My chest is easily visible, but it’s not a far walk to my car.

A playful smile on her lips, Ollie scans me up and down and says, “Very Timothée Chalamet of you, Silas. Although, nothing screams walk of shame more than what you’re wearing right now.”

“Too bad I didn’t get any action to make it a true walk of shame.”

“That was by your doing.”

“Trust me, it was the best decision for both of us.” I slip my phone into my pocket, and with keys in hand, I head down her hallway. She follows, and when I reach the door, I turn toward her.

She leans against the wall, one foot propped up against it, and tilts her head to the side, waiting for my next move.

I want it to be me pressing her into that wall and taking advantage of her mouth. I want her hands all over me.

But not just that. I want to continue to feel her comfort. Last night, I felt so vulnerable, and she ignored her pain and helped me with mine. She didn’t hold anything against me, something Sarah would have done when we were together. She forgave me and my stupidity, then asked me to stay—not for her, but for me—because she didn’t want me to be alone.

It’s made me look at her differently.

It’s made me want her in a different way.

It’s made me consider what it could be like if we took a step forward.

And that’s terrifying because I don’t think I’m ready. I don’t think I’m prepared to be there for her the way she needs it. I don’t think I can be the man she needs. It’s why I need to control myself around her and tread carefully.

It’s why, at this moment, with her looking so goddamn beautiful, I can’t take what I want.

So I move in close to her, snag my index finger under her chin, and say, “Thank you for last night.”

“No need to thank me, Silas. That’s why I’m here.”

“Still . . . thank you.” And then I lower my head. I hear her slight intake of breath right before I kiss her cheek and then push away, keeping my hands at my side so I don’t happen to reach out and do something I’d regret later. “Have a good day, Oliana.”

Her head rests against the wall as she says, “See you, Potato.”

OLLIE: How was the film time?

Silas: The film time? Is that the technical term?

Ollie: In my head it is.

Silas: It was good. Have a headache from watching so many yesterday. But I feel prepared.

Ollie: Did you take any pain relievers?

Silas: Yes, Mom.

Ollie: And here I thought I called you Daddy.

Silas: You just made me spit water all over my shirt.

Ollie: Then my work here is done.

Silas: What are you up to?

Ollie: Working on a stupid paper, going to take a break soon.

Silas: Cool.

Ollie: You know, this is the point in the conversation where you would realize that I’m going to be free soon and you’re free, so then maybe we can hang out.

Silas: Don’t think that’s a good idea.

Ollie: Afraid you might fall madly in love with me?

Silas: Afraid I might want to fuck you.

Ollie: Once again, not a bad feeling to have.

Silas: We have a no whorehouse policy.

Ollie: Good answer. I was testing you.

Silas: Oh, were you now?

Ollie: Yup. You passed.

Silas: Now I can say I truly accomplished something this weekend.

Ollie: You’re welcome.

OLLIE: Excuse me, Potato, what is the meaning of this package you sent me?

Silas: What are you talking about?

Ollie: Don’t play dumb. I know you dropped this package off at my dorm. There’s a weighted blanket inside, along with a fancy coffee maker and the fixings to make a latte . . . with an Agitators mug.

Silas: Oh yeah, that might have been from me.

Ollie: Why did you send this all to me?

Silas: Because you said it was getting drafty in your dorm. Thought you might need something to keep you warm . . . while I’m gone.

Ollie: Okay . . . okay . . . hold up . . . Silas Taters, you realize that’s flirting, right? You’re straight up flirting with me.

Silas: I call it being a good friend.

Ollie: I call it you want me bad, and even though you won’t admit it, you’re showing me with this thoughtful gift.

Silas: Perceive it how you want.

Ollie: I will. You want me.

Silas: Sure, if that’s what you want to believe.

Ollie: It’s not whether or not I believe it, Silas. I fucking know it. Also . . . thank you so much. This was really sweet. I can already feel how warm the blanket is. If only it smelled like you.

Silas: See, that would be flirting.

Ollie: Uh-huh . . . okay.

OLLIE: Weird, I came home to another package. But this was just a bottle of cologne.

Silas: Huh, wonder who sent that to you.

Ollie: I wonder. It actually smells just like you.

Silas: Super weird.

Ollie: You realize this changes everything.

Silas: You realize everything has already changed.

Ollie: Why are you holding out on me?

Silas: It’s for the best.

Ollie: Then why send me gifts?

Silas: Just because we aren’t together doesn’t mean I don’t want you not thinking about me.

Ollie: This is all kinds of messed up.

Silas: It got messy the day you kissed me in that bar.

SILAS: Do you think you can make it to my first game? I have to set tickets aside.

Ollie: When is your first game?

Silas: Tuesday.

Ollie: This Tuesday?

Silas: Yeah.

Ollie: Uh . . . I think I can. I just need to rearrange some things.

Silas: It’s okay if you can’t be there.

Ollie: No, I can, but . . . do you think you could get a ticket for Ross too? I don’t want to go alone.

Silas: Of course.

Ollie: Perfect. I can’t wait to see what this hockey thing is all about.

Silas: Jesus.

Ollie: Do I need to dress warm?

Silas: Yes, but don’t worry. I got you.

Ollie: What does that mean?

Silas: You’ll see.