up one day and decide to quit drinking?"
"I didn't."
"So… what was it? Was it really that bad?"
Chapter Thirty-Six
Luna
Oliver motions to my car, parked on the street. "If you want to run the fuck away from me after this, you can. But I'll go. You stay. Wait until you're calm to drive."
"It's that bad?"
"I don't know. I don't have a sense of it anymore." He places his hand over mine. His fingers curl around mine. "Come here." He pulls me closer.
His eyes flutter closed.
Then mine.
Then it's his mouth against mine.
His kiss is hard and rushed. Like he's trying to soak in everything he can get. Like it might be the last time.
Is it really that bad?
That's hard to imagine.
But I can't stand the thought of this being the last time. So I knot my hand in his hair and I pull him close.
I kiss him back with everything I have.
I inhale every ounce of him. The taste of coffee on his lips. The smell of his shampoo. The warmth of his fingers on my skin.
When he pulls back, I'm dizzy.
He pours the last few drops of coffee into my mug. Motions to the counter. "One more?"
"Sure." More coffee is always a good idea. And as much as I want to know, I want to wait too. To stay here. In this beautiful, clean, white space where he's pouring his heart out.
Where I understand him and he understands me.
"I got it." He motions for me to stay. Places the French press in the bus tray. Orders another. Waits at the counter.
The sounds of the cafe fill the space. One of those soft rock indie bands. The click of typing. A quiet conversation. Two friends laughing over a TV show. The hiss of the espresso machine.
Finally, the barista finishes with the French press. Ollie drops it at the table. Then he brings over a side of half-and-half and two packets of Sugar in the Raw.
"You used to take it black," I say.
He nods I know.
"Because everything is more intense now?"
"And I don't have the same taste for bitter."
Is it a psychological thing? Or a physiological? Is there a meaningful difference? I know a lot about chemical bonds. But almost nothing about how they affect human behavior.
Maybe next semester. When I take bio-chem. At the moment, all I have is instinct.
It makes sense. Everything more intense. Including the bitter notes in the coffee. And without the rush of neurotransmitters the booze provides—
Sugar is a weak substitute, but it's something.
"You managed half the last one." I pour two cups. Wait until he's fixed his. Hold mine up to toast.
"What to this time?"
The bitter truth? The sweetness of his lips? Softening a blow? I don't know, so I say, "Coffee."
He chuckles. "I'll toast to that." He taps his cup against mine. Takes a long sip. Groans with pleasure.
"That's not fair."
"Oh?"
"This whole—" I try my best imitation of his low, deep groan. "Right before you're supposedly dropping news that might scare me forever."
"I want the odds in my favor." His eyes fix on mine. "I really like you, Luna."
"Thanks."
"And I… you are this bright, beautiful oasis in a land of grey. You are. But it's not just you. It's caring again. Wanting something. Trusting someone."
"You mean I'm not special."
His smile is sad.
"No… I'm glad. That you don't think I'm going to save you."
"You might. But not the way you mean."
"Oh?"
He nods. "You make me want to try. Not just because you're bright and beautiful. And not just because I want to fuck you."
"Only mostly?"
His smile softens. "Because you're a fucking role model. You face shit head-on."
"Uh? No. I'm pretty sure I ran to your house."
"Sure, but did you get wasted and sleep with the nearest hottie?"
"Kinda."
He chuckles. "My ego." He presses his hand to his heart. "That hurts."
"Don't get all Holden on me."
"Okay." His eyes find mine. His smile widens. It's that same look. You're ridiculous in the best possible way. "Was that really why you fucked me?"
"If it was?"
"I'll never get over it." His voice is teasing, but there's a hint of truth in it.
"It didn't hurt. But, uh… I like you too. A lot. So whatever this is… don't fuck it up."
"I'll do my best." Hurt seeps into his voice. He did something bad. Or he thinks he did.
I don't know. Ollie is self-destructive on his best day. And it sounds like this was his worst day.
It must be something. If he stopped drinking.
It must be big.
I swallow a sip of my coffee. Focus on