Author's note: this is the second half of an enemies-to-lovers erotic romance and can be read alone. The first part was told from the perspective of Lexi, and this is Oliver's recounting of the same events. Enjoy!
------
It's Friday night, and I just want to be home, not stuck here in this crowded, noisy bar. But I promised Steve I'd come out with him tonight, so he wouldn't seem like "a creepy loser with no friends"—his words, not mine.
Of course, Steve isn't creepy, nor is he a loser—he's a good guy. Smart and successful. And kind. Loyal too—he's helped me get over a tough situation more than once—so he deserves my time tonight, even if it's inconvenient.
As we drink and chat, as he scans the room and feels out of place, he suddenly runs into a friend of a friend, a beautiful woman who seems to have a bit of a crush on him. I soon notice my presence is no longer required, and I decide to give them some privacy. Steve's smiling and grinning like an idiot, and he definitely wants me gone, immediately, like five minutes ago, and I'm more than happy to oblige.
I pat his back, grin, and murmur, "Good luck," and he grins back. "Thanks, Oliver. I'll see you later."
I politely say my goodbyes, and am about to leave, when I see Lexi at the bar.
Lexi, my smart, sexy, adorable coworker, who I can never resist sparring with. She's sitting alone and looks breathtakingly beautiful. Her bright, glossy hair is pulled back, she's wearing black eyeliner, and her dark lashes frame her beautiful eyes. At the mere sight of her, my cock twitches.
I think about Lexi often, and my thoughts are usually pornographic. Right now, I'm picturing her on her knees, naked. She looks up at me, grips the base of my cock, then smiles and takes me slowly into her wet, willing mouth, her tongue lightly teasing the head of my cock, her eyes wide and bright....
She's probably great with her tongue, too, the little minx. God knows she loves to argue with me. She's creative and talented, continually impressing me with her ideas, with the intense way she persuades others to follow her lead. I love being around her, love seeing her bright, sparkling mind spin and spin.
I know I shouldn't argue with her, shouldn't antagonize her, but I can't fucking resist. The way her eyes narrow at me, the way her nostrils flare, the way she eloquently and
efficiently
tells me I'm wrong—though not in so many words, she's far too classy for that—and the way she thoroughly impresses me and everyone who's lucky enough to be around her. I'm addicted to it all.
Speaking of meetings, I need to stop thinking about fucking her, hard, on the conference room table. My fantasies have become just
a bit
too vivid, and, sooner or later, she's bound to notice that I'm always trying to discreetly hide my hard-on when she's around. I've had to stop sitting next to her—it's just too dangerous to be so close to her.
She's wearing tight jeans tonight, and I nearly groan when I see her firm, round ass in them. I want to grab that ass, worship that ass, and hold onto that ass... when she's on all fours and I'm pounding relentlessly into her and making her moan and cry and scream. Fuck, I'm giving myself a hard-on right here in this crowded bar.
I tell my cock to stop thinking about her as I approach, but then pause and frown when I see she's talking animatedly to the tall, attractive bartender, smiling and pouting seductively at him.
I want her to stop looking at him like that. I want her to look at
me
like that, goddammit, with those fuck-me eyes and that full, pouting mouth. I want to grab her and kiss her and taste her, so passionately, so intensely, so possessively, that from this moment forward she stops looking at all other men like that.
I sit next to her and smile, attempting my most relaxed, friendly tone.
"Mind if I join you? My buddy is over there desperately flirting with a cute girl and it's just too painful to watch."
Why the fuck did I just say that Steve's striking out
? It doesn't even make sense. I guess I just want her to think I'm desperate to get away from Steve, not that I'm desperate to sit next to her. To look at her beautiful face, those beautiful eyes, that beautiful mouth, and
goddammit Oliver, just fucking ask her out already
.
She looks at me and stops smiling.
Damn.
She doesn't want to see me, talk to me, or even spend a minute with me, because I fucking annoy and antagonize and irritate her. And of course, I have no one to blame but myself. Christ, I'm a fucking idiot around her.
"If you want," she says flatly, and clearly
no, she does not want me sitting here
, but I decide to ignore her and sit there anyway. Maybe I can turn things around. Maybe I can finally make a good impression and resist the urge to fight with her every goddamn second that she's around.
I resolve to do better, and just when I'm trying to think of the right friendly-and-charming thing to say, she suddenly tenses and grabs my arm.
"My ex is here. I have to go," she gasps. She's panicked, frozen. I frown when I see how badly her hands are shaking.
I touch her arm and softly say, "Let me walk you out."
I guide her to the door, gently placing my hand on the small of her back.
"I get it," I say softly, even though I'm not quite sure I do. I just see the pain and hurt in her eyes, and I know that expression all too well. So... maybe I do get it, after all.
I notice her hands are still shaking, so there's no fucking way I'm letting her drive home tonight. I want to comfort her, to hold her close and tell her it'll all be ok. A goddamn cliché, I know, but there it fucking is.
"Let me drive you home," I say, and, amazingly, she agrees. I guide her to my car, half-afraid she'll bolt once she remembers she hates me. But she gets in my car without any complaint or protest.
As I drive, I'm quiet, not wanting to probe or pry. If she wants me to know what's going on, she'll tell me. After a bit, she does just that, telling me the jackass had lied about being married and had used Lexi to cheat on his wife. And tonight, there he was at the bar, having dinner with his wife.
No wonder she's so upset. At this very moment, I want to turn the car around, demand she point him out to me, and punch his fucking lights out. I'm not ordinarily a violent man, but in this case, I think it's warranted. He lied. He cheated. He hurt her. He hurt
Lexi
.
With a start, I realize that this is more than just a crush. And, amazingly, I discover that I don't really mind.
I try to find the right words to comfort her. I remind her that she's a strong person and that this is just an echo of the pain he'd already caused her, and, amazingly, my murmured words seem to help. I'm grateful for that, because I don't have the first fucking clue of what to do or say right now.
I must be doing
something
right though, because suddenly, hesitantly, she invites me up for a drink. I'm thrilled, of course.
Oh, Lexi,
I want to say,
I always want to go up for a fucking drink with you
. I just want to be near her, spend time with her, listen to her witty banter, and look at her beautiful smile.
. . . . .
Now, we're in her apartment, and I have to force myself to relax. This is my opportunity to finally convince Lexi that I'm not some juvenile idiot who can't resist the urge to pull her pigtails and snap her bra.
And speaking of her bra... it's slightly chilly in here, and I can most definitely make out the outline of her nipples through her thin t-shirt. I have to force myself to look away, as I ask for a gin and tonic. I also have to discreetly cover my crotch with my arm, so she doesn't see just how hard I'm getting. How hard she's making me.
Fuuuck, Oliver
! Stop it. Just stop. Don't be a jackass. Don't be a goddamn horny jackass. She deserves better than this.
As she hands me the drink, our fingers briefly touch, and it's like a bolt of electricity flashes from her hand to mine. I can't stop grinning at her, but perhaps she'll forgive me that. After all, I'm no longer acting like an immature schoolboy with a crush on a pretty girl. No, I'm behaving like an immature man who is desperately trying not to grab her, throw her down, grind against her, and give her a long, hard kiss.
She picks up her pipe, a smooth glass pipe with orange lines snaking around the sides, presses it to her lips, and I'm completely transfixed. Now, I'm imagining she's on her knees and her lips are on my cock, instead of that goddamn glass pipe. I want to grab the pipe, throw it across the fucking room, and demand she take me in her full, beautiful mouth—right fucking here, right fucking now.
Instead, I ask for a hit. I want some weed, sure, but it's also an excuse as to why I'm looking at the pipe, and her lips, with such intense longing. I hold the pipe as she lights it, her knee lightly brushing against mine. I feel a rush of delight and pleasure coursing through me, and it's not because of the smoke I'm inhaling. No, it's all because of Lexi and how close to me she's sitting.
When I hand the pipe back to her, my fingers accidentally brush hers, and I let them linger for just a moment too long. She reddens and I freeze, worried I've made her uncomfortable.
So, I smile, lightly touch her arm, and say, "You deserve so much better than that jackass. You're smart, talented, and successful." I don't add,
and I want to fuck your brains out
, because then she'd
really
run screaming.
"And beautiful," I say, "though you don't really need a man to tell you that."
She looks away and swallows, and I wonder if I fucked everything up by bringing up her ex. Why did I do that? She probably just wants to forget it ever happened.
"Are you ok? I didn't mean to upset you," I say softly.
She looks at me and shakes her head slowly, clearly blinking back tears, and my heart sinks. I put my arm around her gently, and then, after a few moments, she rests her head against my shoulder, her soft hair gently tickling my neck. I let out a small sigh and hold her against me more tightly.
I hate that she's so upset, but I can't ignore how wonderful it is to have her in my arms. How wonderful
she
is. Her eyes, her smile, her scent, her breath. All of it.
I stroke her hair as I comfort her, unsure of what to say, but saying words, nonetheless. "It's ok. Let me help. Let me make it ok." And I fucking
mean it
. I really do.
And then, after a few moments, she pulls away, and the moment evaporates just as quickly as it had begun. She doesn't want to get too close to me, I can tell, and it hurts more than I ever thought it would.
I try not to look at her the way I
want
to look at her, and merely murmur, "Are you feeling better?"
She gives a small, beautiful smile, and I feel a little better.
