Right Man, Right Time
: Chapter 11

Ollie: What are you up to?

Silas: Stretching my quads.

Ollie: So, riveting stuff, huh?

Silas: Very.

Ollie: Well, I have nothing going on, and I figured since you don’t have anything going on either, we could make some of our story a reality.

Silas: Why am I now scared?

Ollie: Don’t be. But if you’re up for it, come pick me up at my dorm in thirty.

Silas: So . . . I’m going to have to pick you up? How is that fair? Aren’t you the one asking me to do something?

Ollie: It’s not fair. See you in thirty, don’t be late.

Silas: Can I at least ask what the hell we’re doing?

Ollie: I’ll tell you when you pick me up. Now, move along.

“HEY,” I say as I hop in Silas’s car and shut the door. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans, a white shirt, and a denim long-sleeved jacket with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, as well as a very Silas-like scowl. “What’s with the face?” I ask, pressing my fingers to the furrow in his brow.

“What’s with those shorts?”

I glance down at my shorts and back up at him. “Uh . . . nothing.”

“They look like underwear.”

“Could you imagine?” I laugh and buckle up. “God, that would be uncomfortable.” I tug on the sleeves of my cardigan and smile at him.

“Ollie,” he says in a dark, unamused tone.

“What?” I ask, and he gives me a look I don’t appreciate. “I can see that you’re trying to be a controlling asshole at the moment, so I’m going to give you a good ten seconds to change that attitude before I rip you a new one.”

“I’m not trying to be a controlling asshole. I just think those shorts are really short, and if we go somewhere in public, we will have pictures taken of us. Do you want those shorts plastered everywhere?”

“Sure, why not?” I say so nonchalantly that I know it’s killing him. “If people want to stare at my ass, that’s their prerogative. But this bodysuit is comfortable, these shorts are comfortable, and this cardigan gives me all the warmth from the breeze blowing through Vancouver today. Now, unless you have something nice to say, I think we should just forget we had this conversation and move forward.”

He grips the steering wheel tightly, the veins in the back of his hand bulging. “Fine, we can forget it.”

Wow, he’s so convincing. Who knew he would care so much about freaking shorts.

“Are you going to be okay?” I ask. “It looks like you’re about to crack a molar.”

“It’s fine. Just tell me where we’re going,” he responds on a defeated sigh.

I turn in my seat, plaster a large smile on my face, and say, “The zoo.”

His head tilts back and presses against the headrest as he silently says, “Jesus Christ.”

I shake his arm. “Come on. It’ll be fun. And when we say we’ve been to the zoo together, this won’t be a lie anymore. And you know you’re curious about the donkeys.”

“I’m really not.” He looks at the watch on his wrist and says, “And actually, I just remembered I have somewhere I need to be.”

“Liar.” I push at his shoulder. “It will be my treat. I’ll even get you chicken tenders.”

He puts the car in drive. “Wow, I’m really winning today.”

“ARE you really going to be grumpy this whole time?” I ask Silas as I pull him to the side, allowing people to pass us.

“I’m not grumpy,” he says, looking down at his zoo map.

“Uh, yes, you are. You barely spoke to me in the car. You grumbled under your breath when I tried to pay, then slapped my hand away, flinging my credit card to the ground—”

“That was an accident.”

“And now you’re practically trying to insert yourself in that map.”

“I’m looking for the tiger section. I like them.”

I lift his chin with my finger so he’s forced to look at me. “What’s the deal?”

His tongue slips over his teeth before he says, “Are we just going to ignore the fact that you showed me your ass the other day and now you’re in those shorts . . . are you trying to break me?”

“That’s what you’re mad about?”

He grips the back of his neck, causing his bicep to pull at his shirt fabric. “I’m just trying to figure you out. This is platonic, right?”

“Uh . . . yeah. Why?” I tilt my head to the side. “Oh my God, Silas Tater Tot—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Are you falling in love with me?”

“Jesus.” He folds the map and puts it in his back pocket while pushing off the fence.

“You are, aren’t you?” I loop my arm through his. “It’s okay, you can tell me. I promise I’ll be gentle with your heart.”

“You’re fucking annoying, you know that?”

“I can tell you’re trying to deflect, and it’s cute.” I hold him close as we walk down the pathway, shrouds of jungle-like plants lining either side of the walkway. “But I need to remind you, dear Tatery Totty—”

“Seriously, enough with that shit.”

Ignoring him, I continue, “We’re just friends.”

“Uh-huh. And do friends usually taunt their other friends with their asses in saunas?”

“You thought that was taunting?” I pat his arm. “That was just an artful way to show off the human form. Also, we all have butts, nothing new to see.”

“Trust me, that was something new.”

“Are you saying I have a nice ass, Silas?”

“You have a really nice ass.”

A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. “Well, thank you. That means a lot coming from the king of asses.”

He pauses and looks down at me. “King of asses?”

“Oh, have I not mentioned that before? Your glutes are so tight, they could easily crack a walnut.”

He chuckles, and I feel him loosen up. “Not sure about that, but thanks.”

“See.” I shake his arm. “You just needed to loosen up a bit. Anytime you need a compliment to get that fun-motor revving, you let me know. I have a bunch stocked up.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, you know, just things like you have the most amazing pecs I’ve ever seen in my life. Your shoulders are carved like stone, and not to mention the forearm porn you’re offering up today.”

He glances down at his forearms. “They’re pretty nice, aren’t they.”

We both chuckle, and I push him lightly to the side. “Okay, no need to inflate the ego. We have a whole zoo to visit, after all.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have invited me then,” he says, his mouth close to my ear. “Because now I’m going to be insufferable.”

“I COULD DEFINITELY HAUL MORE than that camel,” Silas says as we stare at the very large and beefy camel in front of us.

He has said the same thing about the rhino, claiming he could charge faster.

And the elephant—he could lift more.

And the freaking cheetah—he can run faster.

It’s been terribly annoying.

Maybe this is how he feels when I pester him.

“Yes, my dear Tater Tot, you sure can.” I pat him on the cheek.

“What did I tell you about calling me that?”

“Do it more?” I ask with a charming smile.

“No. Do it less.”

We move away from the camels and head down the path toward the moose. “You can’t tell me no one called you Tater Tot growing up.”

“People did, and I shut them down too.”

“Like who?”

He sticks his hands in his pockets and says, “My grandpa.”

“Stop, you did not shut your grandpa down.”

He smirks. “In my head, I did.”

“Uh-huh, and how did that work out for you?”

“Not great.”

“Can’t imagine why.” We move in front of the moose exhibit and take in the sturdy beast. “Why would you hate that your grandpa called you that? I think it’s adorable.”

“Because I’m a hockey player and back then, I was scrawny when all I wanted was to be big. The nickname Tater Tot wasn’t exactly what I was looking for when all I wanted to be was a big, burly hockey player.”

“Aw, you were scrawny?”

“Very,” he answers.

“For how long?”

He thinks about it for a second, then answers, “When I was a senior in high school, I started to gain some weight, and college helped me pack on the muscle. I was super fast. That was how I got around the ice without getting hurt as much.”

“Are you still the fastest?”

“Sadly, no,” he answers. “Holmes is the fastest on the team. I’m second. That dude floats on the ice. Not sure how he does it.”

“Probably his good looks carrying him around the ice.”

Silas gives me a side-eye that makes me laugh. “What about you? Any nicknames?”

“Just Ollie, which quickly became my regular name. I guess Oliana would be my nickname now, one that you shouldn’t use.” I lift my brow at him.

“You like that I use it, don’t even lie.” He drapes his arm over my shoulder, pulling me in tight and, for a moment, I relish it.

Silas is all kinds of tight-lipped and earnest. He takes things very seriously, holds his cards close to his chest, and never shows weakness, but it’s times like this, when he’s loose and doesn’t mind showing platonic affection, that I truly enjoy. Because I can see his true self, the man he is past the high walls he’s erected over the years to protect his heart.

“I might like it a little.”

He chuckles. “I fucking knew it.”

“HERE WE ARE,” I say as I walk up to the most prestigious domestic donkey I’ve ever seen. “Thought you could use this.” I hand him a small cardboard tray of chicken tenders. “I even made the special sauce you like.”

He doesn’t take the tray. Instead, he just stares at it, and with one brow lifted, he looks up at me. “Is that what you were doing when I was going to the restroom?”

“You should never leave me unattended. You never know what I’ll get up to.” I gesture to the donkey and add, “Isn’t it perfect, though? You, me, donkeys, and chicken tenders. Now if only your fly was . . .”

My voice fades as I glance down at his crotch.

My eyes widen right before I let out an ugly, uproarious laughter that shakes the very ground we stand on.

“What?” he says as he looks down, only to find his fly undone. “Motherfucker,” he swears under his breath as I laugh so hard, I lean against the fence for support.

“Oh my God.” I wave my hand in front of my face as tears tickle my eyes. “You really are the donkey pervert.”

“Can you not? People are fucking looking.”

“Not my fault.” I shake my head, tears now streaming down my cheeks. “Oh shit, I think I’m going to pee myself.” I clench my legs together.

“I did not do that on purpose,” he says through clenched teeth, trying to block me from the onlooking crowd.

“Which makes it even better. Your subconscious knew. Donkey time meant dong out.”

“My . . . my dong was not out,” he whispers.

“But it felt a breeze, didn’t it?” I cough out a peal of laughter, my cheeks hurting.

“You’re real mature. You know that?” He snags the chicken tenders from me and takes a bite of one.

“I’m really not.” I laugh some more, now starting to hee-haw like my friend behind me. “I just . . . cannot believe you had your fly down.” I dab at my eyes. “It’s just such poetic beauty.”

“Glad you’re entertained.”

He moves away from me, and I push off the fence and catch up to him, looping my arm through his again. “Don’t be salty.”

“Easy for you to say, you aren’t the donkey pervert.”

My lip trembles.

I attempt to choke down my laughter, but it’s no use, and I burst out once again. After a few seconds, I say, “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” he replies, but this time, there’s a smile in his voice, and I know I have free range to laugh as much as I want now.

“I BET your fans think you’re this cool guy, a real hockey hero with enough swagger to bag every woman in Vancouver, when, in reality, you’re kind of a dork.”

Silas licks his ice cream cone and says, “As long as they believe I have swagger, that’s all that matters.”

“Not going to fight against the dork comment?”

He shakes his head. “You’ve seen me at my worst now. No point.”

I lick my ice cream as well and lean my head against his shoulder. “If this is you at your worst, then what does it say about me that I like you the best like this?”

He pauses, then puts his arm around me, pulling me close. “That maybe you’re a dork yourself.”

“That’s actually very accurate. I didn’t think anything about me was cool when growing up. I was not popular, did not have or follow the latest trends, and I was never asked out by anyone.”

“Hard to believe,” he says.

“It’s true. I don’t think I hit my stride until college. And that’s when Yonny came along, and we know how successful that relationship was.”

“The makings of long-lasting love,” he jokes as his hand drapes around my arm, and his thumb slowly caresses my skin. The light touch sends a wave of chills up my arms. Even during the years I was with Yonny, he never touched me like this, yet it comes so naturally to Silas, and we’re not even together.

“Yes. Man, could you imagine if I was still with him, if I married him? That would be weird. What would my life be like?”

“What would my life be like if I married Sarah?” he asks.

“Treacherous,” I answer. “Especially since she didn’t appreciate what she had.” Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“I could say the same about Yonny.”

“Yeah, he definitely didn’t appreciate me. I mean . . . I love sucking dick, and he never let me play.”

Silas lightly chuckles. “If you were mine, I’d let you play any goddamn time you wanted.”

“Such a shame I’m only pretend yours, huh?”

“Yeah . . . a shame.” He sighs. “But I appreciate what we have. It’s made life a bit easier.”

“I agree,” I say, even though in the back of my head, I have this little voice saying ask for more. Because I’m curious. I’m curious what it would be like to have his lips as my own. I’m curious what it feels like to hold his hand—not for pretend but for real. And I’m curious what it would be like to sit in this moment with him, eating ice cream, and then to simply kiss his jaw just because I can. “Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we were more?” I ask, just as a wave of nerves hits me from what he might say.

“No,” he answers, and my heart falls. “But only because if I did, I’m not sure I’d be able to hold back.”

“I knew you were falling in love with me.”

“Jesus,” he huffs before taking a bite of his ice cream cone.

I chuckle because that’s better than swooning. “But only because if I did, I’m not sure I’d be able to hold back.” I need a comeback. “Just admit it, Taters.”

“Yup, I’m falling madly, deeply, so far in love with you, Oliana, that I can barely breathe when you’re near.”

“See . . . I knew it.”

I can practically hear his eyes roll.

“THANK you for coming with me today,” I say as we’re in the car. “I needed the company.”

“You did?” he asks when he glances over at me while at a red light.

“Yeah . . . it’s actually the anniversary of my grandma’s death today, and I always try to do something fun.”

“Ollie,” he says, his brow furrowed as he reaches over and takes my hand in his. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t want you to join me because you felt bad for me. I guess I just wanted a normal day, you know?”

“Yeah, I get that.” He brings the back of my hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to my knuckles. It’s new, and I know he’s doing it as a friend to reassure me that he’s there for me, but it doesn’t stop the butterflies that take off in my stomach.

We sit in silence, my hand in his as we drive through the streets of Vancouver back to my dorm. I think about the day and how I teased him awfully but couldn’t stop. How he joked around too, but not as mercilessly as me. How we shared ice cream, his arm wrapped around me protectively. How he tried to shield me from fans vying for his attention. God, he’s popular. The incident with the donkey . . .

It was a mishmash of crazy, by no means a perfect day, but in my heart, it felt perfect.

And that scares me because I feel all warm inside.

He pulls into my dorm parking lot, his hand still holding mine, and instead of dropping me off, he parks his car instead.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m not going to let you be alone. I’ll come up to your room.”

He goes to exit his car, but I stop him. “No. That’s okay. You don’t need to do that.”

“Ollie,” he says, giving me a look as he turns toward me.

“I appreciate the gesture, but if you didn’t know about my grandma, would you have just dropped me off?” He goes to answer, but I add, “Don’t lie to me.”

He huffs out a heavy breath and looks away.

“That’s what I thought. Don’t treat me differently. I’m really okay. I had fun, and I appreciate you going to the zoo with me and making me laugh . . . even if it was at your expense.”

He turns toward me again and says, “No thank you is necessary. We’re here for each other.”

“Not like this,” I say.

“Yes, like this,” he answers as he cups my cheek, his warm, rough palm acting as a comfort blanket.

I lean in to his touch. “This wasn’t part of the deal,” I say.

“Neither was you showing your ass in the sauna, but that happened.”

“Still thinking about that?” I ask.

“Ollie, I’ll be thinking about that for a really fucking long time.”

His thumb rubs over my cheek, and for some reason, I lean toward him, wetting my lips.

My body is reacting to his touch.

To his soft voice.

To his gentleness.

To our proximity.

“Were you mad I left? Would you have preferred I stayed in the sauna with you?”

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’m not sure I should answer that.”

“Because you’re afraid the truth will scare me?” I ask as I glance at his lips.

“No,” he answers as his jaw ticks with tension. “Because we shouldn’t be talking about that.”

“You brought it up,” I say, leaning in closer.

His eyes glance at my lips and then back up, the tension in the car so palpable that I actually can taste it.

I can taste him.

“It’s ingrained in my brain.” His thumb drags over my cheek, down to my mouth, where he tugs on my bottom lip. His body inches closer, and I prepare myself for his kiss.

It’s not like we haven’t kissed before, but this feels different.

This feels real.

This feels like we’re about to cross a line.

I hold my breath, my eyes connected to his.

What I wouldn’t give to taste him again.

To feel his lips against mine.

To have him tug on my hair with his strong hand as he angles my mouth for better pressure.

He takes a deep breath, his eyes flitting back and forth between my eyes and my lips.

God, just do it.

Just kiss me.

End this pounding, aching, searing feeling pulsing through my veins.

And when he leans in another inch, I feel my heart stop . . . just as he pulls away, putting so much space between us that a wave of cold trickles down my spine, as well as embarrassment.

He pushes his hand through his hair and then swears under his breath before gripping the steering wheel.

“Uh, do you want me to walk you up to your room?”

I blink a few times, trying to regain my composure as I shake my head. “Uh, no, that’s okay.”

“Okay,” he says awkwardly.

“Well . . .” I open the door. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He looks straight ahead. “Have a good night.”

Needing to end the awkwardness, I leave the car and head straight to my building, where I push through the heavy doors and take the stairs up to my floor, not wanting to wait for the elevator.

When I reach my room, I let out a large sigh and lean against my door.

God . . . he almost kissed me.

So close.

And I wanted him to.

Badly.

Fuck . . .

Needing to get the smell of the zoo off me, I strip down to nothing and turn on my shower. I take a long, steam-filled shower, making sure to scrub every part of my body. I scrub for longer than I usually do, and I’m not sure if I’m scrubbing to get the zoo off me or if I’m trying to scrub the thought of Silas almost kissing me out of my head. Either way, I smell heavily of lavender, and I still can’t stop thinking about Silas.

When I step out of the shower, I wrap the towel around my torso and lotion up before heading into the main part of my room. I drop the towel and flop back on my bed, naked.

Staring up at the ceiling, I feel my body itching, needing that release, so I reach over to my nightstand just as my phone lights up with a text.

Silas.

I grab my phone and my vibrator and lay back down on the bed. I check the text first.

Silas: I’m sorry.

That’s it.

That’s all he said. Not sure I would expect more. I’m usually the one leading the conversation.

Ollie: Sorry for what? Almost kissing me?

Silas: Yes.

With one hand, I take the vibrator and move it down to my slit as I part my thighs.

With the other hand, I text him back.

Ollie: I wanted it just as much as you.

Silas: Ollie . . . don’t.

I switch on my vibrator.

Ollie: Don’t what?

Silas: You’re tempting me again.

Ollie: Tempting you would be telling you that as I text right now, my other hand is holding a vibrator against my clit.

I sink into the feel of the vibration, knowing damn well it’s not going to take long.

Silas: Fuck . . . don’t say that shit.

Ollie: Why? Does it turn you on?

Silas: You know damn well it does.

Ollie: Well . . . let it turn you on. You might not be able to kiss me, but you sure as hell can dream about it. Happy masturbating, Silas.

Silas: Fuck . . . me.

I drop my phone to the side and smile to myself as my orgasm starts to climb.

Not sure what’s happening between us, but what I do know is that I’m getting under his skin. At this point, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

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