Page 4 of Strange Lad

Cards? Check.

Cell phone in case Phoenix needs me? Check.

For once, I hope he doesn’t need me…at least not for a few hours.

Despite loving a good hero moment, I selfishly don’t want to be interrupted. In the past, I’d be almost willing it into the universe because I love being needed and wanted.

That need is being fulfilled currently, and for once, I want that feeling to last more than a small period of time.

I want it to last forever.

Oliver’s place is a tiny studio disguised as a house in the back of a duplex thing. Not sure how else to describe it. I’m not a house person.

The paint is old and crusty, and the rain gutter is warped and hanging from the roof, but it’s all he could afford once he got clean. Not that I’d ever judge him for it.

I wiggle through the overgrown palms lining the short walkway to his front door, shuffling the bags in my hands and keeping my box of cards wedged under my arm.

Maybe I shouldn’t have brought so much. How am I supposed to tackle him into a hug?

Damn it. Now I’m sad.

My heart hurts because I really wanted to hug him—just yank him into my arms and squeeze the living fuck out of him. I don’t think anyone does that for him anymore…

Get it together, man.

I knock on the door with the tip of my shoe, endless flutters in my belly. My nose tingles, the telltale sign that I’m getting too emotionally worked up, so I try to slurp them back inside. It’s always been a problem for me, I swear.

Oli opens the door, and I smile through the water forming in my eyes because he looks even better than the last time I sawhim. His neatly trimmed blond beard hugs his square jaw, and his hair is longer and pulled into a low ponytail. His clothes are clean and new.

Fuck, he's beautiful.

“Hi!” he says excitedly, smiling big and bright, and backs up so I can get through the threshold.

“Sorry, it took forever. The baggage claim was ass, and then I had to shower because I smelled like airplane, andthenthere was traffic,” I ramble, setting all my stuff down on the old coffee table that doubles as his dining table.

It smells like him in here. It’s so familiar that I can’t help but take a greedy inhale before facing him.

It smells like home.

Oliver’s green eyes sparkle in amusement. My heart lurches seeing him in the flesh again. I really missed the dude—missed him so fucking much.

As my fingers twitch and the stupid smile on my face brightens, probably making me look like the Joker, I take a step forward. Oh, it’s happening one way or another. I need to get my hands on him.

“Jorge,” he warns.

“Come on! It’s been three months,” I whine, still creeping closer.

“Don’t even try it. Remember last time?”

I scoff, another step. Then another. “Just let me do it. If I get it out of my system, we can get into the game and forget all about it.”

He swallows, backing away. “I won’t.”

“It’s not that bad. I even put on deodorant!”

His dirty blond hair shakes with the jerk of his head, some strands slipping free. “It’s not that.”

I crouch, my intent clear, and he yelps when I lunge.

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