Page 76 of Sort of Seeing Someone

“Sure. After all, I’ve never been trick-or-treating. And I really love Kit-Kats.”

I stare at him as I ponder the option. Do I want spend more time with Ollie? Of course. Do I want that time to be defined by two kids dressed up as god-knows-what on perpetual sugar highs? No. But if that’s what it takes…

“Fine. Come over around three tomorrow?”

“Perfect. I’m excited. Oh, and I should have asked earlier. Did you want to see the rest of my place?” he asks as I put the finishing characters on my text back to Nora. “It’ll take about thirty seconds but I can give you the grand tour if you’d like.”

There’s a twinkle in his eye that I haven’t seen before. Perhaps it has something to do with his bedroom being part of the “grand tour.” Or, maybe he just wants to show me how to install a toilet flapper?

“I’d love to.”

It doesn’t take long for the tour of his apartment to lead to a semi-predictable stop in his bedroom. I take a seat on the edge of his bed as he peruses his dresser drawers for a fresh t-shirt to change into. Once he’s fully-clothed again (womp, womp), he sits down next to me.

“So that’s the place,” he says. “What do you think?”

“I’d definitely rent it for at least double what the guy was getting before.”

“Just wait until I install the bidet. I’ve got to put my European touch onsomethingin this apartment.”

“Me?”

The suggestion that Ollie make a move on me comes up like acid reflux. I can’t take it back. Nor can I tell if he finds it flirty or cringeworthy.

Ollie cocks his head to the left and looks at me, contemplating my invitation. His sweet, deep stare into my eyes makes me wonder what visions of his own he’s seeing right now, as a soft smile sprouts from his mouth. He may be taking his time, but I am no longer worried he’s going to reject my invitation to advance.

“Come here,” he finally says, as he abruptly pushes my lips to meet his.

As I’ve said before, I find marching orders from Ollie to be incredibly sexy.

When our lips lock, the air gets sucked out of the room in the best possible way. I immediately throw my hands around the back of his neck like I’ll be in some sort of a freefall if I don’t hang on tightly. His hair feels soft between my fingers. He puts his strong hands behind my back and gently guides my head toward his pillow.

This is my new favorite first kiss.

Once we’re laying down, Ollie slings a leg over mine. He takes little breaks between passionate swirls with his tongue. His hand finds mine and we interlace fingers. It’s too soon to tell if clothes will come off, but I’m pleased to report that what is staying on is my smudge spray. I seenothingwhen I close my eyes and continue to kiss him.

Mere moments into this, and I can already tell Ollie is a pro—his style is delicate, yet intentional. As much as I try to stay in the moment, my mind can’t help but wonder what the full Ollie Experience is like. How swift can he unhook a bra? What color is his underwear? What does his tongue feel like in other places? I want answers.

Be patient,I tell myself as I return to the present. It’s the reminder I need to put some real stock into the power of my future visions. I saw us together, so it will happen. That is my gift, after all.

22

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Harry fucking Potter?”

There he stands, donning an oversized black cloak with a satin interior. A maroon scarf with golden-yellow stripes is draped around his neck. Round glasses without any lenses in them encircle his pretty eyes. He’s got a fake wand in his right hand, and a plastic pumpkin bowl with a handle in the other.By all accounts, Olrik Zetterlind is ready to make Halloween his bitch.

“It was the last costume in my size left on the shelves at Target. Don’t judge.”

“I’m not. But the lightning bolt scar on your forehead is backwards FYI. Come on in,” I finally say.

“And what are you going as?” he asks as he follows me to the giant sofa in the living room.

I say nothing, but rather glance down at my outfit: black leggings and an off-the-shoulderblack sweater.

“Well then good thing I got you a costume, too,” he says back.

“You shouldn’t have,” I sarcastically say.

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