Page 30 of Oliver
Her reaction was too extreme for someone who simply wanted to avoid an awkward reunion with an ex.
What had Ryan done to her?
The thought burned. Sank its teeth in.
Not professional. Not part of the contract. Not my place.
But some things ran deeper than ink, deeper than contracts, deeper than logic.
And the next time someone made Zahra flinch like that? I’d burn their whole fucking world down.
Ten
ZAHRA
The flightfrom Seattle to Norman Regional Airport stretched in tense silence, the hum of the plane’s engine filling the void where conversation should have been.
I adjusted my grip on the armrest, the leather cool under my fingers, and stole a glance at Oliver. His eyes were fixed on his laptop screen, a steady hand jotting notes in his TA planner, and his jaw set like he was solving a complex equation in his head.
Last night’s argument lingered. His sharp reaction to blind spots in my schedule, the way his voice had softened after my flinch, the unspoken weight of the truths he’d picked up on. I told myself we were prepared, and our story was rehearsed to perfection. This was fine. Just play the part.
The airport came into view, its single terminal seemed smaller than it was a couple of weeks ago. Or maybe it was Oliver’s presence, reminding me that my world had gotten bigger, more complicated.
I adjusted the strap of my bag, Oliver’s stoic stance beside me was a steady pressure I couldn’t shake. As we stepped out, hishand found the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd with a reassurance that felt too warm, too firm, too dangerously close to real. I straightened, smoothing my blouse.
“This is fine,” I whispered to myself, focusing on the polished floor beneath my feet. "We’ve got this."
But our near-fracture sat heavy on my shoulders. The way Oliver looked at me when we said goodbye. The way I'd wanted to touch him but didn't. The way my pulse quickened at the memory of his closeness. The forgotten words he’d claimed were meaningless, but I couldn't let go of.
Baggage claim was chaos. Voices overlapping, luggage clattering, the air thick with post-flight energy. And then?—
"Zazi!"
My cousin Parisa barreled toward me first, her squeal piercing the din as she threw her arms around me.
“Pari!” I squeezed her back with equal enthusiasm. “You didn’t need to come all the way to the airport.”
She waved me off, then held me at arm's length, her hands firm on my shoulders and her dark eyes sparkling. “Look at you, so put together.” Then she nudged me with a wink. “Good thing I know better.”
I laughed, the sound only slightly forced. "And you look amazing. The bride-to-be's glow is real."
“You know it,” Parisa said with a little shimmy. Then her gaze shifted to Oliver, who stood with perfect posture, his expression warm but reserved, and his hand still firmly on my back. The model boyfriend, ready for inspection.
"And if it isn’t Oliver Beck," she said, reaching for him with both hands. "All grown up."
Oliver accepted her hug with practiced ease. "It’s good to see you again, Parisa."
"Better than good," Parisa squeezed his shoulders, then paused, her eyes widening as she repeated the motion. "Damn,Zazi! If I’d known little Ollie Beck had this kind of muscle potential, I’d have told you to jump him years ago.”
“Parisa!”
Mortified couldn’t begin to describe what I was feeling, my face burning so hot I thought I might spontaneously combust. But Oliver? He was laughing, arm slung casually over Parisa’s shoulder as he set me with a teasing glare.
“And if I’d known you were this much fun, I’d have picked you as my BFF.”
“Hey!” The indignation was real, even though I knew his comment was part of an act.
“Oooooh, burn!” And now they were both doubled over, wiping tears from the corners of their eyes.
