You can’t, he signs, shaking his head and holding my gaze.It’s against the rules.
Now I’m the one rolling my eyes.You’re not the boss of me, Ollie Jablonski. No one is. And in case you didn’t know, rules and I don’t get along. I break eye contact with him, scanning the drink menu code with my phone so I can decide on my first legal alcoholic beverage.
In a move that both frustrates me and ignites a fire low in my belly, he tips my chin up so I’m forced to meet his eyes.You and I don’t get along, either, Fallon, but we’re still gonna have a drink together. We have to. It’s bad luck if we don’t.
No it’s bad luck to piss off a girl who has a headache and wants to go to bed.
A server passes by and turns to Ollie because he’s the best looking guy in this room. I have no doubt that several other tables have been trying to get her attention for the last ten minutes or so, but of course she ignores them and zeroes right in on Ollie. I can’t blame the woman, but still.
He places an order and hands a credit card to our server, but it’s so loud in here that I can’t make out what he’s saying. I check my phone to see if Booker will be here soon, but he hasn’t texted. I’m sure he’s caught up in celebrating, but if Ollie ordered me an IPA, I’m dumping it on his head and going to bed. Ok, that seems wasteful. I’ll let him drink it, but I’m still going up to bed.
Ollie nudges my arm.What are you thinking about? You look like you’re either cramming for a test or plotting my death.
A girl can’t multitask? I sign back.Honestly, though, I’m thinking about going to sleep. If Booker doesn’t show up soon, I’m heading upstairs.
You can’t go yet. Your drink hasn’t arrived.
What part of ‘I have a headache and want to go to sleep’ don’t you understand?
The look Ollie gives me is so genuine that it threatens to crack the protective armor I use as a shield whenever he’s around.I understand every word, Fallon,he tells me, his fingers moving smoothly from word to word. Do you want to take your hearing aids out? Or do you want me to run up to my room to grab some ibuprofen? I’ll do whatever you want, but please stick around for one drink. It’s a nightcap. And not just any nightcap—it’s a happy birthday one.
He's so sweet sometimes that it kills me. And confuses me. But technically, it’s still Saturday night, so I protest.It’s not my?—
Ollie scoops up his phone, unlocks the screen, and hands it over.
12:01
Well, shit.
As though she knows the time or simply hustled back over here to see Ollie again, our server drops off our drinks. Mine is frothy with a sugared rim and a lime garnish, whereas Ollie’s is a vibrant purple with mint leaves on the side.
Happy birthday, Fallon, he signs before raising his drink and clinking it with mine.
I take a sip, and I have to admit that Ollie got it right. The smooth, creamy drink tastes like a peach sundae and it’s heaven on my lips.
Ollie smiles at me with a knowing look as he signs,You love it, don’t you?
I could lie, but that wouldn’t be fair to this most delicious beverage, so I come clean.Okay, this is actually delicious. What’s it called?
Ollie’s grinning like he just won the Frozen Four again.It’s a peaches and cream margarita. Do you want a sip of mine? It’s a blueberry margarita, and since you allegedly have a newfound love for blueberries, maybe we should trade?
Good luck prying this from my cold dead hands, I tell him.When I die, I’m taking this into the afterlife with me. It’s that good.
No need to get dramatic,he teases, I’m sure our server will stop by soon and I’ll get you another.
I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips. Oh, I’m sure our server will stop by. I think you’re the only customer in the room who’s actually got her attention.
Ollie lifts his hands, and I can tell he wants to deny it, but then he laughs, too.Are you complaining?
Nope, not at all. But does it ever get old?
Lines appear on his forehead as he looks at me with confusion.Does what ever get old? Ordering drinks or sparring with you?
Option C,I answer, Women blatantly throwing themselves at you.
He’s quiet for a minute and I wonder if I’ve taken us down a conversational road we can’t back out of. Yes, it’s loud and crowded in here, but I’ve turned my hearing aids down and my headache isn’t getting any worse. Maybe the peaches and cream margarita has healing powers.
He hasn’t answered me yet, and I’m sure it’s because we both remember women throwing themselves at him—and onto his dick—the night we met. I won’t say the memory doesn’t sting but it was unfair of me to bring it up, so I do my best to steer us in another direction and I ask something that’s been on my mind for a while.How are you so good at ASL? Did you take it in high school like JT did?
