The Twenty Year Triangle

Chapter Twelve

I launch myself at him. I don't think. Hell, I don't even look at him. I just lunge for him and wrap my arms around his neck.

I'm surprised I don't knock him over, but he seems sturdier than he used to be. He's stiff for a long moment, maybe stunned. I realize he might push me away, and the tears start to fall down my cheeks onto his shoulder.

"It's okay," Olly whispers, and then he wraps his arms around me, and I bury my head against his shoulder as he takes a deep breath. I probably smell like tequila and sweat, but... I don't even care. It's him, it's Olly. I never thought I'd see him again.

He smells different; no longer like the ocean-scented soap Kris bought mixed with that lotion he used for his sensitive skin. Now he smells woodsy like cedar or maybe sandalwood but kind of spicy too, his cologne, I assume, but there's still a hint of something familiar in his scent, something that's just Olly. He squeezes me tighter, and I realize how strong he is now.

He's not a teenager anymore. He's a grown man.

"It's been fifteen years," I mutter, stiffening in his arms as reality hits me. All my relief gives away to my anger towards him. I let go and push his chest, he doesn't budge, but he lets go of me, and we're standing in front of each other. Ironically in the very room, it all went so wrong.

I go speechless as I fully take him in for the first time, the room is dark, but there's a light coming in the window from a streetlamp, and it bleeds into the room well enough to see. He's not the eighteen-year-old, tall, skinny teen I last saw.  His shoulders have broadened, and his arms are fit and toned, shown off in a navy-blue button-down with rolled-up sleeves. It's tucked into a pair of matching dress slacks.

I for one, always thought Olly was cute, even before the other girls started to see it. But that word doesn't work anymore; his face has matured, filled out, and hardened; with some fine lines, that only make him look so... well handsome. He's incredibly handsome. So much so, it's hard to see the dorky but adorable kid he once was.

His once unruly dark blonde hair is now styled in a modern, flattering cut, it's short and shaved close on the sides, and the back, but his front is kept longer and slicked slightly back and slightly off to the side. The few pieces that stick out give him a sexy edge. His glasses are gone, and his once big soft brown eyes are harder, shadowed, and guarded. The big goofy smile that always rested on his face is nowhere to be found, his jaw is firm, his full lips set in a frown. That, along with his razor stubble, adds to this mix of handsome with just enough rugged that defines the adult version of Oliver Stone. It's overwhelming to take in, and I blink a few times as I do. 

"You, okay?" Olly breaks the silence.

The tears have subsided, but the streaky mess on my cheeks remains, and I'm sure I look like a total mess.

"Am I okay?" I sigh as I try and find the words even to begin. "That's a loaded question, Olly,"

"It's Oliver."

"Excuse me?" I take a step back, and so does he. He crosses his arms, flexing his tanned forearms.

"I don't go by that anymore. It's just Oliver now." There's an impassive expression on his face, and I can't read it. 

"You can't be serious, Olly. I called you that since—"

"I am. It's Oliver," he says in a firmer tone voice, and I can't hide the way I cringe.

"Don't be a dick, Oliver," Hunter speaks up, and I nearly jump. I forgot for a second that he was still here.

"Was I talking to you?" Olly... er, Oliver looks up sharply at Hunter, who steps closer to us.