Author’s Summary: It's a challenge. One week. Lily's hanging out with the Marauders. But trying to keep up with four seventeen year old boys isn't that easy. "If I win you don't ask me out. At all. Never again." "And if I win, you're my girlfriend." This'll be interesting.
Words: 90,098
Chapters: 28
Completed: Yes
A James and Lily Compendium Notes: Lily spending the week as a Marauder. I like this a whole lot. I enjoy the depth and the characterisation of James and Lily. I also enjoyed that the author didn’t wait until right at the end for any Jily action! This fic made me smile a whole lot.
Jump right into the middle of a marriage law fic with Fred and Hermione. A story of firsts. It's awkward, it's sweet, it's fluffy, and it's all in the name of an outrageous law.
Ron is getting married, and, contrary to popular belief, Hermione is not heartbroken. In fact, with another Weasley keeping her company, Ron’s the farthest thing from her mind.
She paused. "What did you think this was?" she asked. "Last night."
He pulled a hand through his hair, mussing it even further. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I've never done this before. I just thought...you'd stick around, we'd talk about it, maybe go to breakfast together."
She looked at him curiously. "By 'this' you mean a one night stand?" she said.
He shook his head. "I've never done this before," he repeated.
I was going to tell her. I seriously was. I had the words on a continuous loop through my mind all through the drive over to the plaza. I muttered them to myself at every stoplight. I pulled into the parking and turned off the radio, punching the button a little harder then necessary. I dragged my hands over my face, flipped down the visor and stared at myself.
“You should have picked her up,” I said. “You should have picked her up. You’re such an idiot.” I pulled at my collar, wondering if the shirt would be a telltale. It didn’t matter, I reminded myself. I was telling her. So it didn’t matter. I turned my collar up and took a whiff, trying to determine whether or not my cologne was too strong.
You’d think by my second year of university I could figure how to dress myself. This was the first time I hadn’t asked her opinion on what to wear before heading out the door though. Typically I at least got a text message from her, whether I asked her opinion or not. She usually dressed me. Which tonight she had, too, inadvertently. I wore the dark blue shirt she said looked good with my skin tone, the jeans she said girls liked to check out my butt in when I wore them, and the shoes she came with me to pick out for my seventeenth birthday.
She’d probably notice, too. She was observant like that. She’d probably notice, tell me I looked nice, and that I took her advice, but she probably wouldn’t notice why I looked nice. She probably wouldn’t notice the fact that I was wearing her earring around my neck. The earring I’d given her for her fifteenth birthday, there’d been two of them then, and the earring she’d given me to hold on to convinced she’d lost its significant other in my basement. She told me to keep it until I found its other half and then return them both to her. It had become a tradition now, that every time she’d come over, she’d get down on all fours on my basement rug and search with her nose to the frame of the futon to look for it. And then she’d sit up, say she was sorry for losing it, and take her place next to me to watch whatever old-school, terribly acted, and poorly written movie she’d recently discovered. It was when I, for a brief period, misplaced the one half of the pair we did have that she bought me a pair of thin black shoelaces and strung the silver, pinky-ring-sized butterfly hoop onto one and had me jokingly wear it as a necklace. I wore it for a week to appease her, took it off when Trevor Lupe pointed it out to the entire boys’ locker room, and then put it back on come my gym-class-free second semester, though from then on I ensured that it was tucked under my under-shirts.
I honestly hadn’t thought about the other half to the earring in forever. She hadn’t come over to watch a movie since junior year, the night before she moved to Ottawa. When I found out we were going to the same university—that she was coming back to Toronto—that was when I’d dug up the shoelace. But I’d only been focused on the one silver hoop then. It was the only one that mattered. Up until then, I’d always looked at it like a sad, hopeless symbol. Lost without its pair. Pretty much indefinitely on its own. Not anymore.
Except, neither was I at the time. I was dating Alice Chen. Alice Chen who always stole my gum and tasted like an ashtray. Alice Chen who said my taste in music was atrocious and only ever did fun things ironically. There were a lot of things I had to pretend I didn’t love when I was with Alice Chen. A lot of bands, a lot of movies, cars, books, packaged food, and coffee. Unless it was black. I was allowed to like coffee if it was black. But I wasn’t allowed to like her.
In the end, Alice Chen caught me eating a sleeve of Oreos, and got into a one-sided screaming match with me about processed foods. I like to think I broke up with her, but in all honesty, she was the one who said it was over. I was just the one who put a whole Oreo in my mouth while she read off the ingredients to me. Liberty had never tasted so deliciously processed.
“Best decision you’ve ever made, thus far,” I said, still speaking to my reflection.
“What was?”
I startled and Melody’s laugh sounded beside me. She was standing next to my car, her hands braced on my rolled down window.
My well-practiced words left me. “Nothing,” I said. Her bike was chained in front of the pizza place.
“Wearing that shirt?” she guessed. “That was a good decision.” She flipped my visor back up. “You look fine,” she said. She frowned, that dimple at the left of her mouth appearing. “You got my text though, didn’t you?” she asked. “Lydia cancelled? I was hoping you’d get it before but…did you not see it? I’m sorry. She said something came up with her brother.”
“I got the text,” I told her.
“Oh,” she said. “You didn’t reply.”
“I’d already told Tony that we were coming in,” I said. She stepped back as I rolled up the window and got out of the car, locking it twice. “So,” I said. This was it. This was where I should have told her.
“Where’s…where’s, um, Dan?” she asked.
“Dave,” I corrected. “His name’s Dave. And, uh, he couldn’t make it either actually. His aunt came into town.”
“Really?” she asked. She shook her head with a laugh. “Well,” she said, “I guess our two twosomes have become two onesomes.”
“Or one twosome,” I said.
Melody smiled, linking her arm with mine. “I suppose so. Just you and me then. Like every other Friday night.”
“Yep.” You, coward. You stupid, effing coward. Tell her.
We began to walk. “So, what’s the plan?” she asked.
“Golf,” I told her. “Of the miniature variety.”
She looked up at me, her dark eyes narrowing, her lips pressed together in that childish Melody smile. “Really?” she asked. “So you could show off your prowess at a game designed for children.”
I grinned at her.
“On the bright side,” she said, “mini golf remains to be our thing. Which is probably better for our would-be dates.”
“Our thing?” I echoed.
“Yeah,” she said. “You don’t remember? That summer, we must’ve been, like, seven. Every Sunday afternoon, your dad used to drive us to that mini golf place by your mom’s office.”
I did remember that actually. It wasn’t every Sunday as she seemed to recall, more along the lines of every other Sunday, but I did remember an outdoor course with a giant windmill and a pond full of golf balls. I smiled at the fact that she remembered it so well.
“Well,” she went on, “I just remember keeping track of all your hole in ones. I’ve never seen anyone master anything so quickly. You could have been the next Tiger Woods.”
“If only I’d stuck with it,” I said.
“Every time I see a golf course, I think of you.”
I had no response to that aside from my uncontrollable grin. “You look great,” I told her, nodding at her long grey skirt and purple t-shirt.
“Thank you,” she said.
“And you cut your hair.”
“I did,” she confirmed. It was shorter now, her ponytail only brushing the nape of her neck and she was no longer flicking her bangs from her eyes. “I saw Garrett first thing this morning. What do you think?”
“I like it,” I said honestly. “It suits you. Kind of like how it was in sixth grade.”
“You’re telling me I look twelve again?” she asked, slightly affronted.
I shook my head. “You look beautiful, Mel.”
“Thanks, Matty.”
We got into the place. It was disco night, and Tony had on a blue Afro wig and what could only be described as a pirate’s shirt. I collected the putters while she grabbed golf balls. Orange for me, green for her.
Friday night meant that the majority of the people on the two-story course were preteens. Annoying. And giggly.
“Could you just pretend you’re not so good at this?” Mel asked. “If you keep this up we’ll be done the whole course before I finish telling you about Professor Chadwick.”
“With the way you’re playing?” I asked. “We’ll be here a while. Don’t worry.”
“Hey!” she exclaimed.
“Oh, come on.”
”Don’t be mean.”
I laughed as we moved on to the next hole and she lined up to take her shot. I tried to keep my eyes off of her as she bent, trying to figure out the angles. Her shirt rode up to show a wide band of the small of her back, her Venus dimples as cute as ever.
There was a whistle behind me as she stood and then leaned over slightly to putt.
I glanced back at the preteen boys with their pants around their knees. Okay, maybe not their knees, but pretty damn close and definitely below their asses. The girls beside them were whispering to each other.
Melody was oblivious to it all Unaware as always, she was springing her way over to the fake boulder and trying to get her ball out of the corner without cheating.
A second later she was calling, “Four shots!” and I easily took her word for it, scribbled it on the score card and then set up my own putt.
I startled as she laughed beside me, my shot going wonky and rolling to a slow halt about a metre from the hole. I looked at her. “Did you do that on purpose?” I asked.
”What?” she asked.
”That was my first bad shot all night,” I said. “You distracted me.”
”Oh,” she said, genuinely surprised. “I’m sorry. You can go again. I was just looking at the…” She subtly tilted her head in the direction of the immature group.
”Ignore them,” I said.
”You don’t want to talk to them?” she asked with a smile.
”You want me to talk to them?” I asked in surprise.
Her eyebrows drew together. “Matt, I was kidding,” she said. “Those girls must be fourteen.”
”Girls?” I asked. “I was talking about the boys.”
”Well, I might be mistaken,” she started, “but I’m pretty sure it’s not the boys who are checking you out.”
”Me?” I repeated. “You.”
”What?”
”Just, don’t bend so much,” I muttered.
”Excuse me?”
My cheeks went flush. “They keep staring,” I told her.
”They are not.”
”Yes, they are.”
She looked thoughtful a second. “Do me a favour,” she said.
”Anything.”
”Wink at them.”
”Except that.”
”Come on. Please?”
”What exactly does that do for you?” I asked.
”Endlessly amuse me,” she replied. “Come on. Just throw them a wink and a smile and then we’ll move upstairs.” She gestured to the next level. We’d be skipping the ninth hole.
”No.”
”Please?” she tried again. “For me?”
I sighed, rolled my eyes, and then turned, winked and shot what I hoped was a convincing, though likely dripping with sarcasm, grin.
She waved at the group and then took my hand and tugged me to the stairs.
”I think I might’ve blinked at them,” I said.
”Close enough,” she told me. “Now go on. It’s your putt.”
#
The game was done within the next hour and by the time we got outside it was seven thirty and getting dark.
She was still laughing about how the girls came up to me at the end of our game as we stepped outside.
”It’s kind of rude of them really,” she said. “I mean, for all they know, we’re dating. They were hitting on another girl’s boyfriend.”
I laughed, though it fell a little flat.
”Well, that was fun,” she said. “Thank you. And you really didn’t have to pay for—”
”Would you drop it?” I asked. “It’s no big deal.”
”Really?” Mel asked. “No big deal?”
I shrugged.
”Okay,” she said. “Well, I should get going. Can’t be riding home in the dark.”
Damn it to hell. Why didn’t I pick her up?
”I thought we could grab a bite,” I said. “Pizza or something.” When she still looked hesitant, I added, “You don’t have to bike home. I’ll bike. You can drive.”
“Seriously?” she asked. “You’d let me drive your car?”
“Sure,” I said, though even as I agreed I was starting to rethink it. She really wasn’t the best driver. Mostly due to lack of experience, seeing as she preferred to bike everywhere that was close enough, but still. She panicked every time she had to make a left turn.
She must’ve seen the hesitation in my expression because she laughed and shook her head. “It’s fine. I’ll bike.”
I debated. I mean, my car wasn’t new by any means, but it was still in good condition. I could trust her to get it home in one piece.
“I’ll walk with you,” I said.
“Yeah?” she asked.
I nodded. “You bike. I’ll walk with you. I’ll get the car in the morning.”
“It’s kind of far to walk back to campus,” she said. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” I said. “Come on.”
The place was already closing when we got our food; so rather than sit at the counter and keep the owners, we started home while eating.
It was very impressive. She’d folded her pizza in half and was biking one-handed, eating as we went along, our carton of fries in her little faded pink basket attached to the front of her Y handlebars. She pedaled slowly, and surprisingly steadily, as I strolled beside her, my own slice in hand, cheese all but dripping off the sides.
“So,” Melody said. “What about Matty?”
“What about Matty?” I asked back.
“You tell me.” She grinned at me, reached into her basket, and popped a fry in her mouth.
I told her about classes, the latest stories about my roommate, my mom’s last craft project and the things I was considering of getting my brother for his birthday. She told me about the ongoing fight she was having with the girl across the hall about a bottle of shampoo, the all-nighter she pulled for her last essay after her ancient laptop had crashed, the high school senior who was stalking the girl who sat next to her in her film class.
We managed to simultaneously talk about everything and nothing at all. Our voices became quieter and quieter the darker it got and pretty soon a giant moon hung silvery in the sky and we were on campus, heading towards Thompson residence.
”Are you sure you don’t want to go your way first?” she asked.
I laughed. “I can walk myself home,” I said. “Thanks.”
”Well, I’m on a bike,” she said. “I can get back in a jiffy.”
”A jiffy?” I repeated. “How long would that be?”
She shook her head. “You know what I mean. It isn’t the safest thing to be walking around by yourself.”
”Exactly. That’s why I’m walking you home.”
”Just because I’m a girl and you’re a boy doesn’t make me helpless and you invincible.”
”No,” I agreed. “But it isn’t safe and I am concerned and gallant. Let me have this peace of mind.”
”Fine.” She smiled and I could tell my insistence didn’t really offend her. “But you have to text me once you get in.”
Her concern was endearing. “Sure,” I agreed.
We got to her residence and she locked up her bike. I followed her to the door. She pushed it open and leaned back against it, looking at me. “Tonight was fun,” she said.
I nodded.
”You paid for my pizza.”
I shrugged.
”And my mini golf.”
”Sure.”
”Matty, there is no Dan, is there?”
”Dave,” I corrected.
”Dave?”
I nodded.
”There is a Dave?” she asked.
”Sure there is,” I said.
She seemed hesitant to say what she did next. “Lydia told me you asked her not to come.” She stared down at her toes. “So…” She looked up and met my eyes, her own dark and wide and unshielded. “You can either explain,” she said slowly, “or give me Dan’s number. Now.”
Lydia, I thought. I should’ve known not to trust her. When she said she wouldn’t tell, she looked a little too excited. I sighed, kicking at a pebble. It bounced past Melody and skidded across the threshold. “The thing is,” I said finally, “his name’s Dave. Not Dan. And there is a Dave, but he lives across the hall from me, rarely spends time outside his room, and he’s about as interesting as a brick.”
”Do you have his number?” she asked carefully.
”You want his number?” After that description?
She pulled nervously at her left earring, and I felt the single metal hoop warm against my chest. “I want to know what’s going on,” she said.
There was a stretch of silence. “I’m sorry,” I offered.
She waited.
”I’m just a little bit in love with you.” The words were out before I could filter, and once they were processed, my eyes shut tightly.
”A little bit in love with me?” she repeated.
I opened one eye, caught her slight smile, and took it as a good sign. I opened the other eye. Nodded.
”I always thought it was more of an in or out situation,” she said.
”Well…are you in or out?” I asked. “I mean…is there any chance that you might feel the same—”
She shook her head and my heart sunk low to my stomach. “I’m a lot in love with you,” she said.
”Really?”
”Well…yeah,” she said. “I mean, I liked you before I left for Ottawa. But I was leaving for Ottawa. But since I’ve been back, and we picked up just like we left off…I’ve more than liked you for a while.”
This was news to me. I think my jaw hung open. “Why…why the hell didn’t you say anything?” I asked.
She threw her hands up. “I was trying to give you time!” she exclaimed. “You just broke up with Alice. I didn’t want to swoop in while you were still trying to get over her. I…I didn’t want to be—to be a rebound or something. So I was just trying to be a good friend. Until maybe you were ready? And then you suggested a double date. So, I mean, I thought that meant you weren’t interested in me that way, so I picked Lydia. I honestly was kind of hoping you wouldn’t hit it off. She hates mini golf. But then she cancelled. And she said you told her to. And she thought it was because you wanted to be alone with me. But I thought it was because you still weren’t ready to date again. But then Dan—Dave, whatever his name is. He didn’t show up either. And…I thought…I hoped…that Lydia was right.” She ended quietly, smiling at me with something I could only read as hope.
”I’ve been over Alice Chen from the moment she asked me to stop hanging out with you,” I said. “Since the second you came back. I never even meant to date Alice Chen! We hung out once, she made out with me, and then suddenly she had all these rules and was telling me where to meet her every day. I was trapped!”
She rolled her eyes. “You were not trapped.”
”Mel, I’ve always been in love with you,” I confessed. I pulled the shoelace from around my neck and held it up. It dangled in front of her. “I was fifteen when I realized I was in love with you,” I said. “I just didn’t know what to do about it.”
She blinked. She lifted the earring, looking at it as if it were a face in a crowd she recognized, but couldn’t quite place. She let it go and swung back towards me. Her hands came up to her cheeks. It was dark, but I could’ve sworn she was blushing. “And now?” she asked.
”Well, now I still love you,” I said, “but, if you don’t mind, I think I know exactly what to do about it now.” My hands closed around hers as I pulled them away from her face.
”Oh my gosh, Matty Pellino is going to kiss me, isn’t he?”
I chuckled. “Shut up,” I said. “I’ve been waiting years for this.” I stepped forward, took her face in my hands.
”My lips are sealed,” she said with a smile.
My thumb brushed over her bottom lip. Pink and soft. “Well, don’t seal them,” I murmured. I leaned in, slowly, and my lips brushed hers.
She hummed, looped her arms around my neck, and pulled me in again. “More,” she breathed. And then her mouth was on mine, and we were kissing like…like we were picking up a conversation we never finished. Like it was everything. Like it was natural. Like it was something we’d meant to do, were meant to do, forever.
She pulled away, running out of air. Then kissed me once more, a brief, chaste peck. Like a signature upon my lips.
”Matt?” she whispered.
”Yeah?”
”Let’s go for breakfast tomorrow.”
I laughed. “Sure,” I agreed. “Whatever you want.”
”Where should we go?”
I bent and kissed her yet again, unable to resist. “Anywhere with you.”
Hermione needs to let Fred go, and she tries, but the strangest things happen at night, and she won't let the opportunity to see him again slip through her fingers.
I sighed, flicking a drenched curl behind my shoulder and pressing the button to call the elevator. It lit, but I pressed it again impatiently for good measure. My foot began to tap mindlessly, the clickclickclick sound of my heel against the marble lobby floor keeping a steady beat. I willed the elevator to move faster as I dripped a growing puddle around me, cursing the weatherman who had lied to me that morning. Clear skies my ass. My skirt stuck like a second skin to my thighs, drenched, my t-shirt was a lost cause for modesty, the neckline weighed down with rainwater and now see-through right to my purple bra. I tried not to think about my hair for the moment. The dark waves were plastered to my neck and I could only imagine that I most closely resembled a drowned rat.
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. I got in and pressed 15 and then leaned back against the handrail.
“Hold the elevator!”
Part of me hoped the doors would shut and I could simply pretend I hadn’t heard them, but then shoes came into sight and my arm obligingly shot out before the doors could close. A pair of expensive-looking dress shoes entered and I noted a grey suit take residence in my peripheral vision.
“Sorry,” he muttered, reaching across me to punch 24. Top floor, I observed.
The doors shut and the elevator began to rise.
I stared down at the slightly scuffed toe of my red pump. Six floors from a hot shower, I thought. Then, five floors from a tiny bottle of hotel shampoo. Three floors from all the hot water I want. Two—except not. The elevator lurched, lowered, my stomach dropped, and then it all came to a grinding halt.
I froze right along with it.
“It’s not stuck.”
“What?” My eyes flicked to the guy beside me and then to the panel of buttons.
“It’s not stuck,” he said again.
I paused, not sure how to respond. “I think it’s stuck,” I told him. “Don’t panic. Hang on.”
“I’m not panicking,” he said defensively.
I turned to look at him, my eyes widening. He was far more attractive than I’d thought from that first quick glance. His hair was slightly shaggy, but neatly styled, and dark blonde. His jawline could chisel marble, and his suit looked like it’d been tailored to his very well-defined form. Or maybe he was tailored to the suit. There’s just no way that any mere genetics can gift someone those shoulders, height and lean build. He looked sculpted, not born.
And there I was, drenched and dripping, huddled in my corner of the elevator.
He stepped forward and pressed the red button with the bell. He pressed the button to open the doors. He pressed a couple numbered buttons, tried the open button again, and then he went back to ringing the bell.
The sound reminded me of the fire alarm at my elementary school. It rang like the classic alarm bells, not like the buzzing they sounded during the drills at high school. The difference was that the ringing in the elevator wasn’t consistent. He’d press it two or three time quickly and then hold it down a good while, alternating between lengths.
I stood and waited.
“The number’s there,” I said, nodding at an ad for the hotel’s services just above the doors. “If you have a phone, we can call the front desk—”
“Help!” he shouted, one hand banging on the doors, the other still ringing the bell. “Help! The elevator’s stuck! Help!”
He clearly wasn’t listening. “I think we’re stuck between floors,” I mused aloud.
“What?” He paused his pounding on the door to look at me, looking a bit startled at my appearance. I fought my imminent blush.
I gestured at the doors. “Well, if we stopped at a floor,” I explained, “there’d probably be light between the doors, right? It’s dark. I’m pretty sure we’re between floors.”
He looked at the doors, swallowed and then pulled out his phone. His fingers tapped on the screen a moment, taking a brief reprieve from the alarm, and then a second later he had it up to his ear.
“I’m in one of the lobby’s elevators and it’s stuck,” he said. “I’ve been ringing the bell.” He paused. “This is Lincoln Overstreet,” he added. “How long before you get us out of here?”
He glanced over at me. “Yes, me and a guest.” He sighed. “How long before the repairman gets here then?” he asked. There was a pause in which he looked far beyond annoyed, and then, “Fine. Hurry.” He ended the call and put his phone back in his pocket.
“Help is on the way?” I asked hopefully.
He nodded.
“I’m Leora,” I introduced.
“You’re also soaking wet,” he commented.
My mouth opened indignantly. “It’s raining,” I said helplessly. He didn’t reply. “Didn’t think to pack an umbrella,” I added.
“Right,” he said. He pulled at the knot of his burgundy tie.
“I’ve never been stuck in an elevator before,” I said, suddenly feeling the need to fill the silence. My voice was no longer as friendly as it could have been.
“Neither have I,” he replied. He continued to pull at his tie and I tried not to stare.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Fine,” he said.
“Okay,” I replied carefully. I sank down to the floor and leaned into the corner, wrapping my arms around myself. With the blazing heat this summer I had come to find glorious escape in the hotel’s air conditioning these past two days. That was the reason we’d vacated our own apartment for the moment—my mom and I—it was too hot. Our air conditioner had given out on us and nobody was coming to look at it until Thursday. Thus, we checked into Overview Suites. Now, I found myself cursing the damn cold air as my shirt felt like it was all but freezing to my pasty skin and I had goose bumps along every inch of me.
His hands were clenching and unclenching into fists.
“You’re sure you’re alright?” I asked.
“Fine,” he said. “It’s just hot in here.” I was freezing. He was back to pulling at his tie.
I felt small, slouched down in the corner while he towered above. He began to pace, but in the small space it was more or less just pivoting. I watched on curiously as he stretched out his arms in both directions, unable to fully extend them.
His phone rang and he answered it sharply. “Yes?”
I frowned.
He sighed and his voice was less harsh when he spoke again. “Well, is there anything we can do from in here?” he asked. There was a pause and he shook his head. “Fine. Thanks.” He hung up once again.
He shrugged out of his suit jacket and folded it over the handrail, then loosened his tie enough to slip it over his head. He hung that on the railing as well. I watched with wide eyes as his fingers started on the buttons of his white shirt.
He’d reached the fourth button by the time I found my voice. “Why are you undressing?” I demanded.
“What?” He looked over at me, as though surprised to see I was there.
“Why are you taking your clothes off?” I reiterated.
“It’s hot in here,” he said. “I feel like I can’t breathe.” He looked around. “There’s a camera,” he said, nodding right above me. “Don’t worry. I plan on keeping my hands to myself.” He didn’t bother with the rest of the buttons.
“Do you want to sit?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” I asked again.
I could see the aggravation in his eyes. “Would you quit asking that? I’m fine,” he growled.
“Well, you don’t look like it,” I said, annoyed that he was annoyed with me.
“I’m trapped in an elevator,” he snapped. “Sorry, I’m not meeting expectations.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Right,” I said slowly. I gathered my hair over my shoulder and shivered, hugging myself tightly.
He looked down at me as I shuffled around and curled up. “You want my jacket?” he offered. He was no longer looking at me.
“You’re not serious,” I said.
“I’ll change when we get out of here,” he dismissed, still looking around the space. “You can get it wet. I don’t care.”
My mouth opened wordlessly for a moment. “You’re offering me your jacket?”
“Hearing problem?” he asked. His finger pressed the bell again.
I shook my head. “You’re an ass.”
That got his attention. His gaze snapped to me, affronted. “Excuse me?”
“Hearing problem?” I mocked.
“Let me get this straight. I’m an ass for offering you my jacket?” he asked incredulously. His following laugh was short and humourless. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought you looked cold.”
“I am cold,” I said. “And you’re not an ass for offering me your jacket. You’re an ass who happens to be offering me your jacket.”
He looked around in disbelief and then stared down at me with a sardonic grin. “Do we know each other?”
“No,” I said. “But I feel like I’m really beginning to know you.” He raised an eyebrow. “Obscure name,” I started. “What was it? Lincoln?”
He laughed shortly. “You know, I don’t know any other Leoras,” he said.
I glared, reminding myself that it was merely polite to listen when someone introduced themselves and that I shouldn’t be impressed that he remembered my name. “Well, you have two last names,” I retorted.
“You’re seriously going to attack me on something I had no say in?” he asked. “My parents named me. I go by Link.”
“Oh, that’s even better,” I said. “Link. Link—what was your other last name again?”
Both eyebrows went up this time. “You don’t know who I am?”
“And he’s conceited,” I muttered. “Ladies and gentlemen, give the man a prize.”
“Link Overstreet,” he said. “Named Lincoln by Daniel and Flora Overstreet?” I stared blankly. “Daniel Overstreet who opened the first Overview Inn when he was twenty-six?” he went on. It was slowly beginning to dawn on me. He rolled his eyes. “My father owns this hotel,” he said finally. “Along with every other Overview out there.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well.” I wasn’t sure how that meant I was supposed to know who he was. Admittedly, his name did sound familiar. Link Overstreet. If I recalled correctly, he’d dated some celebrity or another at some point. I couldn’t remember whom. A singer maybe, some pop artist.
“Well,” he repeated smugly.
“Is that why you’re an ass?” I asked. “Because you’re rich?”
I was pleased to see the smug look wiped from his features. “Rewind for a sec,” he said. “I’ve hardly said a word to you, you’re dripping wet, I offer you my jacket, and yet I’m an asshole. All you’ve done is bother me since we got in here, get the floor wet, call me an asshole, and attack me based on a name.” He crossed his arms. “So. Who’s the real asshole here?”
I ignored the question. “When someone literally sticks an arm out for you,” I began, “the correct response is usually a thank you. You know, like when someone holds the elevator?” His mouthed opened. Then shut.
“I didn’t say thanks.”
“Nope,” I said shortly. “And, you know, people don’t really control elevators the way you might think. When people try to help you, a thanks then is customary as well. I’m sure they would have trapped anyone else but Lincoln Overstreet in the elevator if they’d had the choice.”
“Look, I didn’t mean—”
“I’m not finished,” I told him. “It’s rude to interrupt.”
He rolled his eyes. “Sorry,” he said.
“Lastly, when I asked if you were okay, I was genuinely concerned about you,” I went on, though at this point any concern was well forgotten. “You don’t look well,” I added. “But I’m sorry if I bothered you.”
“Finished?” he asked.
“Quite,” I replied.
It was silent as he looked around and then the lights flickered. He jumped.
“I hate elevators,” he muttered.
“Are you shaking?” I asked.
“What?”
“Your hands,” I told him. “They’re trembling.”
“They aren’t,” he said, shoving them in his pockets.
My eyes flicked from his pockets to his face. “You’re claustrophobic, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“Really?” I asked. “You don’t feel trapped? Overly warm? It’s hard to breathe? Are things closing in?”
“Could you shut up?” Link snapped. “Please.”
“Dizzy?” I pressed. “How’s your tummy?”
He scoffed. “Who says tummy?”
“I do,” I said. “You got butterflies in there?”
“My stomach,” he corrected. “I’m not four. And no. I’m fine.”
“But you are claustrophobic,” I said. I took in his body language; his arms crossed, his shoulders tense, his eyes never settling on any one thing. “My brother was the same way,” I told him. “He got stuck in a closet for an hour when we were little. Playing hide and go seek.”
“An hour?” His eyes widened.
I nodded. “He was okay though. He just hates small spaces now.”
His eyes shut a moment, and his head tilted back a bit. “Go figure that the one time I take the elevator, it gets stuck,” he said.
“Karma?” I suggested. “Have you pissed the universe off recently? Any motive to a vendetta?”
He stared at me, his incredulous expression now holding traces of amusement. “You know, that’s a really crappy thing to say to someone dealing with anxiety,” he said. “Maybe you’re the problem. I can think of a few reasons the universe would be pissed with you.”
“So, you admit you have anxiety right now.” I smiled.
He shook his head, tugging the bottom of his shirt out of his pants. He undid the rest of his buttons.
“Having a hot flash?” I asked.
“It’s warm,” he said. “Here.” He tossed his jacket down to me, undid his cuffs, and then slipped out of his shirt. He did look a little sweaty now that I looked at him. And boy, did I look at him. I could count his abs. All six of them.
I begrudgingly slipped my arms into his suit. “Thank you,” I said, wrapping up in its warmth.
“You’re welcome,” Link returned. He sunk down next to me. The heat practically radiated off of his skin. I was getting warmer by the second.
“The mechanic should be here by now,” he said. “I don’t know how long it takes to fix an elevator.”
I laughed. “Surely not long,” I assured. “The heir to their kingdom is trapped in the tower. They’ll come to your rescue. Don’t worry.”
“You’re mean,” he said. “I don’t even know you, and you’ve insulted me more in the last twenty minutes than anyone else has my entire life.”
“Twenty-five minutes,” I corrected. “And you can take it.”
“Yeah?”
I nodded, not daring to face him. “You could use an insult or two,” I told him. “Maybe then you’d stop undressing in public places.”
“It’s hot,” he defended. “Besides, if it wasn’t for my undressing, you’d be jacketless and getting hypothermia.”
“Am I wearing your shirt, too?” I asked teasingly. “I hadn’t realized.”
“Ha. Ha.” He grabbed his shirt from above and tossed it at my legs. “Happy?”
“Very.”
He put his head in his hands and took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling as though instructed by a yoga DVD.
“It’d probably help if you closed your eyes,” I told him. “My brother tends to shut his eyes and make up alternative scenarios.”
“Alternative scenarios?”
I nodded. “Close your eyes.”
He gave me a strange look. “No,” he said. “I feel vulnerable.”
I laughed. “I’m not going to hurt you. Close your eyes.”
He did, his head tipped down. “Now, picture yourself—what’s your scene? Parties? Clubs? Con—”
“Bowling,” he said.
“Bowling?” I repeated. “You go bowling in your spare time?” I tried to picture him in a purple and yellow league shirt, amused by the very idea.
“Not anymore,” he said. “Used to. But I like bowling.”
“Okay,” I agreed. “We’re bowling. Picture that.” I began to picture gleaming lanes myself and perfectly arranged pins.
“Now, in this scenario,” Link began, “do you still think I’m an ass?”
I glanced over at him. “That depends; are you an ass when you’re bowling?”
“No,” he said, I watched him smirk, “but you get a great view of my ass when I’m bowling.”
“An ass and a liar then,” I returned.
“How ‘bout I just picture the lobby?” he decided.
I shrugged. “Whatever keeps your pants on and your head calm,” I told him.
“Catchy,” he said. “Pants on. Head Calm.”
“If I copyright, I’ll share the credit,” I promised.
“Thank you.”
I smiled. “See?” I said. “It is not that hard to be polite.”
He sighed. “I’m not usually so uncivil.”
“Really?” I commented. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“Really,” he confirmed. “On any normal day I would’ve said my pleases, and thank yous, and taken the stairs.”
“But today?” I prompted.
“I was in a bad mood,” he said, “didn’t have time to take the stairs. Couldn’t get sweaty by running.”
I glanced over at his, for lack of a better word, glistening abs. “That worked out well for you.”
“Shut up,” he said. “I’m in the lobby.”
“Right.”
“So, what has you staying in a hotel?” he asked.
I sighed. “Our air conditioning broke,” I explained. “My mom and I checked in two days ago. We’re still waiting for someone to fix it.”
“So you tried to escape the heat.”
“Yes.”
“Ironic that now you’re freezing cold.”
“Don’t remind me.”
He laughed.
“I take it you…live here?” I asked. “In the penthouse? Seriously?”
“Something like that,” he replied.
“Meaning…?” I prompted.
“Sometimes,” he said. “I live here in the penthouse sometimes. When it’s convenient. During the summers mostly.”
“Wow,” I said. “You’re such a cliché.”
He looked over at me. “You’re a bully,” he said.
I shook my head. “I’m not sympathizing.”
It was silent. He closed his eyes again and I rearranged myself. I bent my knees, feet flat on the floor with his shirt draped over my shins. I dragged a finger through the droplets of water I’d dripped on the tiles.
“So, how old are you anyway?”
I turned to him in surprise. His eyes were still shut and his head was tipped back. “How old are you?” I returned.
He paused, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t want to tell me how old you are?” he asked.
I shrugged, remembered he couldn’t see me, and then made a vague, non-committal sound. “You tell me first.”
His eyes opened and he looked over at me, his hazel-green eyes scanning. “You look sixteen,” he said, “fifteen even. But you have to be at least eighteen, right?”
“What makes you say that?” I questioned.
“You don’t sound like my sister and her friends,” he said. “Leads me to believe you only look deceptively young.”
“Okay.” I turned round to face him, evaluating his features. “Nineteen?” I guessed. “Eighteen and a half?”
“Nineteen in two weeks,” he said.
I grinned. “Close enough.”
“Well? What about you?”
“Eighteen,” I replied. “As of three weeks ago.”
He nodded, looking pleased with himself, and then he resumed his earlier position, arms resting on his knees and head tipped back. He did look significantly more relaxed from earlier.
“So, tell me, why are you wearing a suit, Mr. Overview?” I asked. “Is this daily attire for you?”
He frowned. “No,” he said. “And it’s Mr. Overstreet, actually. Link, to you. Lincoln, if you must.”
“My apologies. And the suit?” I prompted.
“I’m going to a wedding.”
“A wedding? That’s fun.”
One eye opened and gave me a sidelong glance. “Do I detect a hint of sarcasm?”
“You’re very observant.”
“Well, you sound like me,” he said. “I don’t want to go anyway.”
“Whose wedding was it?” I asked.
He checked his watch. “Is,” he corrected. “I believe they’re sitting down to lunch right about now. My second cousin’s probably enjoying her fully vegan meal at the moment. And I, I am stuck in an elevator because my mother forgot to bring the wedding gift.”
“I see.”
“Yes, and what were you doing out in the rain?” he enquired. “Just thought you’d go for a stroll or coming back from somewhere?”
I debated a moment before admitting, “I had a date.”
“A date?” His eyebrows went up.
My eyes narrowed in response. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“A little,” he smirked, “yeah.”
I smiled wryly. “Yeah, well. Go figure. He didn’t show up, anyway.”
“Oh.” His expression softened and his tongue swiped over his lips. “Well…that’s even harder to believe.”
I looked over at him. “Was that a compliment?” I asked.
“Is that so hard to believe?” He nudged me gently. “If you’ll recall correctly, it’s you who has been insulting me.”
“Oh.” I smiled. “That’s right.”
“So…” he hesitated, “you were stood up?”
I shrugged. “It’s no big deal,” I said honestly. “I mean, my friend was the one who suggested we meet in the first place. Just coffee. He called to cancel even, but I was already halfway there.” It was nice that he bothered to call at all really, and from what I understood over the street noise, he had some good reason. Something about a grandparent, which was fair enough. Only problem was that I was already at the café, literally seconds from being inside, when I got the phone call. Then my phone died. I stupidly thought I could beat the rainclouds.
“And then it started to rain,” Link said.
“And then it started to rain,” I confirmed.
“Well, do you plan to meet him aga—” he started.
“Can we not talk about this?” I cut in. Okay. So maybe I was a little bitter about being cancelled on.
He nodded. “Here’s something,” he began, sitting up a bit and turning round to face me. “What’s that?”
Link looked between us and my gaze followed. “What’s what?” I asked.
He reached over and poked my thigh. “I see hints of a tattoo,” he observed. “What is that?”
“Oh,” I said. “That’s—wait.” I stopped, my mouth falling open. “You can see through my skirt?” I demanded.
“Thought you knew.” He shrugged. “I can pretend I can’t, if you want.”
“Please,” I accepted.
“Okay,” he agreed slowly. “Then…do you have any tattoos?” he asked.
My eyes narrowed. “Maybe,” I replied.
“Leora,” he said. He was possibly the only person to ever get it right the first time. Leora. Not Laura. Not Leona. Leora. “Come on,” he coaxed. “I’m not going to pretend if you treat me so unkindly.”
“Shut up,” I said. “What’s unkind is commenting on what you can see through a lady’s soaked garments.”
He smirked. “Purple’s a good colour on you. Very cute.”
“Excuse me?” I hit his shoulder, hard, pulling his jacket snugly around me, hiding my bold-coloured underthings. “Shut. Up.”
“Well, I’m half naked,” he said easily. “So, we can call it even.”
“Call it even?” I echoed. “I did not ask you to take your clothes off. And I did not ask to get rained on.” I glared sternly. “Don’t talk about my underwear.”
“Fine,” he said. “How about we talk about the ink then? What is that you’ve got on the back of your thigh? Butterfly? Heart?” He grinned and I was tempted to tell him it was one of those, just to see the look on his face. “Infinit—”
“A tree,” I interrupted.
“Tree?” Link repeated.
I sighed, turned away from him, and peeled my slowly drying skirt just high enough so that he could see the design.
“Are…are those balloons?” he asked.
I nodded, getting comfortable once more. “It’s a balloon tree,” I told him.
“Funny,” he commented. “I’ve never come across one of those.”
“It’s a book,” I explained. “The Balloon Tree?” He stared blankly as though I was speaking gibberish. “It’s by Phoebe Gilman. A picture book, about a princess, named Leora, who plants her balloon and grows a balloon tree to save the kingdom.”
“So,” he said amusedly, “you got a magical tree tattooed on your leg?”
“It’s the book I was named from!” I defended. “It means something to me.” I crossed my arms. “Hope,” I said. “Childhood. Magic.”
“Really.” He was clearly uninspired.
“Would you stop, please?” I snapped. “I like it.”
“Aw.” He shook his head. “No, no, I think it’s cute,” he assured. “Can I see it again?”
“No,” I said flatly. “You don’t need to see any more of me.”
The lights flickered again and we froze looking around. The elevator seemed to bounce, my stomach imitated the movement, I squeaked, he swore, and then it was moving again. Up and up, until it dinged, we recovered from the shock, and we got to our feet. “Your phone,” I said, hearing it buzz from his pocket.
The doors slid open as he answered the call. “Hello?”
A man stood in front of the open doors in a suit, a phone to his ear. “Mr. Overstreet, the repairman—”
“Thanks, Raoul.” Link hung up the phone and gave the man a pointed look.
“Oh,” he said. “Sorry.”
“Link?” I asked.
“Yeah?” He turned, slipping his phone back into his pocket.
“Your shirt.” I handed it over and he put his arms through the now damp sleeves, doing up a few of the buttons. There was a small crowd of people who seemed pleased to see us free from the elevator, though simultaneously curious. Our state of dress seemed to raise a few questions, I supposed. Raoul told everyone to carry on and the people dispersed. Link and I moved aside, and Raoul followed, asking that we were okay.
“We’re fine,” Link said. “Inconvenienced. But fine.”
“And you, miss?”
“Oh,” I said. “No, I’m fine. Looked like this before I got in there. I’m good. Thanks.”
“Thank you,” Link added.
I slid off his jacket, hit with the cold air and trying to convince myself that my shirt was no long transparent. “Here,” I said, handing it over.
He went to take it from me, his hand nearly there, when he stopped. “Keep it for now,” he said. “I’ll get it from you later.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I can get back to my room without—”
“I’m on the twenty-fourth floor,” he said. “Just run it up when you’re done with it.”
I hesitated. “Okay,” I agreed.
He stared at me intently, then glanced at Raoul, who hovered beside us. “Thanks,” he said again. Raoul nodded and left, telling him he was sorry once more and to call the desk if he needed anything. His focus was back to me.
“So, it was nice to meet you,” I told him.
He nodded. “Nice to meet you as well.”
“I’ll…I’ll return the jacket then.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” I turned around, not quite sure where I was going anymore, and began to walk away.
“There’s a stairwell this way,” Link called.
I spun back around as he nodded back around the corridor, then followed after him as he began to walk. It seemed to be mutually understood that neither of us planned on taking the elevator anytime soon. By the time I caught up with him he was at the end of the hall, leaning back on a heavy metal door, holding it open and waiting. I walked a little faster to reach him.
“Thanks,” I said.
He nodded and let me pass and then we began up the stairs.
It was only four flights up for me, two floors really, and by the third I’d given up on trying to make conversation, he seemed distracted anyway, and began to wonder just how he managed every day. He walked up twenty-four floors. No wonder he was in such good shape.
“Do you seriously walk up twenty-four floors every day?” I asked.
He glanced back at me. “Only if there’s too many people in the elevator,” he told me. “Otherwise, I walk up about 15 or so, take the elevator the rest of the way. The higher you go, the less people in the elevators.”
“Understandable.”
I stopped walking and nodded at the doors. “Well. This is me,” I said.
“Right,” he said.
“You know, I’ll just give this back to you now,” I told him, taking off his jacket and handing it over. “I can make down hallway without it.”
“Sure,” he said, taking it from me. For a moment, he didn’t move and neither did I, waiting for the other to do something. Say something.
“Well,” I said, breaking the silence. “Have a good time at the wedding then.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”
I pushed the door open and headed out.
“Do you want to come with me?”
“What?” I spun around.
“The wedding,” Link said. “Do you want to come with me?”
I stood in the limbo of the doorway, not quite out the door but not quite in the stairwell. “You’re kidding,” I said.
He didn’t miss a beat. “Not unless you don’t want to.”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit much?” I asked.
“So, you don’t want to?” he said.
“Well…no,” I told him. “Why would I be at your cousin’s wedding?”
He shrugged. “I want you there,” he said. “I don’t have a date. I’m going to be miserable if I go. My mother will kill me if I don’t. You should come with me.”
“I really don’t think I should,” I contradicted.
“Lunch should be over now,” Link said. “No one will notice an extra person.” He shrugged, looking at me expectantly.
“I don’t have any…wedding attire,” I said, not sure why I was even entertaining the idea.
“You can borrow a dress from my sister,” he replied. “No problem.”
“You’re serious?” I asked.
“Dead serious,” he said. He checked the time. “What’s your room number?”
It was a crazy idea. “I’m not going to a wedding with you,” I told him.
“Room number,” he said again.
“No,” I said, decided that I would not be swayed.
He rolled his eyes. “You’re going to make me call the front desk and get it myself?”
I crossed my arms. “You can if you want to,” I challenged.
“Fine.” He pulled out his phone and a second later it was to his ear. “Raoul, please,” he said. “Hi. The girl in the elevator with me, young, pretty, soaking wet.” He smirked at me. “Can you tell me which room she’s in?”
I waited.
“Leora,” he said. “Leora…damn it.”
I grinned.
“No,” he said. “I don’t know.” He sighed. “Is there anyway you can…No. I don’t know then. Okay. Thanks. No, it’s fine. Thanks anyway—” I tapped his arm. “Hang on a second, Raoul. I think she’s taking pity on me.” He looked at me, eyebrows raised.
“Mitrevski,” I supplied.
He seemed wary, trying to determine whether or not that was the truth. With no choice but to believe me, he relayed the information. “Room 1507,” he repeated. “Thanks.”
“Well, that wasn’t nearly so impressive,” I commented.
He glared half-heartedly. “Would you just go get ready?” he said.
“No.”
He ignored me. “I’m bringing you a dress in twenty minutes. Do something with your hair.”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“Hearing problem?” he taunted.
I stared at him in disbelief. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you,” I said, holding back a laugh.
“Yes, you do,” he said.
“No.”
“I think you do.”
“No.”
“Twenty minutes, Leora,” he sang. “You’re just wasting time.”
I shook my head.
“Okay,” he said. “Fine. I’m going up. And I’ll be back in twenty minutes. And if you’re not ready, then I’m not going.”
Spoiled brat.
#
“See? Was that so hard?”
“Getting ready in a half hour?” I asked. “Oh, that was easy.”
“You look gorgeous.”
“Thank you.”
He glanced at his watch. “We’re late.”
“By what?” I asked. “Three hours? Are they expecting me? Have I kept them waiting?” I worried.
He grinned. “Will you be this delightful when we get there?”
“In your company? Most definitely.”
“Good,” he said.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Your cynicism’s endearing,” he drawled. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.”
“Come on then.”
He shut the door behind us and I slipped my key card in my bag.
