I Can Taste the Failure

“Wake up, sleepyheads!” screamed an annoyingly chipper voice, the blast of light from the door being thrown open jostling me into a panicked awareness.

I felt like I had been hit by a truck; I had to look awful. I blinked into the light, my head pounding. I desperately needed Advil.

“Louise,” I said, sitting upright now, while Oliver blinked into the light sleepily, still lying down, his hand resting comfortably on my upper thigh.

“Oh, shut up. Besides, I brought donuts and iced coffee as a peace offering.”

The thought toned down my annoyance slightly, but still, as I hopped out of the bed and started searching the covers for my shirt, I said, “What if I had been naked, Lou? Seriously.” Oliver sat up, rubbing his eyes, and passed me my shirt from somewhere beneath a pillow. “Thanks, Oli.” He mumbled something in response.

“I’ve known you all of my life, and you’ve always waited for at least the second date to have sex.”

“This wasn’t even a date!” I told her, exasperated. As I slipped my Vans on, Oli clambering out of bed after me.

My best friend smirked, “Exactly.”

Oliver pulled his own shirt over his head and bent over to find his canvas shoes, though I could still see the little smile on his lips, just shy of a smirk. He shook his head slowly, golden eyes amused. When he turned back to us, the smirk was full blown, and he chucked, “Second date, huh?”

“Yes,” I said stiffly.

He put his lips to my ear, encircling his arms around my waist, “Would you like to go out with me, Holley?”

“If you’re hoping for sex, this wasn’t a first date.”

“You’d better hurry up and decide, Hol,” she checked the time that blared from Oliver’s clock on the mantle. “You have to be at work in less than an hour.”

“What?” I shrieked, pulling myself out of Oliver’s arms.

Both watched me as I fervently snatched up the extra large iced coffee, popped the lid, and started to drink, eyes wide over the cup.

“She says yes,” Louise said, gently trying to pry the coffee out of my hands. I sputtered as it was pulled out from my lips, “I did not say-”

“Yes, you did,” came firmly from Louise’s mouth as she pulled the top to the coffee cup out of my hands and snugly stuck it back on. She threw it back in my hands and stuck a straw in it. “Drink,” she said, then started to yank me out of the room.

I got out “Oliver, I-” before I was being pulled down the stairs, somehow by Louise, who I saw now was also balancing a box of donuts in her free hand.

“Saturday,” Oliver said, standing at the top of the staircase, watching me being pulled away with a smirk, “I’ll pick you up Saturday.”

Forty-five minutes later, I ran into work with seconds to spare, gasping as I yelled a “hello” to my boss.

Chelsea’s black heels clicked loudly as exited her office and tracked me into mine. She leaned against the doorframe, taking me in- disheveled, out of breath- and raised a thin eyebrow. Compared to her perfectly straightened hair and tight, pressed black pencil skirt, I looked like something that just turned up in the dryer, all wrinkled and musty.

“Out last night, Holley?”

“No, I mean, well, yes, with… my best friend, Louise, celebrating.”

The lies were coming in quick, choppy, because I knew that if I told her the truth, I’d be quickly fired. I smoothed out my long white tank top, which was ghostly floating against my skin, and pulled on the tailored black jacket I’d forgotten in my haste. I threw myself in the shower and dragged myself out five minutes later only to yank on the first clothes I found and turn up at work late. My checkered Vans glared up at me, and before Chelsea could see- though I was sure she already had- I slid over behind my wooden desk, kicked them off, and wiggled my toes into the black high heels I had hidden beneath.

Chelsea rolled her eyes- blue, pretty like ocean waves- and said, “Next time, dress more appropriately. Must I remind you every day that jeans are not acceptable? You’re one step away, Stryder, one step, from suspension without pay.”

I held my tongue as she turned on her heel and marched out of my office. Her heels clicked loudly against the floor, making my head pound angrily against my skull, a nasty reminder of last night.

I had forgotten the Advil, too.

I let out a sigh once I was alone, dug Mike Season’s file out of my desk drawer, and went out to meet the driving challenged, trying to hold off thoughts of Oliver Sykes and the date he’d be taking me out on tomorrow.