Drop Dead.

I didn’t exactly know what was going on with me in regards to Oliver – all right, fuck it, you caught me. I knew exactly what was happening; I just didn’t want to admit it, especially to myself. I knew it was wrong to feel this way about someone who was taken – by my best friend, no less. And that fact just made feel that much guiltier about liking Oliver. But it’s not like I could be blamed completely; I couldn’t help how I felt and Oliver was just an appealing man. Sure, his tattoos and rock star status could be a little intimidating, but that was just part of who he was.

He and Melanie were official now, had been all week. I sat with her all night on Wednesday when I got home from the café to listen to her drone on and on about how happy she was that she finally found someone she could get along with.

Melanie hadn’t really had the best luck in guys, especially when she was about sixteen. Almost every boyfriend she had ended up cheating on her and then broke up with her. They stomped on her heart and then ripped it to shreds. I hated watching her cry her eyes out with her head under her pillow every time she found out a boyfriend had cheated and then dumped her. It broke my heart seeing her unhappy and single, but now that she was happy and taken, I didn’t like it. And I knew it was unfair, but with Melanie not around I felt like I was losing her. I stayed home, alone or sometimes Tom came over, while Melanie went out and had a good time. I wasn’t ever invited. And I didn’t see how that was fair to me.

Although I was annoyed at the current situation, I didn’t let it show that I was. I didn’t want to give Melanie any more reason to think I was upset with her, even though I had the feeling she already knew. Then again, maybe I was just being paranoid.

Tom stopped by the cafe on Friday while I was working, ordered a simply regular coffee, and sat down until I was clocking out. He had walked there, so I drove him back to the apartment with me.

“So what were yeh doing at the cafe?” I asked him as I beeped my car locked. Tom smiled shyly and I thought I saw a blush creeping up his neck, but he shrugged it away and cleared his throat.

“Thought I’d come see yeh work. Olleh says yeh make right good coffee and I must say, ‘e wasn’t lyin’.” It was my turn to chuckle nervously and blush. The blushing was due to the fact that Oliver talked about me, even just once. But he talked about me. My name came from his lips alone, not paired with Melanie. It made my stomach do outrageous flip-flops.

We didn’t say anything else as we climbed the stairs to my apartment. I unlocked the door and swung it open, only to close it just as quickly with a cry of surprise.

“What ‘appened?” Tom asked frantically, his eyes bugging out. I took a few moments to compose myself, the doorknob in a death grip in my hand.

“Oliver...Melanie...couch...shirtless,” I panted, before letting out a small shriek. I shook my head wildly as Tom’s eyes widened and he moved forward to open the door. “Yeh don’t want to do that. It’s not a pretty sight.”

He gave me a look. “Olleh’s my brother. I’ve walked in on ‘im more times than yeh can imagine, love.” I bit my lip, glanced back at the door, and then stepped aside to let him through. Oliver and Melanie had shirts on when we walked in and blushes stained their cheeks. I couldn’t help it; I was frustrated.

“Would yeh mind doing that shit in yeh room, Mel?” I asked, trying hard to keep the harshness out of my voice. Her blush intensified and she nodded.

“Sorreh, Char,” Oliver mumbled. The irritation I felt melted away at the apologetic look on his face as he stared at his feet. I sighed.

“It’s fine. I just don’t want to be walking in on things like that, all right?” They both nodded, giving me the impression of two little kids who got caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

Tom, Oliver, Melanie, and I decided to go out to dinner that night rather than order take-out or feast on TV dinners. So we went to some Italian restaurant downtown. Melanie and I had gotten dressed up, and Tom and Oliver wore outfits other than their usual t-shirts and skinny jeans – well, they still wore skinny jeans, but their shirts were more appropriate. Oliver, I thought, looked stunning in his dark red dress shirt, skinny jeans, and sneakers. His hair was still unkempt and thrown lazily across his forehead, but that was just the way I liked it.

Melanie and Oliver sat across from Tom and me, with, ironically and torturously enough, Mel across from Tom, and Oliver across from me. So no matter what conversation buzzed around the table, he would always be the first person I saw. Our drinks came quickly; I was the only one who decided not to drink tonight. When Melanie inquired why, I shrugged and told her I wasn’t in the mood. Not to mention, I had to be up at half six the next morning for work and I didn’t feel like going in hung over. The four of us shared a chuckle at that.

“So Char, any men in yeh life?” Oliver casually asked as he twirled a forkful of pasta. Call it wishful thinking, but I thought I heard a tinge of jealousy in his voice. His question drew the attention of the other two and they all looked at me expectantly.

“Uh, no. No men,” I responded, ducking my head in humiliation. When I glanced up, Melanie was smiling sadly. She knew my horrible luck with men; it was almost as bad as hers. About a month into a relationship, a guy would decide I was far too boring for his likes and he’d be gone in a flash. Either that, or he’d find some buxom floozy to bang behind my back – and then he’d break it off.

“Why not?” Tom pestered, nudging me lightly. I shrugged again, but Oliver fixed me with his stare and I found it impossible not to answer.

“Just don’t have good luck with them,” I muttered. An uncomfortable air settled over the table until Melanie cleared her throat and diverted everyone’s attention. I sent her a grateful smile and dug into my food.

I hadn’t liked the way Oliver looked at me when I said I’d had bad luck with men. It was as if he pitied me, and I didn’t want his pity. I was happy without a boyfriend unless he was Oliver. I didn’t need someone else to make me happy. I couldn’t explain why Oliver’s pity had aggravated me. He was happy with Melanie; he didn’t need to waste any sympathy on me.