Kiss Me Like You Mean It

Nothing spectacular had changed after that night, at least not for another week. Oliver still visited me at the store everyday; we still hung out every night; and every so often, Tawny would text me asking if I was having fun with “Oli Sykes,” as she’d put it.

That Wednesday—two weeks since I’d first met Oliver and five days since we’d decided pretend-dating was our course of action—was the day before Thanksgiving, which meant that I had a whole lot of nothing to do at the store until I closed at six, three hours earlier than usual, and that I had a whole lot of nothing to do the next day, as well.

Oliver and I hadn’t discussed the holiday, but I’d just assumed he’d have other plans because everyone except me always had other plans; so when he walked through the doors of Sam Goody at exactly 5:58 with a large platter of tofu and vegetables balanced across his arms and an even larger smile plastered on his face, I was somewhat dumbfounded—especially because he was a day early with his eat-to-incapacitation party tray.

“You and I are gonna go mental tonight,” he declared cheerily as he laid the tray down on the counter of the cashwrap.

I peered at him quizzically. “You’re a day early.”

“Yeah, but your shop is closing down for renovations tonight, so we’re celebrating now.” He sounded like he couldn’t understand how I hadn’t thought of it myself.

“Yeah, but the shop is gonna be closed for a month. We can celebrate anytime we want over that timespan.”

He pursed his lips, and I suddenly got the distinct feeling that he wasn’t telling me something. I didn’t know what on Earth he would’ve been keeping from me, but I got a queasy, uneasy feeling as I walked away to go lock the front door. He offered me a sheepish smile once I returned to the cashwrap and opened the register to start counting the till.

“You look like you stole all the cookies out of the cookie jar,” I finally declared.

His smirk turned into a grin. “Well I have a surprise for you.”

“I hate surprises,” I muttered, adding, “especially when they start with that.’”

“It’s a really good one, though,” he offered.

“Yeah, it’s so good that you can’t even tell me.” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“I just don’t know how you feel about flying.” He mumbled it so softly that I wasn’t even sure I’d heard him, but from the guilty look on his face, I just knew.

“You didn’t.”

He offered me a hopeful grin. “I did, though.”

My first instinct was to scream and yell at him about how he hadn’t even asked if I wanted to go wherever the hell he was taking me, but he began his argument before I got the chance.

“You need to get away from here, Violet,” was what he started off with.

I just folded my arms across my chest and lowered my eyes at him.

He took that as his cue to go on. “Think about it—meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me; and we get on so well. I have to see my family eventually—when better than the holidays? You told me, yourself, that you don’t keep in touch with your family, and we both know that neither of us have friends, so it’s not like you have anything better to do.” He took my hands in his and pulled my arms to dangle at my sides. “We’ll have a rate ace time, love.”

It was impossible to argue with him because he was right, especially about the part where I had nothing better to do. The fact that Sam Goody was closing down for the whole month of December and then some had been just awful to me since I’d found out over that earlier summer because it had meant that I’d literally have nothing to do. Before meeting Oliver, I’d been dreading it, just knowing that I was going to be cooped up in my apartment for the entire six-week timespan, but after meeting him, I really hadn’t thought about it at all besides the one time I’d mentioned it to him.

He was also right about me needing to get away.

“When do we leave?” I finally groaned.

He grinned and yanked me into a tight hug. “Tonight at two. We’ll go to your flat after you close, and I’ll help you pack.”


Despite having killed three Amp Energy Drinks on my own—courtesy of Oliver’s American Express—I was still ready to go to sleep by the time Oliver and I had boarded the plane, just after one o’clock. However, I was pretty over it once the stewardess delivered us each a glass of champagne without even having asked for it and before everyone else had even boarded. I was more astounded at the extravagances rich people got than I was tired.

The flight from Newark Liberty International Airport to Leeds Bradford Airport was a little over seven hours long, and about an hour in, I’d fallen asleep. However, upon waking up at the captain’s voice saying how beautiful the English country was down below us, I noticed Oliver’s head had fallen onto my shoulder. Some drool had fallen from his mouth onto the shoulder of my leather jacket, but I couldn’t get over how adorable he looked asleep.

I quickly shook my head, though, because Oliver was my friend; and while it was perfectly fine to think him 100% attractive, it was not fine to get a stirring feeling in the pit of my stomach when doing so.

Time flew by between landing and grabbing our luggage, and I was pretty sure once we reached the outdoors of the Yeadon airport in the bright afternoon sun that I looked like a hot mess—especially because of the crazy looks people were giving me.

Oliver offered me a small smile as he held a hand above his eyes to shield his vision from the blaring sun. “My brother will be picking us up. He said he’d be here in about fifteen minutes.”

I just nodded and pulled a cigarette out from my purse. I never knew what jetlag felt like until I stood outside that airport and wanted to hit every passersby for simply no reason.

Silence mostly lingered between Oliver and I until a bright red, two-door Audi A3 pulled up and honked at us. Inside—on the wrong side of the car—the driver rolled down the window to flash us both a large smile, his eyes covered by solid black Ray Bans. “Oi, Oli!” he shouted, waving.

Oliver grinned back, and the resemblance in their smiles was uncanny.

I followed Oliver’s lead as he ushered me to the car, where his brother helped us load our luggage into the trunk. He pulled Oliver into a long hug before smiling back at me, exclaiming, “You must be Oli’s new mate!” and before I had a chance to respond, he pulled me into our own tight hug. “I’m Tom, Oli’s little brother.”

I simpered back shyly and self-consciously tucked an errant strand of hair that had slipped from my messy ponytail behind my ear. “I’m Violet.”

Good looks must’ve run in their family.

Oliver laced his arm over my shoulder as he walked to the passenger side of the car—again, on the wrong side of the car—and opened the door for me. He pushed the seat forward and I crawled into the backseat wordlessly.

The entire hour-long car ride consisted of Oliver and Tom talking and catching up. I eventually just closed my eyes and tried to sleep because after about ten minutes of watching them, I wanted to punch both of them because I was jealous of their relationship and too far beyond cranky to deal with my emotions like a normal person.

My astonishment with the way the other half lived wasn’t even over until Tom dropped us off at Oliver’s house—which was a mansion. The entire front was stone with white shudders on either side of all the windows. It towered three storeys above us with a three-car garage and an iron fence around the entire property. The front door was light brown in color, and on both sides was a bow window to expose a giant, open-concept living room and kitchenette.

I almost threw up once inside because it was just so extravagant. The entire first floor was airy and open. The floors of the living area were a shiny cherry wood, and the tiles in the kitchen were a sandy color. The cabinets were black wood, and all the furniture in the living area—an L-shaped sofa made of leather and a coffee table that was much bigger than necessary—matched in color. The open foyer allowed me to see up at the second and third floors, where both walls in sight were painted a light gold.

“Jesus,” I mumbled.

I cringed as I watched him walk across the spotless floors of the living room with his shoes on. I was afraid to even breathe the wrong way, in fear of possibly knocking over one of the numerous glass knick-knacks strewn all over the place.

He walked over to the stainless steel fridge and pulled out two bottles of water before handing me one. “I asked my mum to make the bed in the guestroom before we came home, so we’ll be right down the hall from each other.” He smiled as he watched me chug the bottle.

With that, we walked up both flights of stairs to the third floor, where he led me to the end of the hall. The guest room was literally bigger than my entire loft in New York, with a giant king size bedframe against the back wall made of black wood. The walls had changed from the golden color in the hall to a dark green with an accent made of white brick that matched the stone outside. It was incredible.

“How rich are you?” I grumbled before placing my suitcase on the floor and dropping myself onto the gray comforter over the bed. The mattress was memory foam.

“Sweet dreams, love,” I heard him murmur with a smile in his voice before slipping the door closed.


I woke the next morning—unusually early without an alarm at just after ten AM—to a text from Tawny. She’d screenshotted her Instagram news feed to show a picture that Oliver had posted of me two hours prior with the caption saying, Didn’t think anyone looked so fit when sleeping; and truth be told, I actually didn’t look horrible. He’d captured me curled up on my side with the duvet wrapped around my whole body up to my chin. Oddly enough, my mouth wasn’t gaping open; makeup wasn’t smeared across my face; and drool wasn’t dripping down my cheek.

I think Oli Sykes likes you, Tawny’s text under the picture read. I just rolled my eyes and placed my bare feet onto the cold, hardwood floors. I couldn’t tell her, but he was just building up momentum to when the whole world would hear that I was his new girlfriend. It was nothing more than that, but he was good at pretending, nonetheless.

I had my own bathroom connected to the guest room, so I decided to shower and make myself presentable before making my way down to the first floor and greeting him. Upon entering the bottom of the stairs, though, he was nowhere to be found. Instead, a pad of lime green Post-it notes with his handwriting in black ink said, Ran to the store for some goodies; be back around noon. Make yourself at home. – Oliver. At the bottom, he’d added, P.S. Keys to the Jaguar are next to the garage door if you need to go anywhere.

My heart literally skipped a beat when I read Jaguar. Seriously, how many fucking fancy cars did a human being need to own?

I sprinted to the garage door on the other side of the kitchen because the curiosity was killing me. Oliver had a three-car garage, so while he was out using one car, and the second was a Jaguar of an unknown model, if I knew him at all, I was pretty sure there was a third car that had to be sitting there—and if he was willing to let me drive his Jaguar, I was sure it couldn’t have been the fanciest in his collection.

Sure enough, after opening the door in the kitchen that led into the garage, a pearly white Jaguar XJ with a panoramic sunroof was parked in the middle of the space, the spot on its right empty and the spot on its left occupied with a gray Aston Martin One-77 convertible. I literally sat down on the steps that led down to the cement floor from the kitchen in order to catch my breath.

Being that Shawn had been such a car guru and had always shared his knowledge with me, I was aware of the fact that the Aston Martin One-77 was a limited edition car that had only seventy-seven models built. I was also aware of the fact that the Aston Martin One-77 was on the market for over two million dollars. I had no idea what that equaled in British pounds—or “quid,” as I was coming to see they were called—but regardless, it was a stupid amount of money.

I was absolutely befuddled at the luxuries before me, so much that I just sat on the steps for at least ten minutes before I finally decided that I needed a cigarette and made my way out to the patio in Oliver’s backyard.