Kiss Me Like You Mean It

“CHEERS, THEN, MUM.”

Quite a few days had passed since that one night in Oliver’s bedroom. Neither of us brought up what had been said, and we went back to sleeping in our respective bedrooms. He was still too affectionate, though, and I still overanalyzed everything he did. He continued to bombard his Instagram with pictures of us, but nothing screamed, Look at my new girlfriend!

I wasn’t going to push it.

Oliver strutted into the kitchen that Sunday afternoon with all his perfection—dark, blue skinny jeans and a cream-colored jumper—and a large grin on his face.

“Morning, love.” He greeted me with a hug and a kiss to my cheek as I stood in front of the toaster oven, waiting for some slices of bread to darken.

“Morning.” I offered him a smile in return.

He poured himself a cup of coffee—I couldn’t understand how he drank it with no cream or sugar—and sat down at the bar. “My parents wanted me to come over for supper tonight,” he informed.

“Oh, okay.” I couldn’t deny that I was pretty disappointed he wasn’t going to be home for the evening. We’d made a sort of tradition out of having some chamomile tea before departing to our bedrooms every night. “I’ll order some takeout for myself, then. Do you think they’d accept an American credit card here?” I peered at him while waiting for a response.

He smirked. “You’re invited.”

Oh.” His parents wanted to meet me?

“Apparently I talk about you a lot more than I’ve realized,” he went on, completely oblivious to my befuddled expression. “Tom had been regurgitating everything I’ve been saying to my mum, so she insisted that we go over tonight.”

I was silent because why was he talking about me, and what was he even saying, anyway?

He frowned at me. “Do you not want to go?”

“No, it’s not that,” I quickly answered. “I just wasn’t expecting to be invited.”

His frown curled into a smile. “It’ll be fun. Tom will be there, too.”

I gave him my best smile and nodded. “I’ll go get ready after breakfast, then.” Nerves rattled my stomach, though, because what was his family expecting from me—and more importantly, what was he expecting from me?

• • •

Oliver’s parents lived in a beautiful, suburban home that was more normal than his own mansion. Two cars sitting in the driveway—a charcoal-colored Audi A4 and navy blue Acura RDX—though still nice, suggested a more attainable household income. The two luxuries parked in the front of the house, though—Tom’s red Audi A3 and a white Lamborghini Aventador—threw me off; and apparently, by the furrow of his eyebrows as he pulled behind the Lamborghini, Oliver was confused, as well.

“Whose car is the white one?” I asked curiously.

“Hannah’s.” His voice was quiet, like he didn’t actually want to say it.

My head snapped in his direction so fast that I thought I might’ve given myself whiplash. What the fuck was Hannah doing there?

“It’ll be fine,” he quickly offered, showing me the fakest smile I’d ever seen him don. “Don’t worry. She’s probably just stopping by to grab something. My mum would never invite you both over at the same time.”

As I stepped out of Oliver’s Mercedes and followed him to the front door, I felt very panicky. I had tried to dress up a little for his parents with a gray, knit dress and a black blazer, but knowing Hannah was inside there, chatting up a storm with his mom and dad, made me feel like there was nothing in the world that could’ve measured up to her.

He knocked and a somewhat overweight man with silver hair, dark, brown eyes, and a friendly smile opened the door. “My son!” the older man chanted, pulling Oliver into a one-armed embrace.

Oliver grinned back but seemed stiff as he responded affectionately to his father. “Hey, Dad. Why’s Hannah here?”

They pulled away from each other, and his father shook his head. “Nevermind that. Your mother’s gone mental; but this must be the lovely Violet. I’m Ian.” He held his hand out to me.

I politely obliged but felt my heart sink before I could introduce myself. I wanted to turn around and run down the street, anywhere far, far away from the Sykes household. When I saw Hannah’s head of black hair peek up from behind Ian’s shoulder, I felt like throwing up or maybe even fainting—but the latter was a bit dramatic.

“I didn’t know you were stopping by, Oliver,” she greeted; “and you must be Violet.” She skirted around Ian and held her hand out. “I’m Hannah.”

The fact that she was pretending to be nice made me want to hit her. I just waved back.

Ian threw his arm around Oliver’s shoulders. “Now that we’re all here, let’s get started. All right, son?”

• • •

Most of dinner was Oliver’s mom, Carol, trying to make conversation for all of us but only Hannah, Tom, and Ian responding. Oliver and I sat awkwardly next to each other at the table for what felt like an eternity. His parents were at each end of the table with Tom and Hannah next to each other, Hannah across from me and Tom across from Oliver. No one seemed to notice the tension, though, besides just Oliver and me. Silent glances from him told me I wasn’t the only one feeling it.

By the time dinner was actually served—a tofu turkey, Mexican rice, and fried green beans—I was pretty buzzed from the red wine that had been passed around for the two hours before. Heavy rain and angry thunder sounded from outside just before Carol set the fried green beans down, so all I could think about was how I hoped Oliver wasn’t afraid to drive in the rain because it would’ve been illegal for me to take the wheel on a number of levels.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Carol suddenly exclaimed, interrupting Ian and tossing her fork down. “I can’t take it anymore. Hand me over your keys, everyone.”

Hannah, Oliver, and Tom groaned in unison. I got the impression stealing her children’s car keys was something she did often.

“I can’t let you lot drive in this weather,” she pressed, holding her hand out, palm up. “Keys, now.”

Mum, there’s no reason to do this,” Tom muttered, reaching into his pocket just as everyone’s phones buzzed with a flood warning. The irony was uncanny.

Carol only stretched her hand out further. Oliver gave me a lopsided smirk as he handed her the keys to his Mercedes. I could tell from the glassy film over his beautiful eyes that he was a lot drunker than I was—but he looked better than ever to me in a black button-up and darkened blue jeans, so I just smiled back.

“I’ll be damned if my boys are gonna die from this inclement weather,” Carol grumbled as she walked out of the dining room and into the kitchen.

She returned with empty hands and a large grin on her face. “I’ll return your keys in the morning after the flood warning is over, yeah?”

Oliver held his glass of wine up and snickered happily. “Cheers, then, Mum.”
♠ ♠ ♠
I’m thinking about starting a new story with MICHAEL BOHN because he’s beautiful, but then I’m like, “The state of New Jersey is probably gonna lock me up next month, though.” #TheStruggle