23. Olive

23

OLIVE

W arm air blows from the vents in Alik’s car while my back and the bottoms of my thighs toast from the heated seat. Alik’s hand is interlocked with mine, resting atop the cupholder to meet me halfway.

I keep peeking at him as he drives us in heavy traffic along the Las Vegas Strip. If he notices me staring, he doesn’t say so.

I don’t think there’s ever been a time I’ve looked at Alik when I didn’t think he was handsome, but tonight, he’s wearing slacks instead of dark jeans and a black, button-down shirt. His scent is mixed with unfamiliar cologne that isn’t quite as good as his natural scent but lifts my lips and spreads warmth through my chest.

It isn’t that I questioned if Alik cared for me. He’s made that abundantly clear all the times he’s saved me. But seeing him so different and knowing it’s just for me, meant to impress, makes my heart swell for him. And it makes my own efforts—the black, long-sleeved dress, a shiny barrette to hold back my hair, and red lipstick brightening my face—feel more natural. I’m not one to be relaxed in such outfits, but tonight, with Alik’s hand interlocking mine, I feel at home.

When we reach the end of the Strip, I expect Alik to make a loop, but he pulls into a parking garage instead. I perk up in my seat but don’t ask when he doesn’t offer the answer freely.

He weaves up the garage, passing multiple spots along the way. He keeps going even when we reach a floor that’s nearly empty.

My lips pursed, I turn to him and stare, but he just looks at me with a smirk. “You’ll see.”

It isn’t until we reach the roof of the garage that Alik pulls into a spot near the ledge closest to the Strip. He shuts off the car and climbs out while I look around at nothing but concrete and empty space.

What are we doing?

Alik comes around to my door and opens it, holding out his hand to help me out.

I stand with my arms wrapped around myself while he goes to the trunk to retrieve something.

“You’re not getting a shovel or something, are you?” I ask with a nervous laugh. It doesn’t slip my mind who Alik is or the things that have been in that trunk before tonight.

He appears with a cooler in his arms and a blanket folded on top.

“Shovel?”

I shrug while my face warms. We’re on the roof of a parking garage, not the middle of the desert. Stupid joke.

He sets the cooler down while I shuffle behind him, my teeth digging into my lip. Looking back at me, he hops onto the concrete ledge and dangles his feet over the Strip. When my eyes widen, he laughs and pats the space beside him.

“Come here.”

“Are you insane ?” I ask, my feet feeling unsteady when I go to peek over the side of the concrete.

No. Hell no.

Alik laughs. “I’m not gonna let you fall.”

“Pretty sure you don’t control gravity.”

Another laugh. This time he shows me his teeth with a smile, and I feel dizzy again, but I’m not so sure it has to do with my fear of heights. His red eye must be a fright to many, but it’s always been a magnet for me. Now the look in those eyes, the sureness that I can trust him, makes me want to believe everything he says, even when it isn’t possible. If he told me he could pluck one of the stars from the sky and give it to me, I might just believe him.

He holds out his hand, but I pause before inching that way. My hand trembles as I rest it in his and let him help me onto the ledge, lowering my stiff body to sit on the side as he does. The empty air beneath my feet makes me want to puke.

“I hate you,” I whine, turning my head into his shoulder and gripping him tight.

He chuckles and kisses my hair, putting his arm around me in a protective embrace. “You don’t hate me.”

“Do you hate me ? Because right now it seems like it.”

He kisses my head as breaths stutter out of him, like he’s trying to silence his laughter.

“When my friend and I were teenagers, he used to exclusively take girls to a popular haunted house for first dates because, apparently , your body registers fear and excitement as the same. I thought it was a stupid gimmick at the time, but I figured I’d take a crack at it anyway.”

I jerk my head back, still clinging tightly to him even as my eyes narrow. “You’re scaring me on purpose ?”

His canines flash as he laughs. “ No , I’m kidding.” His hand waves to the ground below, and I clutch him tighter when my head sways. “Just look.”

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and pull myself as far away from the ledge as I can, my palms rubbing against concrete before I open my eyes and peek at the ground below through squinted lids.

The miniature Eiffel Tower is what catches my attention first, and slowly, I let my eyes fully open. People from all walks of life skip, shuffle, and stumble down the Strip, some with excitement in their steps, some with sorrow, a few unreadable. In Vegas, you’re usually either here to have a good time or throw your life away. There’s rarely an in between.

No one has any idea that we’re watching them. We’re too shadowed, a darkness among all the lights. Our vantage point is spectacular.

My eyes sweep until I have a full picture of the busy, crazy place I’ve stayed away from all my life. I hate crowds. I hate noise.

The Strip is not a place for a person who avoids people.

But here… It’s kind of perfect.

I wish I had my sketchbook.

Alik grabs the blanket and drapes it over me before pulling a bottle of champagne and two glasses from the cooler.

I don’t remind him of my sobriety, don’t dare disrupt the tranquility of the moment. It’s hard to take my eyes off all the people, and I can tell Alik planned this for me. He somehow knew that this would be perfect.

When he hands me the glass, I let the liquid splash on my tongue, my nose scrunching in confusion when I don’t taste the familiar kick of alcohol.

It’s just sparkling juice.

Bringing the glass from my lips, I smile and set it beside me.

“How did you know?” I whisper, picking at a cuticle. My feet dangle freely, gently swaying back and forth to knock into concrete as I lean forward, the ground not seeming so far down now.

“How did I know what?”

“That I would like this.”

Alik runs his hand over my back and takes his time answering. “Lucky guess.”

I turn to him, my heart pounding as I consider saying the words that have been weighing on my mind.

What would he say in return?

He brings his arm away to scratch the back of his neck while lifting one side of his lips. “It was either this or some kind of costume dance they’re having for a convention.”

I can tell he’s joking, but the word dance brings a lot of things to mind.

“I’ve never been to a dance in my life.” I laugh, facing forward. Except, that isn’t true. My mom pushed me to go to my senior prom. Begged me, really. I went stag and sat at a table in the corner all night, staring at my watch. Some boy from my school asked me to dance an hour before my penance was over, and with my mother in my head, I agreed. His friends—really, his date’s friends, a few real mean girls from my high school—took pictures then photoshopped them to make it look like a bucket of blood was falling on my head. I imagine they would’ve actually tried to dump pig’s blood on my head if they hadn’t been afraid I’d truly turn into Carrie and kill them all.

High school was awful. That dance… Awful.

“Me neither,” Alik says. “Well,” he tilts his head. “Unless weddings count. My mother made me dance with her at a couple of weddings.”

I take a sip of juice. “Made you?”

He opens his mouth but hesitates to speak. His eyes glaze like he’s remembering something.

Finally, he closes his mouth and shakes his head. “No… I liked it.” He runs his hand across his jaw as he clicks his tongue. “It’s so strange, I’d completely forgotten about that until now.” He glances at me and drops his hand. “You make me remember random things… It’s weird.”

I try to study his face but can’t quite read him. “Weird … bad?”

He shakes his head. “No, weird good. I… They’re happy memories.”

“Oh.” I bite my lip and turn back to the busy Strip. Neither of us say anything for several minutes while we live inside our heads.

I keep thinking about that dance and that boy. I didn’t even like him. I was just doing it so I could tell my mother I participated, and although I’d had boyfriends and breakups by then, I’d never felt the sting of rejection so strongly until that night.

Alik makes me feel like I want a second chance. He makes me wish I was brave.

I bring out his happy memories. There’s something about me that he keeps coming back for.

I would bake him a thousand cookies, sit on any rooftop, lay on a lake dock for days with this man.

I love him. I really love him, and tonight, I want a do-over. I want to be brave, even if it’s just this once.

“We could do both,” I suggest, keeping my eyes on the mini Eiffel Tower.

“What?”

I shrug. “Let’s go to the dance.”

“Uh…”

Tucking my hands beneath my thighs, I turn to him. “You don’t want to?”

He opens his mouth and hesitates again, his forehead wrinkling. “Uh, yeah, no we could… We’ll have to steal a couple of costumes. They’re like… What was it called…?” He searches his mind for several moments. “Furries? It’s a furry convention.”

When I cover my mouth with a laugh, Alik lifts a brow. “What?”

He doesn’t know what a furry is.

I laugh harder while he just stares at me, and when I come down from it, I climb off the ledge. “Come on,” I say, hopping onto solid ground. “Show me that resourcefulness.”

Alik

I’m used to wearing masks. It isn’t a problem for me.

But as Olive and I flash our stolen badges to the blonde woman with the clipboard, I shift the wolf head I’m wearing, itching to take it off. It’s hot and smells, and frankly, it’s fucking ridiculous. I’m burning alive in this coat of fur I’m wearing, and I can barely see Olive’s bunny suit leading the way through the open set of doors into a party.

But I don’t say anything. I can’t believe she’s leading me, that she’s walking into the crowd of people dressed as all kinds of animals while pop music plays, muted beneath the mask.

I follow her to a table off to the side of the room and let out a sigh of relief when I can take the wolf head off.

Olive laughs, shaking out her hair after she takes her own mask off and sets it on the table. “I think you should leave your mask on,” she teases. “You are one sexy wolf.”

I smile to be playful, but when I look around at the grinding animals, my lips fall. Olive takes my fur-covered hand and drags me toward the dance floor. “Come on!”

I stumble after her, tripping in the suit and feeling ridiculous every step of the way, but when we reach a spot she deems sufficient, and she turns, a smile lighting her perfect face, the suit leaves my consciousness. Everything in the world aside from her radiant smile melts away.

A pop song plays, and I stand still for a moment to see what Olive will do. She wraps her arms around my neck, planting a kiss to my lips while my hands naturally find her hips.

I’m not surprised when she sways gently at a pace completely off beat with the music, and I’m not surprised when I lean into her, matching her rhythm.

The music fades, as do the people. When the scent of sweat registers, I press my face into Olive’s hair and inhale, letting her mask it.

The whole world stops turning when she’s around. Nothing matters. Nothing except her.

I tried to deny the pull she had on me for too long, but now I lean into her to compensate, feeling my shoulders cave around her body.

The song ends and another begins, but we aren’t dancing to either. Maybe it’s a song in her head we’re dancing to, I don’t know. But I’m here for it.

Olive kisses my cheek before laying her head on my shoulder, and it pops my mother’s image into my mind. I don’t know whose wedding we were at. I can hardly remember a thing.

I just see her smiling, laughing, holding my little hand while she twirls in a circle. My dreadful, horrible mother. The woman who disappeared when I was fourteen, when I didn’t know any different.

She was never there.

But there were moments. Small, infrequent moments when she smiled at me. When she loved me.

When I was lovable.

My throat closes, and I squeeze Olive tightly while rocking side to side.

I didn’t know I felt unlovable until now. I didn’t know I needed this until now.

I didn’t know I was capable of love until now.

Taking in one last inhale, I bring Olive’s face to mine and kiss her deeply, injecting so much passion into it that I hope she can feel what’s happening inside of me.

She moans as she kisses me back, arching up on her toes as both our bodies stop swaying, giving all our attention to the kiss.

Her tongue sweeps my lips, and I meet it with my own, pulling her head closer to mine.

Her lips must have a healing power because I feel a part of myself that’s been hollow fill while another part snaps. She breaks and fixes me all at once, and by the time she pulls away from my lips, it’s her who’s holding me up.

She stares at me, her eyes glassy like she’s feeling everything I am, and when she looks across the room, I read her mind.

I take her hand and lead her back to our table before telling her I’m getting us a drink. Two cups of punch later, I return, finding her staring at something in the corner of the room.

I set her cup in front of her then follow her gaze. It’s a couple posing together in front of a backdrop while an artist does a fast, cheesy sketch of them. There’s a sign that reads, “Portraits $20.”

“You could do that,” I say, taking my seat.

Olive turns back to me with a bitter laugh. “Right.” She picks up her punch and takes a sip, her eyes trained on the red liquid.

“Why not?”

When she looks at me, her face reddens. “My art is just a hobby.”

My art is just a hobby.

That’s the second time I’ve heard her say that and the second time I’m not convinced.

I shrug. “Okay.”

“I don’t think I’m that good anyway.” She looks over at the corner again. “And definitely not that fast.”

“What did you tell me yesterday? You learn from practice?”

She looks at me and huffs. “Well, I’m not gonna charge people twenty bucks for a shit drawing they wouldn’t even want.”

“Who says you have to charge people anything?”

She takes another sip of her drink and doesn’t respond. She looks like she’s fighting some internal battle, letting her insecurities wield their swords.

“Olive.”

After a beat and a heavy breath, she looks up at me.

“You’re good .”

“It’s just a?—”

“Hobby. You mentioned that.” I smile, trying to be encouraging while hoping I’m not pushing it.

She looks down at the table and chews on her lip. I want so badly to take it from between her teeth, but I don’t move. I just wait.

“It’s just weird to even think about,” she says, too quietly. I lean forward, straining to hear. “I’m embarrassed to even say this…”

Embarrassed. How she could ever be embarrassed around me is a mystery. If she knew what I thought when I looked at her… The perfection I see…

“I would never judge you,” I say, unable to help myself from thinking about her literal other personality. Whatever is on her mind, it couldn’t possibly be worse than that.

“My dad has helped financially support me most of my adult life.”

She stares at me like it’s my turn, but I have no idea what to say to that. Except so ?

She scratches at her arms and continues. “He’s done more for me than I can ever really say. I really, really respect his opinions. Maybe too much sometimes…”

“What are you saying?”

She shrugs, but looking at her red face, I start to understand.

He told her her art is just a hobby. That it’ll never be more than that. And she believed him.

I lean back in my chair and take a drink of the punch that is so sweet, it makes my nose crinkle. I set the cup down and clear my throat. My eyes wander to the corner as the artist sets the book down and walks off, probably to take a break.

“I think you should give it a shot,” I say, turning back to Olive.

She taps a finger on the table and plays with her cup. “Maybe I will.”

“Now.”

Her tapping stops as her head pops up. “Huh?”

I point to the vacant corner, and she turns to look.

“I can’t just hijack?—”

“No one will know the difference.”

She faces forward in her chair and darts her eyes around the table. Fearful excitement brings out the blue tint in her gray eyes.

She wants this.

“ Go , Olive. You’re gonna do great.”

She meets my gaze, uncertainty shining for just a second before she takes a breath and nods. She stands from the table then slowly makes her way to the backdrop while I lean back in my chair and watch.

It takes no time before a person in a mouse costume comes up and hands her money. When she doesn’t hand it back, I smile.