Ferrari (2) DRAFT

4

"So we were at the event, right, and there was this huge ice sculpture," Alex says.

"Uh-oh," I laugh, placing my empty bowl on the counter.

"And Kal was drinking, and drinking," he continues. 

"It was my favourite wine!" Kal defends. "I couldn't say no!"

"By the end of the night, Kal is just completely wasted," Alex says. "He's slurring, stumbling all over the place. We're on the dancefloor, and this photographer-"

"Wait, you were dancing?" I interrupt, surprise evident on my face.

Back in high school, I'd always urge them to dance but they thought it was lame. Weird boys.

Kal scoffs. "We were talking."

"That makes more sense," I chuckle.

"Anyway, so this photographer comes up, and she's laughing at us," Alex continues. "So we turn around, and Kal is standing there, sticking his ass out, licking the damn ice sculpture! At a formal event! It wasn't even a party! There were journalists everywhere."

"Why am I not surprised?" I laugh.

"It was all over the news, for weeks," he says.

"Well, what can I say?" Kal grins. "I crave ice."

"Or attention," Alex snickers.

"Don't be mean to little Kaleem!" I joke, patting my friend on the shoulder.

"I'm delicate!" he jokes, leaning into me.

Suddenly, my phone beeps, and I check it instantly.

"Oh, someones popular," Kal teases.

"It's just Ari," I tell him.

She just got home from work, and wants to hang out. She hasn't known the boys for as long as us, but she's gotten to know them last time they visited. She's also heard all our stories, of course.

"I've got to get going," I say. "You're coming over for dinner, though, right?"

"Definitely!" Kal grins.

"Aw, a family dinner," Alex grins. "Well, I assume Mary and Liam won't be there, huh?"

I nod. Oliver won't either.

"Alright guys, I'm out," I say.

We give each other a grief goodbye, knowing we'll see each other in a few hours. I make my way out of the house quickly, not wanting to run into Oliver. He's probably at work, but I don't want to risk it.

I'm halfway back to my place, when I see a car nearing. It's not just any car. It's the same green and black sportscar I've sat in many times.

Oliver's.

I increase my pace, not wanting to deal with this right now. There's no way he hasn't spotted me. My heart rate doubles as the car heads towards me.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I'm not going to make it.

All of a sudden, the engine stops, skidding over the gravel.

No, Oliver, don't be stupid.

He opens his door. His figure emerges out of the dust, his eyes meeting mine. I instantly look away.

"Lucy!" he calls, his deep voice shaking my bones.

I avert my steps, walking onto the grass.

"Lucy!"

"No!"

"Please!"

Fuck this. I pick up my pace, almost running onto my driveway. Luckily, he doesn't follow me.

I slam the door shut behind me, trying to catch my breath.

He's considerate. He won't force himself into my life. He respects me.

"You alright there?" Ari asks.

I look over at her. She's standing at the bottom of the stairs, a cup of tea in her hand.

"I just saw Oliver."

"Shit," she scoffs. "Did you speak to him?"

"I ran away."

"Ha! Really?"

I laugh at myself. I can't believe I just did that.

"I want to meet him!" Ari says. "I'm heading outside."

"Ari! No!"

She ignores me, and swings the door open.

He's standing at the end of our driveway, heading back to his car. He's standing there, wearing a tailored grey suit, and his black curls blowing backwards with the wind.

"Aretta!" I call, watching her run over to him.

My breath catches in my throat as he turns around to us. His biceps tense, his eyebrows furrowed. His beard has grown. It looks almost scruffy, which is far from his usual neat look.

I take a few careful steps over to them, but I only get close enough to hear. I don't want to speak to him.

"Oliver!" Ari says, sticking her hand out to him. "I'm Aretta."

"Ah, yes, I've heard all about you," he tells her, shaking her hand.

"All good, I hope."

"Nothing but," he assures her. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too! I've got to be honest, I've been dying to meet you."

"I'm guessing the things you've heard about me are a lot less bright than the ones I've heard about you," his eyes flicker up at me, and I glare at him.

"It's about 50/50," she admits.

"I can live with that," he smiles.

God, no,

I can't stand this.

I turning around, and head inside, leaving their conversation alone.