Page 17 of Broken Halos
I cupped his face with both hands and slowly closed the gap between us. “I feel like we need to teach him a lesson.” I took my time pressing my mouth against Ollie’s pliant and eager lips. I left my eyes open for a few heartbeats, memorizing the content look on his face, the adorable freckle beneath his right eye, and how long his fan of eyelashes looked. When it got to be too much, I closed my eyes and focused on the kiss so I could teach the punk a lesson. Yeah, right. What happened to being honest? Ollie opened his mouth to breathe, and I licked the underside of his upper lip before sliding my tongue seductively against his. I felt Ollie’s pulse racing beneath my thumbs, and his hands tugged on my shirt like he couldn’t decide if our kiss was too much or not enough. This was nothing like the frantic kiss in the prop closet; it was hotter and even more devastating.
Ollie pulled away first then stared up into my eyes. “I think you taught the young man a valuable lesson tonight, Archie.”
All I did was make myself ache with wanting Oliver Knight, but I nodded my head as I agreed. “You won’t be a stranger, will you?”
“After that kiss?” he asked, eyes twinkling with pure mischief.
“Ollie,” I said with a sigh.
“I’m teasing, Arch. I’ll see you soon.”
He gave me a quick kiss then turned and got in his car.Honk. Honk.I flipped the driver off as I rounded the hood of my car and pulled open the driver’s door. I figuratively kicked my ass all the way across town because there was no way in hell I could go long without tasting Ollie again. I wanted to see him smile, hear his laugh, and most of all I wanted him to start talking dirty to me again. I was certain he felt the same pull I did and hoped he would show up at Queen City Divas, but my heart felt crushed when the night came and went with no signs of Ollie. I expected he would text me at some point because it’s what friends did, but two more days passed without a peep from him.
I was driving myself crazy wondering if he’d met someone else, someone who was willing to give Ollie the happily ever after he deserved. My mom didn’t bring him up when she called me Friday morning to invite me to bingo that night, but I knew she’d pepper me with questions if I agreed, so I told her I already had plans. “With Ollie?” she’d asked hopefully, and I had to let her down easy.
“There’s nothing between Ollie and me, Mamma.” There could’ve been if I’d only met him halfway.
“I’m sorry, Archie,” she said sympathetically. “You know what will cheer you up?”
“Chocolate cheesecake with fresh strawberries and real whipped cream?”
“Bingo night with Mamma. Please come with me.”
How could I resist? “What time should I pick you up?”
“Hell no,” she said, and I imagined she was shaking her head vigorously. “I’m not riding anywhere with you. I’ll meet you at the seniors center at seven o’clock.”
I laughed because it reminded me of Ollie’s reaction to my driving. “I’ll be there, Mamma.”
After I hung up, I recalled the happiness Ollie expressed when my mother showed him maternal affection. I wondered if it was something he lacked in life and was responsible for his sorrow. Before I could talk myself out of it, I googled Ollie’s name. I looked at the images the search brought up and tried my best to ignore the way my heart raced at seeing his smiling face. I nearly touched the screen the same way I caressed his face just a few days before. It was probably a really big sin to pop wood in my office while staring at Ollie wearing his clergymen’s dark clothes and stark white collar, but I couldn’t seem to work up a damn or talk my dick down. Both man and beast missed Ollie something fierce.
I returned to the main Google page and clicked on the link to his church’s website. His smiling face appeared in a small picture on the upper right corner of the screen. Beneath the photo was a link to his bio. I knew clicking on the link would tell me a lot about Ollie, but I realized I didn’t want to find out from any source other than his lips.
I closed my browser and returned to my lengthy to-do list until it was time to get cleaned up and meet my mother at the senior center where she occasionally played bingo. At first, I thought I’d just throw on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans but decided to wear my favorite lacy shirt that Ollie seemed to love so much. Once I had it on, my face looked too pale in my reflection in the mirror, making the circles beneath my eyes stand out more. I put a little foundation and concealer on my face to cover up my nights of sleeplessness and just kept going until I was full-on glam.
“Feeling it or faking it?” Mom asked when I walked up to her outside the senior center.
“Both,” I said honestly. “Ready to whip some bingo ass?”
“I’m always ready to whip some ass.”
When we walked into the auditorium, my breath snagged in my throat, and I came to an abrupt halt.
“Isn’t that Ollie behind the podium?” my mother asked from beside me. “It must be his turn to volunteer for bingo night.”
“His turn?”
“The local clergy take turns.”
“He’s been here before?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“You said you recognized him from some youth basketball thing,” I said accusingly, feeling the charge in the atmosphere the instant Ollie realized I was in the room.
“I only remembered yesterday that I also knew him from bingo nights. I probably don’t attend frequently enough for him to recognize me.” Her innocent act didn’t fool me, but it was hard to be pissed when I looked up into the most beautiful, soulful eyes I had ever seen. Then I noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes; they matched the ones hiding beneath my makeup. My heart squeezed in my chest. Was I the reason he wasn’t sleeping? I mean, part of me said “good” because he was the reason I tossed and turned and couldn’t sleep worth a damn, but the biggest part of me wanted to kiss away those shadows of discontent and make him feel better. For once, my physical attraction took a back seat to the emotional connection I felt with Ollie when I crossed the room to speak to him.
CALLING BINGO NUMBERS ON AFriday evening wasn’t my idea of a good time. I had to really psyche myself up for the abuse the elderly players would lob my way if I didn’t do things just right. They were particular about the speech tempo, volume, and cadence of calling numbers. Too fast and they got pissed. Too slow and they got pissed. Too quiet and they got pissed. Too loud and they got pissed. These people were serious about their bingo, and I learned the hard way injecting humor wasn’t part of my duties.