The Road That Leads to Us (Us 1)

Noticing his friend behind us he groaned. “Fuck, Ollie. I forgot about dinner.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It’s okay,” Ollie replied, but it came out garbled and I looked over my shoulder to see that he was devouring the Cheetos again. “Decided to help myself.” He held up the bag.

“Put the Cheetos away, Ollie.” Liam groaned. “You guys hungry?” He asked us.

We both nodded.

“I’ll go shower and change and then we can go to Mo’s.” Liam snapped a finger at Ollie. “Put. The. Food. Away.”

Ollie hung his head like a scolded dog and put the bag away in the pantry.

“Watch him,” Liam warned me, “and make sure he doesn’t get that cheese stuff everywhere. It drives me crazy.”

Liam walked away and jogged up the steps.

Ollie grinned. “That’s why I do it.” He then proceeded to reach up and wipe his hand across the white wall, leaving behind a streak of orange.

I snorted and buried my head in the crook of Dean’s shoulder to stifle my laughter.

Ollie washed his hands in the sink then and jumped up on the counter.

“Road trip, huh?” He asked.

Dean nodded, leaning his hip against the opposite counter and pulled my body in front of his so that we lined up. After last night he hadn’t stopped touching me. A small brush of his fingers here, his hand on my thigh, the glide of his lips against my neck.

“I wanna go on a road trip,” Ollie said, picking up an orange from the counter and tossing it from one hand to the other. “My van probably wouldn’t make it, though.” Licking the peel of the orange he put it back.

Poor Liam. His friend obviously loved to mess with his OCD.

“We should ditch him.” Ollie pointed upstairs, like we needed clarification that it was Liam he referred to. Hopping off the counter, he walked over to the glass door that opened out onto a deck. “I mean,” he continued, “he already forgot he was supposed to have dinner with me. So, maybe we should conveniently forget we were supposed to wait for him.” He frowned, his lower lip jutting out. “Then again, we better not, because he’ll get all pissy and when Liam gets pissy it’s worse than a Drag Queen on his period…or would that be her period. Hmmm.”

“Um…what?” I asked, stifling laughter.

Liam came downstairs then, dressed in a plain white t-shirt, black jeans, and sneakers.

“It’s an Ollie-ism,” he explained with a shrug, “if you’re around him enough you’ll get used to it.”

“Mhmm, I see,” I laughed.

Liam scanned the kitchen and spotted the handprint streaked across the wall.

“Dammit, Ollie!” He cursed, grabbing a rag from a drawer and wetting it in the sink before rubbing the spot until every last trace of cheese dust was gone. When he turned, he spotted the orange in a different spot than it had been before. He started to move it back, but stopped suddenly, holding it in mid-air. Ollie was still looking out the window, Liam’s meltdown not bothering him one bit, but happened to glance over his shoulder at this moment. Liam glared at him icily—how Ollie could stand there grinning like nothing was wrong was beyond me. “You licked it again, didn’t you?” Liam asked, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

Ollie shrugged and twisted his lips. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Liam groaned and opened a cabinet, tossing the orange into the trashcan hidden there.

“You definitely licked it,” Liam mumbled.

He scanned the area once more and once he was sure nothing else was out of place, he nodded to himself.

“Okay, let’s go.”

We followed him through the kitchen and down a hallway, where he opened a door that led into the garage. A big white Jeep Grand Cherokee with shiny black rims was parked inside. The rest of the garage was lined up with surfboards and other beach gear.

Liam grabbed his keys off a small hook and hit a button. The Jeep made a chirping sound and the headlights came on.

“Shotgun!” Ollie cried, skittering past us and over to the front passenger side.