Gwen

Oliver Carlson.

My beloved boyfriend.

He is sitting on one of the stools on the bar.

He is not alone.

Although she knows that Oliver is taken, there she is, sitting right beside him with her body turned towards him. She is fiddling with her hair and giggling.

My boyfriend hasn't told a joke. He hasn't made any sound yet.

I left him two minutes ago for a drink, and when I turned around, there she was.

Turns out, there isn't just one Scarlett King in the world. There are plenty and for some reason, my boyfriend attracts them like a magnet. They see him, their brain lights up, and the next thing I know they are extending their claws at him.

Well, not so easy, honey.

I am still alive.

I look at Oliver. He looks extremely bored. I know that he is trying to be polite, but on the inside, he is fighting the urge to get up and leave.

I have been trying to teach him some manners lately. Like, you can't just walk away from people mid-sentence.

Maybe he should do that.

Alright.

Mission save-Oliver-from-extended-claws: Let's go, people.

I flip my hair and walk towards them. My boyfriend spots me in a second. His face lights up like a kid getting Christmas presents. He doesn't say a word out loud, but his look says, "Oh, come here, quick! Save me, will you? I swear to God, I will jump out of the window if I have to tolerate this one second longer."

I stop. I suppress my laughter.

The girl says something and throws her head back laughing. She touches Oliver's arm.

Oliver looks down at her hand like she has some contagious disease. He looks up at me and glares.

This time the message is: "Will you come here or not? Gwen, I swear to God—"

I finally decide to rescue him from his misery and walk to where he is sitting.

"Hi!" I say, and the girl looks at me. Then she turns back to Oliver like she hasn't even seen me.

Honey, you are going to hell.

Oliver is looking at me with puppy-dog eyes. So without wasting much time, I lift myself up and sit down right on his lap.

The girl's eyebrows shoot up. She leans back to get away from me.

"Hi!" I say louder than I should. "How are you doing?"

I smile big.

She tries to ignore me and look at Oliver. But she can't see his face.

When I sat on his lap, Oliver wrapped both of his arms around me and practically buried his face in my hair. He is kind of invisible right now and is using me as a human shield.

Wow, the advantages I come with.

"Are you loving the party? It is amazing, right?" I say.

The girl glares at me.

"Why are you so angry?" I say. "I am sure-"

I stop mid-sentence when I feel something poking at my back. We are in a public place, surrounded by people, and I don't understand how my boyfriend gets—

I turn around and look at him. I have no words to say.

"Oliver," I say. I look down.-

"How can you?" I say. "How? I don't understand."

"How is this my fault?" Oliver says. There is a pink line over his cheeks.

"You—" I am at a loss for words. "It's not your fault?"

Oliver clears his throat. "You are sitting on my lap."

"Yeah, so?" I shake my head.

"Your hair smells really good," he adds.

"And how can that result in this?" I look down once again. He needs to adjust things, but I doubt he will be able to cover that.

"You don't really have any idea what you do to me," Oliver says and places his nose on my neck.

"Well, now I certainly do," I say as I push him.

"If you turn around and move a little, we can—"

"Oliver! We are sitting at the bar at a party. Do not get any ideas," I answer.

"Then what?" Oliver says.

I stare at him for a few seconds. Then I say, "You know, this wouldn't be a problem if you were wearing a hoop skirt."

"A what?" Oliver says.

I try to imagine my boyfriend in a hoop skirt. That is the kind of image that makes my day. I burst into laughter.

Oliver pulls me closer. "I am here sitting helpless and you are laughing at me! How dare you!"

"Poor, poor Oli!" I say. "You would look amazing in a hoop skirt, I can see it."

Oliver glares at me. He looks sideways. So do I.

There is no sign of the girl who was sitting here a few minutes ago.

"What exactly is a hoop skirt?" Oliver asks.

If he only knew.

"You know, it's the thing you wear under a dress to make it look puffy—" Oliver never lets me finish my sentences.

"I will make you spell that word tonight," Oliver threatens.

"What word?" I say innocently.

Oliver leans closer. Then he bites my earlobe. "The one you just said."

I see the threat in his eyes. My boyfriend never gives empty threats. I am done for.

"I never said any word," I say as Oliver stares at me.

Oh, well. I don't think it will be a bad idea.

*****

"So, what was the word again?" Oliver asks again, from somewhere in the dark. I can't see him.

Oh, no. I can't see him. But I can feel him, alright.

He moves like an ocean. One second he is whispering in my ear, next second he is grabbing my ankles, and then my fingers are entwined in his.

This guy makes me forget how to talk. And think. And form coherent sentences.

Oh, shit. What word was I supposed to say again?

"Gwen."

I try to remember, but for obvious reasons, my brain is not working. It's completely goo.

"Mhm?" I say as I try to breathe.

"What is the word?"

I make a sound that is so not the word.

"Gwen."

"Yes," I say. "What—"

The rest dies in my throat.

"If you don't say the word, I will stop," Oliver says.

"No no," I say. "Its hoo-"

"Yes?" Oliver says. "Why did you stop?"

"It's-it's," I say. "I am dying, Oliver."

"That is so not the word," Oliver threatens.

"It's hoop skirt!" I say as I drop. Done, I am so done.

"I didn't quite hear it."

I turn around and try to kick him, but he grabs me. That smirk on his face, I swear to God, I will punch it off.

"I will not give up! I declare war!" I say as I punch his chest.

"Oh, we will see." Oliver says as he wraps his arms around me.

"Someday I will actually make you wear a hoop skirt," I say as I lie down.

"In your dreams," Oliver says.

"My dreams are way better than yours," I say.

Oliver snuggles into me. "Well, for starters, they are full of ideas."

"I—" I close my eyes. "Never mind."

"Hoop skirts," Oliver whispers in my ear.

How does that sound dirty now? I will never understand. Ever.

*****