Chapter 23 : Slytherin Sweater and the Sixties
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I'm going to dedicate this one to rachm34. I laughed through the whole
review of ALL CAPS REVIEWER. I refer to book 5 Harry as "All Caps Harry"
so that amused me.
Also, everyone is so skeptical about poor Jane and Oliver.
I guess I really screw with everyone's minds, huh? Enjoy!
My insides exploded every time he kissed me and suddenly it was familiar again—that feeling of snuggling up watching Fred and George and Katie swimming. His hands ran down my arms and I felt comfortable. The same. Back to a sense of normality. I loved it. Oliver’s hair smelled like peppermint. He conjured daisies out of a brownie and I smelled them until the wine started to go to my head.
We spent the evening laughing and kissing and talking about everything else we missed out on the past month. I learned about how Bridget kept twenty-nine stuffed rabbits in her room. Oliver convinced Vanter to run the practices similar to Gryffindor’s and in return Oliver would shut his mouth about the lack of effort coming from Stewart and Liam. Mrs. Wood asked about me while they were cooking. After Oliver told her about seeing me recently (he left out the part about the sticky lip gloss) she hurried to change the subject. Oliver saw me a couple other times in the city, but didn’t say anything.
I wished he had.
It was late when I yawned, sprawled out on his sofa with my legs across his lap. We were watching a documentary about the start of Quidditch in Europe and how traditions stayed in various cities. My hair was all over the pillow and I rolled over onto my side. “I don’t wanna,” I mumbled, shoving another pillow into my face.
“Oh, yeah, let me just stay here when my dad has no idea where I am. I told him I’d be back in a few hours. It has been ages. He’s probably looking for my dead body on the streets by now.”
“Send him an owl.”
“He’s going to murder me. I can’t stay over a bloke’s place.”
“Why not?” Oliver asked. “It’s just me.”
“Yeah, you that broke my heart and sent me into a mad cleaning frenzy. That would go over really well.” I chuckled.
“You can sleep on my couch and I’ll go into the bedroom and you can send your dad pictures. I don’t want you apparating home you look exhausted. And walking is out of the question. It’s dark. You’ll be killed.”
“Like my dad already thinks I am.” I smiled warmly. The protectiveness was welcome. “All right, get me a quill and I’ll write this thing. I hope all this saving me from death doesn’t result in my dad killing me.” I took a piece of parchment and started scribbling about how exhausted I was and how I was at Oliver’s and how I promised I would sleep on the sofa. Yes, I was of age and yes, I could take care of myself(ish), but Dad still worried about me and after knowing Oliver and I broke up, he probably thought I was barking mad.
Oliver kissed me sweetly on the cheek. “I’ll send this off. Good night, Jane.”
I reached up in a very un-Jane-like way and grabbed him around the neck. I kissed him. “Night, Oliver.” I snuggled into his flannel blanket and closed my eyes.
I could still smell the brownies.
There were loud clinks in the kitchen and I opened my eyes, taking in the light from outside and realizing I was still on Oliver’s sofa. It was comfy and I tried to fall back asleep, but the running water from the sink and various other noises made that impossible. I groaned. “Not a morning person,” I grumbled.
“It’s almost eleven. Quit your whining. Eggs?” He stuck his head from around the hall and smiled.
“Two.” I rolled again. “Wake me when they’re done. Be a little quieter with the cooking.”
Pans slammed against the counter and I leapt up. “Quiet enough?” Oliver asked.
“Hate your face,” I mumbled.
“I’ll never believe that.”
I heard the sizzle of butter and egg yolk. There was no way I’d be able to sleep so I sat up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and focusing on the fact that I still had my skirt on. I pulled it down further onto my thighs since sleeping had pulled it up and went in the kitchen to pester Oliver.
Stick that in your juice box and suck it, Bridget.
And Libby, just for good measure.
He wrapped an arm around me and pulled me close, a spatula in his other hand. To my dismay, there was no gladiator costume, but instead cotton pajama pants and a white t-shirt. I smoothed my hands along his stomach.
What? I had to make up for lost time.
“Scrambled?” he asked.
“Fine to me.” I adjusted the skirt again.
“I really can’t be trusted like this,” Oliver said suddenly. “You have to go back into the living room. Turn on the television or something.”
“Excuse me?” I put my hands on my hips, moving away from him and leaning onto one leg.
“I’m going to burn the food if I keep looking over at your legs.”
I gaped at him. My face was warm. I thought about Hogwarts, about the costume I wore for Halloween and about Oliver reacting to what I wore after the kiss. “Well, I just don’t blame you at all.” Laughing, I swayed my hips as I returned to the living room, kicking up my legs and lounging back. “They are quite remarkable.”
“Fred would be jealous if he were here.”
“I miss Fred. I hope I see him again soon.”
“You will. We’re going to get Katie and George back together and we’ll see the lot all the time.”
“I will. You’ll play Quidditch.” I pulled the blanket back over my legs. “It’s safe to come in here. You won’t burn anything.”
Oliver stuck his head in again.
“Now you’re just going to burn the eggs by not watching them.” I tossed a spare piece of parchment at him. “Hey Oliver?” I asked once he went back to the food.
“You have a cute butt.”
I heard a snort. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”
Dad gave me an interesting look when I walked through the door, Oliver closing it behind us. Lou was on the sofa with him, knitting a really interesting scarf with gold and orange and red all mixed in. She smiled warmly.
“Hey, Dad,” I said casually. I knew he probably wanted to give me a wonderful lecture about staying out last night and not informing him until late (with an owl none the less), but he resisted because of Oliver and Lou. “Lou, I want you to meet my boyfriend. This is Oliver Wood.”
She beamed. “It’s nice to meet you. Jane has told me a good deal about you—how you’re such a wonderful football player.”
Oliver visibly cringed but changed it into some sort of itch on his neck. He grinned and shook her hand. “I do try. It’s really nice to meet you.” He was charming and lovable and the perfect bloke to bring home. Well, then again so was Roger. And Liam. I just had wonderful luck with men.
Pfft, yeah right.
Lou smiled widely. “Amanda is in the kitchen, Jane. She’d love to see you.” She was about to go back to knitting when she added, “Oliver, are you staying for dinner? We’re having steak and the dessert is cheesecake—‘Manda’s in there making it now.”
His eyes lit up at the thought of cheesecake. “I’d love to, thank you.”
As I steered him into the kitchen I heard a “charming boy” from Lou and I could feel Dad’s eyes on the back of my head. At least the lecture could wait. Poor Dad. He was so in the dark about my social life.
True to Lou’s word, Amanda was making (or trying to make) cheesecake on the far side of the kitchen. There was mix all over her blue dress and graham cracker crust in her mousy hair. She glanced over, mouth twisted from mixing it in a bowl, and then she coughed, catching sight of Oliver.
“You must be Amanda,” he said cheerful. Luckily, I warned him ahead of time about what happened with her and Roger so he knew what he was getting into. He still wanted to come so I told him to go it alone.
“Oh, wowee!” Amanda flattened her hair. “Who are you? You’re not Jane’s boyfriend, are you?” Leave it to her to not wait for an answer. “Because I think you’re super dishified and you need a real woman that can satisfy your needs.”
I couldn’t stop laughing so I hid behind the refrigerator door pretending to search for a soft drink.
Oliver chuckled. “Dishified, huh? You get your lingo from dear Jane. Yes, sorry, Amanda, she does have me on a rather short leash. I just can’t do anything about it.”
“Well.” She looked put out, smoothing the mix into the crust. “When you can, call me, okay? She goes through them like the plague.”
If I pushed her just right, she’d make it through the window.
“Drink, Oliver? I have to write a few letters to the girls and Roger.”
Amanda whipped around. “Told you she’s a cheater.”
“Drop dead,” I said, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward my bedroom. I shut the door (how did Dad feel about that?) and grabbed some parchment. Oliver flopped down on my bed and started shuffling through my stuff to curb his boredom.
What was I supposed to write to the girls? I shot Roger a quick letter summarizing the fundraiser and meeting Valerie gig—gave him some advice on Magpies girl—and then added a quick P.S. Oliver and I are back together. More to follow.
I held the quill feather against my lips and pondered the letters I was supposed to write to Alicia, Katie, and Angelina.
“Is this your mum?”
I whipped around. Oliver was holding Mum’s picture and she was smiling. “Yes, it is.”
“You look just like her.”
“So Dad says.” I tried to smile but I felt slightly sick. It wasn’t like Oliver was judging me. I just felt as if my secret was out in the open, being oogled on my bed.
“She looks wonderful.”
“She was,” I said lightly, feeling a smile well up. “She really was.” I cleared my throat, turning back to the blank pieces of parchment. “What in blazes am I supposed to tell the girls?”
“Make it short and sweet and get changed for dinner. You look like an innocent walk of shame.” He smirked.
So yeah. Hope you’re doing okay. I hope Lee is doing okay.
Oliver and I are back together.
How are you? How are your parents? I miss shopping.
Oliver and I are back together.
Remember how you asked if communication could have saved Oliver and I’s relationship? Well, yes. It did. We communicated. We’re back together.
I could smell the steak a while later, lounging around in my locked bedroom with Oliver. We were just talking and laughing, but the locking precaution was to keep Amanda’s prying skirt-thieving hands out. “Jane!” Dad cried, knocking a few times. “Dinner’s almost done and you have a letter out here you might want to read.”
I cocked a brow and rushed out there, expecting an all-caps letter from Alicia begging for details. However, it was an envelope with a green wax stamp on the back. I turned it over in my hands and looked at Oliver once or twice before ripping it open.
I hope you had fun at the fundraiser. I can’t think you enough for going with me. It was more than I could have asked for—plus you ended up with a pocket full of writers’ cards when you left. I had an absolutely fabulous time.
I’d love to see each other again some time.
I read it over several times. He’d love to see me again some time. Take care? Was I just rejected by Liam Denters? How was that possible? I mentally retraced my steps. We went out to drinks. We had a date and did dancing and he asked me to a fancy fundraiser dinner as his date. We danced. He got me amazing connections. We kissed on the dance floor. And I should “take care”.
One less thing I had to take care of I supposed, but I could still feel my blood get hot.
Whatever. Like I even cared.
I didn’t, but still. I couldn’t remember the last time I was rejected. Well, once maybe in my second year by a Ravenclaw sixth year but that was legit. Rejection did not sit well with me (except it would have sat well had I not made Seeker of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Thank you, Oliver Wood).
“Ouch,” Oliver said, peering over my shoulder. “Take care. I guess he took a hint.”
“Hint? What hint?” I looked at him as we made our way into the kitchen. “You didn’t do anything, did you?”
“Why does it have to be me?” He chuckled. “Why couldn’t it just be you having eyes for me at the fundraiser and him noticing it?”
“You did do something.”
“I might have hex—erm, punched him at practice and said rather loudly this morning I was going to see you yesterday but nothing more than that.”
“Ridiculous,” I mumbled. “I can’t believe you would do that.” I pulled out the chair and sat beside him with Amanda in front of me. The little vixen was making eyes at him.
“Yes, you can believe it. I’m selfish.” Oliver beamed and turned his attention to Lou, who was trying to balance the potatoes in one hand and grab the steak plate with another. He leapt up. “Let me help you with that—here.” With a charming smile, he took the plate and set it gently on the center of the table. Amanda was practically drooling.
Once everyone was seated I let the awkwardness begin as we all dug in. There was silence for a bit while forks scraped and I struggled to cut my steak because my hand was asleep and the tingles were like little needles. Amanda kept missing the meat with her fork, the little shit.
In a matter of weeks I went from giving her the benefit of the doubt to having thoughts of dumping her off Big Ben.
“So tell me, Oliver,” Lou said lightly, “how did you and Jane end up together? You are together, right? I shouldn’t assume.”
“Yes, we are.” Oliver smiled and squeezed my hand. “The first time we were together it was after several years of wanting each other dead.” Lou chuckled. “But then after everyone else knew we were perfect together I fell in love with her and caught her during—erm—a football match. Of course we split recently.”
“And my flat never looked so clean,” Dad said. He winked. I narrowed my eyes.
“But you’re back together,” Lou said.
Oliver laughed. “Yea, I guess we are. It took a bit of stupidity and wine, but we made it.”
Amanda prodded her steak around the plate with a scowl on her face.
“I should get going soon,” Oliver said. We had been in my bedroom for a while cleaning up and going through old photos and letters. He hoisted himself up off my bed (Where he used the squashed quilt as a pillow) and grabbed his shoes. “I don’t want to, but I have practice early and Vanters will murder me if I’m not in top form.”
“All right. I know Dad will want to chat anyway. I’m prepared to look innocent and cute.”
Oliver smiled. “Do you think you can get away for the weekend?”
“What do you mean? Like away from here?”
“Like do you think your dad would let you stay at my place for the weekend?”
I wrinkled my nose. “I’m not sure. I can ask, though. I’d…like to. I think.”
He chuckled. “Let me know, okay, love? I have the weekend off from practice and I’d like to make some more brownies and stay up late watching Quidditch documentaries again.” He kissed my cheek. “Bye, love.”
My cheeks were hot. “Bye, Oliver.”
Dad poked his head in my door and I shut my book. I knew it was coming. I was actually surprised it took him until later that evening to come in and talk. He had one of those “dad-faces” on and closed the door softly behind him. “Lou and Amanda just took off.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Did I hear her telling Oliver to call her?”
I nodded. “That’s her. She fancies everyone.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about all of this?”
“I didn’t know.”
Dad sat down on the end of my bed. “You didn’t know you were going to see Oliver yesterday?”
“I mean I didn’t know what was going to happen—I could have left there the same way I left there after we broke up—pissed off and apparating to southern France. How was I supposed to know we’d end up back together?” I said this softly.
“Are you—are you happy? Is this what you want? I mean…is it going to happen again?”
I didn’t know what to say. So I didn’t say anything. I just shrugged because it was honest. I didn’t think it would happen again—Oliver and I were one of those were couples that just seemed to fit together. Until we started yelling.
“I wish you would have at least let me know earlier you weren’t coming back.”
“I’m sorry,” I said honestly. “We were up watching the Quidditch documentary and then I sort of realized what time it was and he didn’t want me to apparate home since I was so tired and walking was out of the question and—I’m sorry.”
Dad cracked a brief smile. “It’s okay, Jane. You know I’m not one of those dads that gives you a lecture about being with a boy. You live in a tower with a hundred boys. I just want you to be careful and smart.”
“I’d like to think I’m both of those things.”
“You’re your mother’s daughter. Of course you are.”
I shifted on the bed, staring over at the picture of Mum on my bedside stand. “Can I stay at Oliver’s this weekend?”
He choked a bit. “One thing at a time—are all the kids doing this? Scaring the devil out of their fathers and making them imagine things that aren’t good?”
“Like what? The other stuff that never possibly goes on at Hogwarts?” I rolled my eyes.
“I’m not going to stop you from staying at Oliver’s, but I want you to be completely comfortable with the idea. Are you?”
I thought about it—spending a couple of days at Oliver’s flat with his newly full kitchen and interesting figurines. I’d been there quite a few times—lounging around and watching Quidditch and going to strange diners around the corner. I was so comfortable. It was Oliver. My odd gladiator in shining muscles. Well, they were probably covered in sweat. I realized I hadn’t responded for a while.
“Yes, actually. I’m weirdly comfortable with it. Yeah, I am.”
Dad placed a hand on my shoulder. “As long as you’re comfortable with it I’m not going to say no. It’s not really my place. I want you to have fun and not resent me for holding you back.” He laughed at it. “Your grandparents did that to me. They wouldn’t let me go see your mum like this—kept us separate during the holidays and for some time after. Chaperoned us on dates. It was humiliating.”
I pictured Mrs. Wood complaining about the sticky tiles of the diner while Oliver and I were a few tables over trying to hide our conversation. Ouch.
“Thanks, Dad.” I tried to smile. “I appreciate it. Trust is a good thing to have.” That sounded lame and kind of un-me, but the look on his face showed me it was the right thing to say. I was really lucky to have a dad like him. I could have been chaperoned.
He left and the door shut quietly. I was left to my own thoughts, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about my future weekend with Oliver (after I owled him and told him yes of course). We’d watch more Quidditch documentaries and snuggle up on the sofa even though it was hot as blazes in there. The couch was comfortable, but after sleeping on it I wasn’t sure I could do that again.
But then again, where would I sleep?
My eyes grew wide. There was the sofa and his bed. Oliver’s bed. With him. In it. He probably wouldn’t have a shirt on. Maybe not pants—oh, fuck, what if Oliver didn’t have pants on in his bed?
What if Oliver wanted to have sex with me?
Son of a bucket!
I leapt up in bed and nearly flew across the room, knocking down frames and books on the way. I grabbed for parchment and sent three identical letters before I could catch my breath. If anyone could help me through this moment of panic, it was Angelina.
Oliver invited me for the weekend. I think he wants to have sex. WHAT DO I DO?!
Seriously, though, what was I supposed to do? I ripped open my closet. Nothing sexy other than some low cut tops and a cute sweater. But nothing really sexy. Like real sex. No lingerie. Shit. Should I buy something? Should I not and be innocent and cute? What if I wasn’t experienced enough for him? Fuck, he dated Libby and she was a bit of a whore.
Boo, you whore.
But maybe she knew “the moves”. What were the moves? It’s not like I was educated. Hogwarts didn’t have a sex ed class and Dad just told me about condoms and other magical ways to protect yourself (which was by far THE most awkward conversation I had ever had up to that point, counting the uses of crup poo). I thought about those racy magazines—I couldn’t read one of those. Shit!
My whole body felt as if it was covered in sweat. This couldn’t be happening to me. It was like no warning. Oliver just expected me to jump into bed with him after we started dating again—I couldn’t blame him, I was quite the catch, but seriously? This soon? I wasn’t educated on sexy stuff yet. I knew how to make his jaw drop with a skirt but not like this. Did I need a pick-up line? Did my knickers need to match my bra?
THIS WAS TOO HARD.
I ripped open the door. “How did you get here that fast?”
Angelina pushed her way into the room and closed the door hard behind her. “I was in London picking out something for Fred. He’s taken to wearing disguises to get away from George. Tell me everything. I got your owl about you and Oliver being back together too—what the hell? I feel so out of the loop. Spill.”
She sat across from me at my desk while I twisted my fingers and retold the story of yesterday—of wine and brownies and snogging and sleeping on the sofa. She said “aww” at exactly the right moments and hugged me when I told her about the romantic things he said. She vowed to off Amanda for me and even asked questions about dinner. Then I told her about the weekend and Dad saying I could go.
“Did he ever actually hint at having sex?” Angelina asked.
“Well, no, but it’s Oliver. He’s that sort of guy, isn’t he? All suave and mysterious. He wouldn’t mention it, but there was definitely a glint in his eye—a very sexual glint.”
She laughed. “So you’re going to have sex this weekend. Maybe tomorrow. Can you handle it?”
“You’ve had sex—can I handle it?” I twisted my fingers so many times they were red and coarse.
“How am I supposed to know?” Angelina was nearly beside herself with my nerves. “I think you’ll be fine, Jane. You’re too nervous. Are you…you know, ready? Like do you think your relationship is ready?”
“I don’t know, we just got back together! Before that we were together for like a month. That’s not very long, is it? Don’t people usually wait longer than that? What’s the average time?”
“Am I suddenly a relationship expert? You’ve known Oliver for ages, so that might be different than two people that just randomly meet and hook up a month later.”
“But I hated him.”
“You don’t hate him now.”
“Just tell me what to do.”
Angelina cocked a brow at me and it looked strangely Fred-like. “I’m not telling you what to do, you do that for yourself. It’s exciting, though, isn’t it? Your first time. It might be this weekend. Do you have something to wear?”
“Fuck, I knew I needed something! I have a sweater! It’s not even sexy—it’s green. I’ll roll up there looking like a Slytherin and he’ll feed me to his figurines.”
“You’ve fallen off your rocker completely.” She placed both hands on my shoulders. “Get a grip. I wish for a second I knew what you were talking about, but instead I’m going to ignore it and tell you to go wing it. You might have sex. You might not. But don’t do it unless you’re ready to take that step in your relationship. You can’t just press ‘undo’ and it’ll go away and things will go back to the way they were.”
“I think I’m ready. Maybe. I think I am.”
Ang shrugged. “That’s for you to decide—but just in case, we need to get you something other than a Slytherin sweater.”
“Well, it’s not actually Slyherin…”
“Good enough to be.” She pointed toward the sweater in my closet. “Let’s go shopping.”
The following morning we found several good deals at a boutique up the street. One was a lacy red situation with a corset front and another was just a cute black and white polka dotted matching set and for good measure I found a few other things to go with them. Angelina helped me figure out how they worked and we laughed about my lack of expertise with lingerie later over sundaes. I felt like I was out shopping for liquor with Oliver.
Angelina even helped me pack for the weekend—cute outfits, skirts, something nice in case we went out for dinner, mini toiletries because he had a bachelor pad, and even a few things to occupy my time (“In case you wake up before him and you’re bored. Fred always slept in and it bored me to tears before I thought to bring a book along,” Ang said).
I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was on my shoulders, spilling over my arms and onto my not-green shirt. I didn’t think it was very sexy. Maybe Oliver did. At least my legs were sticking out of plaid shorts. He enjoyed those.
“Are you ready?” Angelina said this quietly, zipping the rest of my suitcase closed.
“Ready for this? No. Ready to take the next step in my relationship? I might be. I think I’ll figure it out when I get there. How can I really tell?”
She made a face. “Just don’t jump the gun. Just the Keeper.” She laughed. “Sorry, couldn’t resist that one.”
I gave her a quick hug, told Dad good-bye, and left for Oliver’s (I did all of this while my stomach was on the verge of exploding and my hands were shaking).
“Hey, love!” Oliver pulled the door wide and took my suitcase. “You look wonderful.”
I smiled nervously and surveyed him. Puddlemere polo shirt. Dark brown pants. Cocky grin. Ruffled hair. Was I ready to have sex with him? It seemed like such a huge step. I was only seventeen. That was young, right?
He was so dishy, though. I could see the muscles under his shirt. Yum.
Because I found him sexy, did that mean I wanted to have sex?
Being a teen was the most complex thing in the world.
“Jane, are you all there?” Oliver waved a hand in front of my face. “I asked if you wanted something to drink. I have juice and soda and water.”
“Water is fine, thanks.” I lowered myself onto the sofa.
“Sure thing—oh, I was in the middle of this excellent replay game. It’s a throw-back from the sixties for the Cup. Look at the hair!” He chuckled while pouring the water and handed it to me. I could barely watch the game. I didn’t even know who was playing for the Cup. I didn’t care. Oliver kept yelling things about penalties and mascots and all I could do was let the haze in front of my eyes take over as I thought about the lacy number in my suitcase.
“Did you see that? Blasted cheater—can’t believe you support the Harpies. That club is insane. Stick to the head, that was.” Oliver took another drink and spoke with his hands. “Get her—I said get her! Get a better bleeding broom! The sixties was a difficult time for Quidditch, blimey.”
Was Oliver into lace? Did Libby wear things like that just for kicks? I could see her modeling lingerie and heels in Oliver’s dorm room. I hated her a little more.
I was starting to shake again, heart pounding loudly in my ear. I couldn’t hear the television anymore. When was he going to make his move? Was he going to wait until it was time to go to sleep, slipping a sneaky hand around my waist and pulling me into a provocative kiss? Would he sneak up behind me in the kitchen as I refilled my water? Catch me off guard while watching the game? My head snapped over. He didn’t look in the right mind set to catch me off guard. My hands were twisting in my lap again.
Would Oliver still find me attractive with my clothes off?
If I wasn’t any good, would he tell me? Would we break up eventually?
When was he going to do it? Why was stupid Quidditch on when my mind was going a zillion meters per minute? I couldn’t stand it. My feet felt numb and my body was cold and I was on the verge of simply freaking out and screaming and Oliver yelled something about a Seeker diving and what the hell was I going to do if he just reached over and asked me to have sex with him?!
I leapt to my feet. “So are we going to have sex or what?”
Mid-drink, Oliver spit his water all over the coffee table and television. Then he started coughing and choking, his eyes the size of china tea saucers.
A/N: Sorry about the delay in posting, everyone. I think this might actually have been the longest time I've gone. Winter Writing Rut struck and I was under its spell for a couple weeks. But I finished off this chapter today and into the queue it went! I hope you all enjoyed it...especially the Jane freaking out stuff. She hasn't had nearly enough stuff to freak out about.
Another note, I started a blog. It's called Project 2010 and it's covering a lot of things I hope to accomplish this year, like being healthy in a college environment, writing (yeah, a few story things are on there), and other oddities about my life. The link is on my author page at the top so feel free to drop by and check it out.
What do you think about this chapter? Favorite parts? Theories for what the HECK is going to happen once Oliver stops dying?
Thanks again for everyone's wonderful insight and reviews. You're all amazing! I appreciate it SO much, especially while I was going through my rut.
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