DRAWN TO LOVE

29-30

Oliver POV

The music throbbed through the floorboards, but I barely noticed it. I had just entered the main hall when my eyes caught her—Tami. She was standing awkwardly near the fringe of the crowd, gripping her bag too tightly, shoulders hunched as if trying to make herself disappear.

For a moment, my chest clenched. I knew that posture. I remembered that exact nervous tilt of the shoulders from grade school—the same hesitation and carefulness she had always carried. Only now, she wasn’t a little girl anymore. She had grown, softened into herself, curves showing in the right place of the cloth she's putting on. She's so beautiful but her presence still had a gravity that tugged at me.

I started weaving through the throng of students, scanning faces, ignoring the laughter, ignoring the drinks, ignoring Brittney and her posse. My eyes never left Tami. And then I noticed it: the slight wobble in her stance, the pale wash over her cheeks. My gut tightened. Something was off.

Her hand lifted to her forehead, as if she were trying to clean a bead of sweat and in that moment, her knees wavered slightly. A wave of dread hit me. She had been drugged.

Before I could think, I was moving. My strides carried me past dancing clusters of people, until I reached her side. She was swaying, trying to appear steady, and my heart thudded painfully in my chest. “Tami,” I called softly but firmly, grabbing her arm to support her.

Her blue eyes flicked up at me, wide and disoriented, and recognition dawned slowly. Relief mixed with confusion danced across her face. She tried to smile, but it wavered, and I knew she was struggling to stay upright. I guided her gently toward a quieter corner, away from the press of bodies, the flashing lights, and Brittney’s sharp gaze.

“Oliver…?” Her voice was weak, breathy, trembling. “I… I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay,” I said, my voice low but steady, eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of Brittney or anyone who might take advantage. My protective instincts, dormant for years, flared to life. “You don’t look okay.”

Her hand instinctively found mine, gripping it lightly. The touch sent a jolt through me. “I… I just… I don’t feel well,” she admitted, voice catching. Her cheeks burned, not entirely from the effects of the drug—there was a nervousness, a vulnerability that tugged at something deep inside me.

I could feel the tension rising, not just from the crowded room but from the sudden closeness. Her scent—the faint trace of her shampoo, soft and calming—reached me. My mind raced. I wanted to stay composed, protect her, but part of me ached with old memories: teasing her, scaring her, bullying her… all the things I had done out of misguided foolishness. And now, she was here, right in front of me, and somehow braver than I remembered.

“I’ve got you,” I said, gently guiding her to sit on a low couch tucked against the wall. “Stay here. Don’t move.” My hands lingered a moment longer than necessary, brushing against hers as I helped her settle.

Her gaze locked on mine, earnest, almost pleading. Then, in a move that stunned me, she leaned forward, closing the distance between us. Her lips met mine in a kiss that was brief but electrifying. It wasn’t hesitant—it was deliberate. She pulled back slightly, her eyes shimmering.

“I… I like you,” she whispered, words so soft I almost missed them over the bass of the music. “I’ve… I’ve always had a crush on you.”

For a heartbeat, the world stopped. My mind raced, memories of our childhood tangled with the present, the weight of my own emotions threatening to overwhelm me. I had teased her, bullied her, acted like an i***t… and here she was, bold, unafraid, baring her feelings despite the chaos around us.

“I…” I swallowed, my voice hoarse. “You… you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear that.” My hands moved to her shoulders, holding her gently, grounding her. “You’ve always been… special.”

Her lips curved into a small, vulnerable smile. “You… you didn’t exactly make it easy back then,” she said, half-teasing, half-serious. “You were… scary sometimes.”

I chuckled softly, the sound low and filled with both regret and amusement. “Yeah, I was… an idiot.” I reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “I’ve changed. I promise. I’m not that person anymore.”

Her hand lifted, intertwining with mine again. “I hope so,” she whispered, eyes glinting with both trust and a little mischief.

Behind us, the crowd moved, the music pounding, but for the first time that night, neither of us noticed. All that mattered was her—the girl I had teased, haunted, and secretly admired for years—sitting here, finally letting me in.

“Can you stand?” I asked after a long pause, my voice gentle.

She nodded, gripping my hand for support. Slowly, we rose together, her curves pressed softly against mine as we navigated toward a quieter exit. Every step was careful, protective, and somehow intimate.

As we stepped into the cool night air, Tami’s hand still in mine, I felt a surge of relief, pride, and something deeper—something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in years. She was mine, in a way I had never dared to imagine back in grade school. And this time, I wasn’t going to let her slip away.

She looked up at me, eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed from adrenaline and the lingering effects of the drug. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I… I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” I replied firmly, brushing my thumb over the back of her hand. “I’ve got you. Always.”

And for the first time in a long while, I believed it.