Northstar Boys (Regie×Oliver)

Chapter 2

Oliver has been a steady fixture in your life for years. It is hard to remember when, exactly, your friendship began. High school was the first time you saw him - in all of Oliver's defensive, hockey star glory - but the first time you spoke was freshman year of University. Oliver plopped into the seat beside you in Econ and you did a double take, not having realized he attended this school.

Perhaps you should have. In hindsight, it would have made more sense for you to have known, given all the scholarship attention Oliver received senior year. It was not a priority for you though, you two had barely ever spoken and for him to accept a scholarship anywhere was not a blip on your radar.

Enter Econ 101. You noticed Oliver in the same way you notice a lot of things - seeing them without really caring. Trees you pass on the street, buildings beside the one that you enter. Oliver Moy was like that to you, just another piece of scenery - until he reached out and tapped you on the shoulder.

"Yes?" you blinked, looking up. "Can I help you?"

He must have come straight from practice, since he was still dressed head to toe in athletic apparel - you rolled your eyes, since Oliver clearly wanted you to know he was an athlete. The situation was made worse by the fact that you did know who he was, but not from college - from high school. Even worse than that, Oliver did not seem to remember you at all.

He slouched low in his chair, arching a brow. "Yeah. Can I borrow a pencil?"

It was the worst pick-up line you had ever experienced. The sleaze factor was at an all-time high; Oliver sat there with one eyebrow cocked, his right arm draped over the back of his chair. His legs were man-spread, as though waiting for someone to sit. Oliver looked slightly bored, as though he were expecting a reaction.

He got one, all right - just not the one he was hoping for. "Are you serious?" you snorted, looking down at your notes. "You've got to be kidding."

Uncertainty flickered across his expression. "I - no? I really need a pencil."

"Sure," you said, nodding at his gym bag. "Whatever sports gear you have in there tends to become obsolete in the classroom. Maybe next time you should bring a bookbag if you want to take notes."

That said, you resumed writing and Oliver stared, confused by your response. He did not stay silent for long, leaning over to tap you again on the arm.

"Yes?" you responded, looking sideways.

Oliver scowled. "There's no need to be rude, you know."

"Oh, please." You rolled your eyes. "You and I both know what you're doing."

"Oh?" Oliver crossed both arms over his chest - it caused his muscles to bulge at the action, which was thoroughly distracting. "And what, exactly, am I doing?"

"You're being an ass."

"Oh?" Oliver nearly choked on his laughter

By asking you for a pencil? Sure." He nodded, waving a hand. "Alert the media. Oliver Moy is on the loose! Ravaging nearby neighbors for pencils, oh no!"

"Save it," you huffed, turning forward. "It wasn't what you said, it was how you said it."

Most of his surprise had disappeared by this point - most of his confusion, too - leaving Oliver simply curious. "How did I say it?" he asked, as if he genuinely cared.

Chewing on your lower lip, you debated how honest to be before deciding full-frontal.

"Like you wanted me to sit on your dick," you said, swiveling to face him. "Your legs were spread wide enough when you asked."

Oliver's brows shot up. "Shit," he exhaled, chuckling to himself. "Wow..."

When he faced forward and said nothing more, uncertainty began to enter your thoughts. "Was I wrong?" you asked, peering at him. Strangely, you found yourself interested in his response.

A smile played at his lips and he offered a shrug. "No, you were right."

When Oliver admitted it, you grinned. "See? I was right not to give you my pencil."

"Maybe." Oliver shrugged, tapping the edge of your desk. "But what about your name?"

Though you would never admit it (Oliver seemed cocky enough as it was), your heart raced when he asked you. He was cute, charming but despite this (or perhaps because of this), you drew a hard line in the sand when it came to him. He was was clearly a fuckboy - that much became obvious during the first campus party you attended.

A few weeks into the school year, Oliver, for whatever reason (pity, interest or other) decided to invite you to a party. The thought excited you, but from the minute you arrived to the moment you left, the two of you barely spoke. It was hours before you even saw him and even then, it was just a quick, "Hey, you came!" before Oliver was pulled in the opposite direction to play beer pong.

You were alone the rest of the night, which is how you met Justin. Justin was older than you, uninterested in freshman games (drinking, or otherwise), and the two of you talked for hours until he walked you home and gave you a soft kiss goodnight at your dorm.