One of the Guys (A Ryan Reynolds fanfic)

Chapter Three: The Beginning is the End is the Beginning

I'm going to be Frank with you. Well, I'm going to be Ryan, just really direct about it. Sometimes in life you have to do something that you don't agree with because it's the right thing to do. It makes you feel like shit and you practically grind your perfect white teeth into cracked nubs. But you do it. That's what I did last night. The girl that I'd been in love with for damn near eighteen years was going to get set up on a date. By yours truly. I was really a shit storm of human emotion. Emotions. Awful things. They were like bed bugs, creeping in on you in the dark and biting you in places that could only be pointed out on a where-did-they-touch-you doll.

I didn't sleep a wink. I was up all night, googling things that my even deleting my search history wouldn't let me forget. Watched a few movies on Netflix. Took a few showers long enough to exhaust my hot water supply and oddly enough my skin lotion. Nothing seemed to work.

I finally gave up the ghost about six. I watched the sun rise. Cursed its very existence. Headed to Starbucks to pick up a coffee for me, loaded with more espresso than any man, or woman.. we're not biased around here, could consume. I grabbed Oli a caramel apple spice, because she hated coffee worse than I hated Catholic school, and headed to her place.

She loved used, broken things. Her loft was at the top of an old warehouse from wbya-wbya-two. The windows were so old that they were brown and you could barely see out of them. The bricks of the building were faded and chipped. Pretty sure that hobos turned their nose up at this dive. It was home to her. She said it reminded her of the D. I made the mistake of telling her that any time that she missed the D, I'd be happy to oblige. She licked my face and pushed me down. I liked it.

I cradled the drinks in my right hand as I jammed the key in with my left. The lock was rusted out and you had to maneuver the key in just the right way to get it to open up. Seemed like there was some sort of universal symbolism there but my tired brain couldn't brain enough to figure it out.

I nudged open the door in just enough time to see her walking across the living room. I almost tripped. It was a common occurrence for the sexually frustrated, sleepless Ryan to lose all semblance of cool when he saw one Oli "Junk-in-the-trunk" Grant strutting around in her underwear. As Van Wilder I once said that you could tell a lot about a person by the sort of underwear that they wore. I'd give that a 60/40 chance at being true. I was a sex god and so naturally I went without. Oli on the other hand.. She did some things. We often talked about it.. but she always generally wore these really cute cotton briefs or the cheeky boyshort things. They weren't grown up undies either. Oh, no. Today, for instance, she had Captain America printed all over them. God bless America.

"I'm changing the locks." She yawned as she lifted her tank top to scratch her stomach.

I swallowed hard and tipped my head up. "Good. You're one door knob jiggle away from becoming an episode of Law and Order: SVU. Drink?"

She walked over on her tiptoes, something that she always did. I always teased her that she was trying to look taller. She told me that when she was a little girl she tried to teach herself how to be quiet enough to kill someone while they slept. I was a little scared. Not going to lie. She told me that she watched The Professional a little too much and wanted to be a Hitman. But alas, her talents were better suited elsewhere. Now it was just a habit. I really did know how to pick em.

"Mmmm. Gimme." She purred, reaching for the cup. I lifted it above my head and lifted a brow. "What do we say, Olivia?"

"That I paid in full by the eye fucking you gave me just now. Give it." I nearly fell over as she launched her little Hobbit body at me, scaling me like I was some jungle gym. She collected the cup and dropped silently on the wooden floors. I blinked as she grinned and skipped to the large exit sign that she turned into an island bar in the kitchen.