Anything But Ordinary Chapter 3

Anything But Ordinary
Chapter 3

He’d seen Lois a few times recently, and they’d actually talked. She seemed to be coming to terms with everything and moving on, and Oliver had begun to do the same. She was happy with her job, working alongside Clark. Oliver realized it was probably for the best, but nothing seemed to chase away his discontent. Things were a little better, but he still had no desire and saw no real reason to wear the green leather, other than to keep an occasional eye on Chloe. He’d seen her hanging around Davis Bloom. They’d become fast friends apparently. He’d met him, and guessed Bloom was a decent enough guy. So why did it bother him to see them together? Oliver didn’t care to examine that, or her impending wedding to Jimmy Olsen any further. She was too good for either of them.

He was antsy. Any other night he might go patrolling, but he needed to blow off some steam, and found himself exiting a cab in front of another exclusive Metropolis nightclub. It was similar to most of the others he’d been in, dim yet colorful lights that flashed along with the pulsing rhythm of dance music, bodies moving and bouncing in a blue haze.

He’d already been recognized, but most people here weren’t all that impressed with his status. A few of the patrons were wealthier than he was, and those who weren’t didn’t care. After some mindless, boring small talk with a few acquaintances, Oliver made his way to the upper level, further away from the dense crowds. And then he saw her, well, the back of her anyway, wondering what she was doing here. Another one of her undercover investigations? His gaze remained fixed on her golden hair as he raised the glass to his lips. He wasn’t completely there yet, but the buzz was coming along nicely, and somehow, much to his own surprise, the thought of her being here stirred something inside of him, made his pulse quicken just a little faster. He didn’t know why. She was beautiful, sure, and something about her always brought out the devil in him, but he didn’t recall ever having this kind of strong reaction to her before. Maybe because since he’d seen her last, and had been watching out for her without her knowledge, she’d been on his mind. A lot. Maybe because out of all of his team members, she was the only one he’d opened up to, the only one he shared a piece of himself with that night on the roof when he’d saved her. The only one who possibly understood him, better than he understood himself.

He couldn’t say if it was the influence of alcohol, or what it was, that sent a deep, sexual hunger coiling low in his belly as he stared at the back of her head. Oliver’s dark eyes took on a seductive, predatory glint, and he downed the rest of his drink for courage, set his empty glass down on a nearby ledge, and wove his way through the various bodies that blocked his way, closer to the bar, closer to her.

She was wearing a strapless blue satin dress, and Oliver who’d begun thinking with his downstairs brain as soon as he’d spotted her, wondered vaguely how much cleavage she’d dare to show. She was leaning against the bar, talking to someone when he stepped up behind her, slipping a hand at the curve of her waist, bending low to whisper in her ear. “Sneak out of the house again tonight?”

The woman turned around to gaze up at him with startled, blue eyes. Oliver, taken aback momentarily, removed his hand from her, falling back an awkward step.

“I’m… I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.” he blinked, fumbling for words. He must be more buzzed than he originally thought to mistake this woman for Chloe Sullivan.

The woman, a petite, curvy blonde who had already recovered from her shock, didn’t seem offended. She appraised him, raking her eyes over him appreciatively. Standing before her was some six feet three inches of blonde pure, raw, male sexuality. “Don’t be sorry,” she smiled coquettishly, sidling up closer. “I’m not.” The woman placed her hand over the lapel of his dark suit jacket, rubbing her palm over him, sliding it down lower over his ribs. “But I can be someone else tonight if you want me to be.”

What the hell was wrong with him? Had he seriously been considering putting the moves on Chloe? Yes, he had. And to make matters worse, the profound disappointment he felt at this moment, upon discovery that the willing woman in front of him was not Chloe, was even more baffling. Oliver removed her hand, holding it in his momentarily. “I’m sorry. I… I have to go.” Just as disconcerting to him, was his refusal of a blatant sexual invitation when not seconds before he’d been wanting; hoping for one, when he thought the blonde was Chloe. He’d wanted her to be Chloe. What the hell was wrong with him? Chloe was Lois’s cousin, his friend, Watchtower; she was engaged to be married to that goofy photographer for Christ sakes.

Oliver released the woman’s hand, but she grasped onto his, pulling him back. She pouted, her eyelids lowering as she swayed against him, and Oliver realized she was fairly drunk, more so than he was. She lifted glazed-over eyes to his “What’s her name?”

“Who?”

“The woman you really want.”

Oliver shook his head to clear it. “Just a mistake is all. Sorry to have disturbed you,” he said quickly, pulling away from her and heading back toward the steps leading to the first floor. He stopped at the bar and ordered another drink. One more for the road. He downed it, and ordered another.

The woman you really want.

As he nursed it quietly, his thoughts meandered haphazardly to another petite blonde who gazed up at him with sad green eyes, crestfallen. He could sit here all night chastising himself for having desirous thoughts of her, but it made no difference. It would never happen anyway, and these new feelings only added to his current state of discontent and confusion. He was letting her down, letting everyone down, but until he’d found his sense of purpose in the entire scheme of things, it made no difference, his heart wasn’t in it, and nothing made sense.

Thumping dance music blaring in the back of his head, almost didn’t sound like music at all anymore, just a constant pound, that seemed to echo his own heartbeat. He should go home, sleep it off. Oliver sensed someone at his elbow. He groaned inwardly at the sight of the tall woman dressed in black next to him.

“You’re fully recovered,” Tess Mercer intoned knowingly over the din of pulsing music. “I’d be careful about what I drink though if I were you.”

He spared her a glance out of the corner of his eye. “Maybe I should hire a professional taste-tester,” he muttered, downing the rest of his drink with a slight grimace.

“Pity you’ve found solace in the bottom of a shot glass. It almost makes your descent undignified to watch. Almost.”

Oliver refused to acknowledge her with another glance, and focused instead on the dancing throng in front of him. “Kind of like the accident scene you just can’t turn away from, huh?”

“Good analogy. I for one will be awaiting the crash and burn.”

“Shouldn’t you be looking for Lex?”

“Are you worried I’ll find him?”

“Not at all.”

“You should be.” Tess slid off the barstool, and turned to leave. “Thanks for the entertainment.”

“Anytime, Tess. Anytime.”

He’d hailed a cab, but didn’t remember the ride home. Dragging his feet upon entering the penthouse, he loosened the buttons of his shirt, or tried to, then gave up and moved languidly toward his bedroom. Once there, he simply landed face first onto the bed with a low groan.

Moments later, someone was taking off his shoes; he heard them land on the floor, two soft thuds, one after the other. Small hands grasping his ankles, trying to shift his tall frame over toward the center of the king sized bed.

“God, you’re heavier than you look. A little help here, Ollie?”

“Don’t need any help…” his muffled voice slurred from the bedcovers.

“No. I do. Move up, you’ll fall off the bed.”

“Don’t care.”

“I care.”

“Go away.”

“No.”

Slowly, Oliver rolled over onto his back to stare into the sweet face of the woman he’d been thinking about too much lately. It was wrong.

The woman you really want.

Very wrong.

“I’m sorry to be here while you were out, but I really needed to use your system, and I was hoping you wouldn’t mind. I’ve been here for a couple of hours. I did try to reach you earlier.” She was talking too fast, and lifted a shoulder giving him an apologetic look, and then smiled one of those smiles of hers that left him feeling warm all over. “I suppose I’m glad you’ve come home alone… so I’m not uh, interrupting anything.” She reached for the sleeve of his jacket, and began tugging on it, pulling it off of him. He sat up with some difficulty, long legs falling over the side of the bed and helped her as he shrugged out of it, and watched her fold it over and lay it neatly on the bedroom chair. “Slim pickings tonight?”

“Not funny.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I deserved that.” He hung his head to gaze unseeing at the floor, attempting to undo the buttons of his shirt once more. He managed to get them undone and had begun to remove his shirt, then remembered himself, leaving his shirt to lay open. And instead sat quietly, trying to remember what it was he wanted to ask her. She came to stand in front of him, and his first thought was to grasp her by the wrist and fall backward into oblivion on the bed, dragging her along with him. It wasn’t even sexual; he’d rather sleep right now, and it was her warmth and comfort he sought.

“I’ve been trying to do some digging on Tess,” she said quietly, explaining her reason for needing his systems, answering the question he’d wanted to ask. “And on that bloodthirsty killing machine as well.”

He said nothing, simply nodded, and continued to stare at the floor.

“I found Tess’s keen interest in Clark a bit too suspicious. I know she’s searching for Lex, but I’m wondering how much she knows about Clark.”

“Lex took her in. Saved her. Groomed her. She’s indebted to him, and follows him blindly.”

“I know.”

“She’ll carry out his wishes, or get what she wants by any means necessary. No matter how ruthless or cunning. Don’t be surprised if she knows more about Clark than you think”

His speech was slow and somewhat slurred, but Chloe was surprised at how well he was handling himself. He still hadn’t lifted his head though, prompting Chloe to kneel between his legs, placing her palms on his knees. She peered up into his face, the scent of alcohol wafting to her nostrils. “And if she wants you dead?”

Oliver leaned toward her, falling slowly, resting his forehead against hers. “Then I guess you won’t have to worry about putting a drunken Oliver Queen to bed anymore.”

Chloe wasn’t bothered by his familiarity with her. He was tipsy after all. “Don’t say that Oliver.”

He closed his eyes, silent for a moment. “You’re the only one who knows me,” he blurted, out of the blue.

“I know this isn’t you. Not really.”

A lopsided grin appeared briefly. “Can’t fool Chloe Sullivan, the woman who figured out my green leather fetish all by her lonesome.” He placed his hands gently over the small pale ones that rested on his knees. “You’re right, it’s not me, and you should go… I don’t want you to see me this way.”

“Every knight has chinks in his armor or in your case, green leather. I’m not giving up on you, Oliver. Not yet.”

“That’s good to know.” His fingers trailed up her arms, sending shivers coursing through her. Large warm hands grasped her shoulders, as he lifted his head from hers. Half-lidded eyes darkened, drifting over her face, and then settling on the lushness of her mouth. He knew instinctively that she tasted as good as she looked. The woman you really want. He swallowed against the urge, his Adam’s apple bobbing lightly “You’d better go, Sidekick,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Why?”

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. “I don’t want another slap in the face.”

Her pink lips curved, returning his smile. “And what reason would you give me for slapping you this time?” She knew. She had to know.

He shook his head once, avoiding her question. “None. I’ll be fine. Just need to sleep this off.”

Chloe leaned back on her heels and stood up, allowing him to save face. “Okay,” she murmured, not sounding too convinced.

For the first time, he lifted his head to look up at her. “Besides, Jimmy must be wondering where you are.”

Chloe folded her arms over her chest, uncomfortable with the topic. “Jimmy’s out of town on assignment, and though he’s my fiancé, he doesn’t own me.”

“No man in his right mind would try to.” Don’t marry him, Chloe.

“I’ll let you get some sleep, then,” she said quickly changing the subject, turning to leave.

“Chloe.”

She gazed at him over her shoulder, waiting.

“I’ll help you.”

He’d just discovered that her answering smile was all he’d needed tonight. “Thanks, Sidekick,” she said, and then stepped quietly out of his room.

Oliver sat limply, listening for the sound of the elevator for her departure, wondering what he’d just gotten himself into.

End Chapter 3

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