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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi! (insert semi-awkward, but not so semi-awkward, meaning completely fucking awkward wave here)

You know, the reason why I started writing this CYS' chapters so short was so I can make quick updates and not have to worry about the pressure of long chapters... Suffice to say despite those terms, I still managed to fuck that up lol! Which only tells me that once you give me wiggle room to mess around... I'll take that shit an run with it!

I'd say I was sorry, but it's most likely that I'm gonna do that shit again.

I write when I want, people.

I'm just glad y'all are enjoying my stories even though I'm a consistently inconsistent asshole.

On to the next!

*****

2.

------Oliver could feel the stranger (the unfairly hot stranger) staring at him; like he didn't know what to make of him.

That was normal, but to be honest, Oliver didn't know what to make of this guy either.

The two were stumbling through the darkened streets, both soaked through, both cold as hell. Oliver swore that he could feel the chill soak through his bones.

What the hell was he doing?

A question Oliver had thought to himself over and over again as he was half carried, half dragged over water slicked pavement.

*quot;Mr. Buchanan?*quot; A new voice inquired gently. It was crisp; professional. An assistant maybe?

Yeah, this guy's the type to have a fucking assistant.

Oliver was almost positive that assistant-voice guy was asking about him.

Oh, you know... The wet, greasy swamp rat plastered to Mr. GQ.

That name though...

Buchanan. Why does that sound so familiar?

... Christ, it was hard to think.

*quot;It's fine, Karl. Just open the door and keep the heat on.*quot; GQ said calmly to Karl the Inquisitor.

No bursa yabancı escort *quot;Mr.*quot; for Karl?

The guy definitely worked for this Buchanan dude.

Before Oliver can murmur a protest he was sliding into warmth. The calming smell of leather and warm, followed by a relieved sigh silenced whatever bullshit complaint he may have tried to pull out of his ass.

God it was so fucking warm in here. The urge to rub his face against the soft, buttery interior was strong, but the gearhead in him was screaming not to ruin such perfection.

Fuck. His clothes were wet. He had to get his ass off the interior. Even in his current state, he could recognize the quality of the leather. It practically screamed cash.

*quot;Hey!*quot; A big hand was gently- but firmly, pushing him back down as he tried to get out.

Liv blinked up at the angry face hovering over him, *quot;The leather--*quot;

*quot;Fuck the leather. Keep your ass planted.*quot; A no nonsense tone.

He barely registered the door closing, but he did catch a glance of the man he assumed must be *quot;Karl*quot;. He had closely cropped blonde hair, darkened by rain, though at this angle most of the blonde's face was hidden by a... what the hell was that? A hat?

A fancy ass hat.

Pft. Asshat.

Karl raised and umbrella ober GQ's head (a little late for that, but whatever) as he led him around to the other side of the car.

What kind of car was this?

The vehicle was running; engine purring softly. Oliver used his good eye to inspect his surroundings.

Plush dark leather. Supple. Soft. Not cheap. Definitely a luxury car.

He inhaled instinctively. God he loved the smell of good leather.

Then Oliver spotted the emblem on the steering wheel.

Ah. Of course he'd bursa sınırsız escort ride in a beamer.

GQ slid into the back seat, pulling out his phone from his briefcase (yeah, the man had a fucking briefcase), a square thumb going over the screen tapping on whatever he was looking for before bringing the device to his ear.

*quot;Natalie. Please go up to my apartment and have a bath drawn out. Hot one, please.*quot;

Apartment? Was that where he's taking me? Truthfully, Oliver should have felt panic; stranger danger and all that, but... GQ didn't seem the type.

Albeit not the best reasoning in the world, but Liv was too out of it to care. If anything he was more worried about getting wherever the fuck they were going so he can get the hell off the damned leather before he really fucked it up.

I'll reupholster if I gotta... Liv found himself admitting. Maybe he can do it as a thank you or something.

GQ paused, listening before answering in a cool tone, *quot;Yes, have them bring up dinner for two. I'll be having a guest.*quot; half a beat passed before he added, *quot;Nothing too heavy. Hot soup should suffice... bread as well.*quot;

He ended the call with a sigh.

*quot;Dinner?*quot;

Dark, dark eyes finally fell on him, *quot;Yeah.*quot;

*quot;Mhph.*quot; Liv shifted uncomfortably, *quot;Don't think I can keep much down.*quot;

It rubbed him a little to admit that. Oliver couldn't stamp down the shame he felt by the omission. No man liked to admit that he couldn't do something.

A man especially did not like admitting said thing to a man like GQ who appeared annoyingly put together.

Damn.

Liv felt him studying him... Again. He seemed to do that a lot. In fact, Liv was willing to bet that he did that often, probably preferred to observe rather than görükle escort forming actual words. The man didn't say much.

Hell, the guy could probably go days without uttering a single word; just going through his day with a series of head nods and grunts.

If Liv were a lesser man, he'd be intimidated as fuck. That wasn't to say that he wasn't a little intimidated, but that reaction seemed natural when you come across a guy like GQ.

*quot;Eat as much as you can.*quot; he answered quietl

Something was off. Like the words didn't match the book.

*quot;Why are you being so nice to me?*quot; Liv blurted; confused.

GQ didn't answer, just started at him with those unwavering dark eyes.

*quot;Who are you?*quot; GQ asked instead.

*quot;Oliver.*quot; he sighed, *quot;Oliver Grey.*quot;

When GQ didn't reciprocate (rude), it finally hit Oliver as to why the name sounded so familiar.

*quot;Buchanan.*quot;

GQ stilled. As in, completely stilled. Straight up turned into this scary as hell, but gorgeous statue.

*quot;Heard your man call you that.*quot; Live explained, leaning his head back as he tried to relieve pressure off his ribs, *quot;You don't happen to be the Buchanan would you?*quot;

*quot;That a problem?*quot; GQ sounded odd; coldly defensive.

Liv ignored the cold vibes stabbing at him from GQ's direction and paused to think about the question, *quot;No. Not really. Just kinda wonderin' whatcha want.*quot;

When Buchanan stayed silent, Liv turned his head to look at him with an incredulous look on his battered face.

*quot;What? Nothing?*quot; he turned away, closing his eyes, *quot;That's a stretch. People always want somethin'. Is it Good Samaritan Wednesday or some shit? Because, I hate to break it to ya Hass, people don't do nice shit for no reason.*quot;

GQ looked perplexed, the skin between his twin dark brows creasing as he mulled over something in that gorgeous head of his.

*quot;I... Don't know.*quot; His face held a serious expression. Not a lie.

Though it did make Oliver feel a little better knowing the situation wasn't just new to him.

He always did like a level playing field.

TBC...