I whirl around to find Ollie standing just a few feet away, his broad shoulders filling the space as if he was made to command it. His jet-black hair is slightly mussed from the cold, his jaw tight with barely contained irritation, and he’s rocking a huge shiner on his right eye, which he hadn’t told me about. He’s wearing a fitted leather jacket over a Renegades hoodie, and he looks every bit like the guy you don’t want to mess with. He. Is. Beautiful.
