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Despite her maturity, Felicity had always struggled with feeling like a “grown-up.” Sure, starting college at 16 was great, but when your peers are at least two years older than you, it’s hard not to feel like the kid on campus. In the two years since, she’d learned to ignore it; what did it matter if she was younger, she could work circles around nearly everyone at MIT. So she donned her gothic armor to ward off her critics and stayed with Cooper, who had appreciated her and never seemed to mind how much younger she was.
Tonight was different. She didn’t feel like a child. She felt like a woman.
It was a little like wearing a new pair of shoes; foreign, but not in a bad way. She remembered how she’d looked when she left the house, the same black hair she'd had for two years, but minus the colorful streaks. Instead of her usual dramatic baggy blacks and accessories straight out of the dark corner of a Hot Topic, she'd donned one of her mother’s more modest cocktail dresses in a deep wine red that clung to curves she barely even realized she had. The delicate smokey eye makeup and dramatic lipstick her mother had delighted in helping her with before leaving for work felt sexy. Felicity had felt a little bit nervous when leaving the house and catching a cab to the strip, but sitting here on a stool, seeing the woman across from her in the mirror behind the bar, and feeling the appreciative gaze of a few random strangers, she felt alive and mature in a way she’d always struggled to feel.
She'd felt like she had been stuck in limbo in the months since she'd found out Cooper was dead, and for some reason tonight she felt able to shake that fog off. The warm night air was unusually humid from an unseasonably generous rainstorm, and instead of spending the night alone in her childhood bedroom as she had been since the end of the semester, Felicity had felt the pull to get out, to go out, and… something.
So here she sat, in the bar area in a popular hotel club nursing a glass of wine she'd bought with the fake ID her mother had gifted with her a year ago. Red dress, black hair, and feeling on the edge of… change.
“You look far too serious for someone supposed to be enjoying a drink at this lovely bar.”
Felicity looked up as someone sidled in and leaned back against the bar, whole posture oozing smarmy charm. He was cute, in a west coast trust fund yuppie kinda way, with long, floppy hair, and a clean-shaven jawline she thought could probably use a little scruff. He was giving her a lazy smile like he was waiting for her to suddenly start fawning over him for just standing there. She rolled her eyes. She'd seen enough men like this growing up on the strip. This guy was the type who grew up to be one of those men her mom had eating out of her hand with a bit of boob and a flirtatious giggle.
“Well I can't help it if this ‘lovely bar,’ has failed to provide me of any sort of genuine entertainment,” she finally replied coolly, sipping her wine.
“Maybe you'd have a better time dancing then,” he said. After she failed to give him more than a dry look, he continued. “Maybe I could join you.”
“I’m not sure if that's worth losing my hard-won seat,” she gestured to the bar.
“There's always the VIP area. I've got a table there for the night.” When she failed to bite at his not-so-subtle bait, he elaborated. “I'm Oliver Queen.”
She raised a brow. “As in the billionaire,” she clarified.
“One and the same,” he said proudly, head tilting back as though he'd played a winning hand and expected her to melt for him now.
“Isn't this scene a little low brow for your kinda crowd?”
“I'm game for any party if it gives me the chance to meet such lovely ladies as you.”
She scoffed. “Laying it on a little thick there, Queen.”
He smirked. “Is it working?”
She cocked her head to the side as if examining him.
“I hate to break it to you, Mr. Queen, but despite how your name and money have gotten you what you want before, I am in no mood for bullshit. I've had a shitty year, and I am far from the sexiest mark in here, so don't blow smoke up my ass. I've seen enough guys like you work the strip, so full of false flattery, sweet nothings, and empty promises; I'm really not interested in that kinda fake.”
She downed the last of her drink and moved to go, but suddenly was stopped by his gentle grip on her arm.
“So no bullshit. I can work with that,” he said quickly, smarm suddenly absent. In its place was a look of intrigue and a sort of calculation, as if he had suddenly encountered a puzzle and wanted to figure it out. And damn if the change didn't make him… kinda hot. “What's your name? “
Curious at his sudden change in mood, she decided to take the bait. “Megan.”
He leaned in closer, backing her into the bar again. Off the stool now, he was crowding her in; he was so much taller than her even in her heels.
“Fine, Megan. I'm Oliver, and I happen to think you have the hottest ass I've seen in this whole place, and I'd very much like to see it out of that red dress. I'm from out of town, currently single, and not looking for anything but a good time.” His head cocked to the side mimicking her earlier action. “Would you like to dance and maybe head up to my room?”
She stared for a moment. In the back of her mind, the cautious genius inside that governed her life told her to back off. Reckless sex with guys several years her senior was never a good idea. The grief that had weighed on her for months argued that it was too soon to dishonor Cooper with some feckless yuppie.
But the rest of her was… tired. Sick of just waiting for her life to continue, as if her life had been on hold since that last visit to see Coop in prison. Cooper had unintentionally stalled her whole life after he'd used her virus. And he had chosen to take his own life instead of letting her shoulder her part of the crime he'd committed with her creation. And as much as it sucked, he was gone, and a selfish part of her said that that didn't mean her life was over. She was barely 18. She still had her whole life ahead of her.
So this? This cute, kinda sexy, silly billionaire playboy who had stopped with the pretense and just wanted to have some fun with her? It was appealing. More than appealing. It felt like a way to feel alive again. And that made her feel bold.
“I guess I could be up for a little misadventure,” she finally said, a grin working its way across her face. “So long as you make it worth my while.”
His hand holding her in place turned to light fingers skirting over the delicate skin of her inner arm. The genuine smile he gave her sent a frisson of desire down her spine to settle low in her belly. He crowded in even closer, until he was pressed against the length of her, leaned in close enough that his lips were brushing against her ear as he spoke.
“I think I can do that.”
>>>---> <---<<<
Felicity, despite her preference, had always been an early riser. The fact that she was a grumbly grump-beast of epic proportions before her second cup of coffee did not change the fact that most days she was unable to sleep any later than 8 AM. She usually hated it. But this morning actually…wasn’t so bad.
There was a warm, snuggly bulk of a man at her back, a strong and surprisingly muscular (for a yuppie, anyway) arm slung in the dip between her hip and rib cage, and fingertips brushing tantalizingly against her belly as she breathed. Even the leg tucked haphazardly between her own was rather pleasant. Evidently, Oliver Queen was a cuddler and not a shabby one at that.
All in all, the night before had been surprisingly great . Once he’d realized she wasn’t going to be impressed by his name or his money and instead would be judging him by his own merits, he had definitely fulfilled his own promise of a grand misadventure. Their teasing give and take dancing on the club floor had turned into some passionate makeouts in a back hallway, which had then turned into a hilariously breathless flight through hidden staff halls in the attached hotel as they evaded a security guard that she was at least 70% was her old high school gym teacher. They’d taken the monorail to get away and had eventually stumbled into his hotel where he led her to his room. She’d barely had time to appreciate the opulent suite before they fell into bed and she’d been preoccupied with much more important things.
She hadn’t been expecting much in regards to the sex, but she was a little surprised at how generous he’d been. She expected him to be bossy and want her to do all the work, but he must have had something to prove from her earlier skepticism because had this been anything more than a one night stand, she’d almost have described him as ‘doting.’ She uncomfortably had to admit to herself that not even Cooper had been so focused on her pleasure when they had been intimate.
Her musings were interrupted by her bladder making its demands known, and she carefully tried to extricate herself. The arm around her waist tightened sleepily.
“Nooo, sweeth’rt we can go for round four,” he whined sleepily. She couldn’t help the grin on her face.
“I need to go to the little girl's room.”
He grumbled but relented, rolling onto his back and throwing his arm over his eyes. She darted into the bathroom quickly before hurrying back to the warmth of the bed when her business was done. He immediately octopussed onto her, pressing sloppy kisses to her collarbone. However, he froze as she suddenly heard his stomach growl loudly, making her chuckle.
“Room service, maybe?” she teased. “Then maybe... one more round for the road.”
“Mmm, I like that plan, you’re kinda a genius,” he murmured, pulling her into a steamy kiss.
“You have no idea,” she snarked, grinning into the kiss.
They were interrupted again by a phone ringing, clearly not hers so it must have been his. He groaned before pulling away.
“That’ll be Tommy. Lemme get rid of him or he’ll never stop calling.”
She nodded, sitting up and pulling the bajillion thread count sheet over her breasts as he pulled away to fetch his phone from his pants across the room, admiring the view with a grin.
“...yeah, I’m in my room, I took off with a girl and we came back here.” He turned to wink at her and she rolled her eyes. “No...yeah, it was great, she’s still here so I’m kinda busy if you get what I mean...no, Laurel won’t care.”
Felicity froze. A woman’s name is never a good sign if both parties present happen to be naked and it wasn’t your name. Suspicion quickly began to rise.
“...and you know how she is, Tommy. We’ve done this twice since the start of the summer, she gets mad, she breaks up with me, then when she cools off things are back to normal. She doesn’t care what happens when we’re broken up.”
Yeah, her grump-beast? Also apparently prone to turn into a rage-beast when some asshole lies to her about being single and tricking her into bed. Especially before coffee. Who knew?
“Yeah, I’ll talk to you later Tommy, see you at the airport—oww! What the hell, Megan!”
“You lying asshole!” Felicity hissed, smacking him with the ungodly plush pillow again. Throwing it to the floor, she immediately began searching for her clothes.
“What? When did I lie?” He asked in confusion. “Where are you going, I thought we were ordering breakfast!”
“Your GIRLFRIEND,” Felicity growled, quickly donning her clothes again. “I told you I didn’t want any bullshit, and you said you were single, and judging by that phone call, you’ve got a girlfriend waiting for you back home.”
“That? She broke up with me before we flew out, we’re on a break right now!”
She paused for a moment, gobsmacked. “That...did you seriously just use that argument? Really?!”
“What argument, what are you talking about? She broke up with me, it’s not like I was cheating or anything—“
“Everything you’ve said seems to imply you plan on getting back together with her. So you may as well have cheated.”
“It’s happened before, she doesn’t mind. It’s not a big deal, why are you making such a thing out of this? I thought we had fun.” He was pouting. He was actually pouting and instead of being endearing, it made her want to pick up the pillow again and beat him.
“Yeah well I did too, but apparently you’re a liar. I don’t sleep with liars, Oliver Queen. This whole thing?” She gestured wildly between them, idly noting him dodging getting skewered on her stiletto, not noticing how close they were again. “Completely inappropriate, even if you were ‘on a break.’ I’m leaving.”
“Megan, wait--seriously, this happens all the time, it doesn’t mean anything, she doesn’t care-“
“Then maybe the two of you should figure that out between you two cuz that doesn’t sound like a healthy relationship. But I’m not your therapist and I’m definitely not your side piece so I’m leaving.” She started toward the door and dodged when he tried to reach out one last time. She glared. “Don’t follow me; my mother's boyfriend is a security guard here and he will have no problems kicking your rich boy ass out onto the strip.”
With that, she stormed out to the elevator and tried to ignore the fact that she was commencing her own first walk of shame in her mother's workplace. And she definitely was not crying, she was just mad. And maybe embarrassed.
She should have listened to her brain. She should have known her luck with men would stay terrible. This had been a terrible idea.