July 31, 2004

Oliver

Oliver was sitting on the couch in the living room, bottle of vodka dangling from his hand, top few buttons of his shirt wide open, and shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. Tommy was splayed on the couch next to him, whining about how his dad had taken his key to the Ferrari away again. Oliver swigged from the bottle, feeling his head swim a bit more than it had been before.

"I was supposed to take this total bombshell out for a drive tomorrow," he griped. "She's expecting a Ferrari. Ollie, what am I supposed to do?" Tommy was drinking bourbon, not one of the top shelf brands, but pretty damn good for a middle shelf brand. Mr. Merlyn had locked up all of his top-shelf whiskey after Tommy threw a rager and did body shots with it.

"I don't know, Tommy. Take the Mustang. Or the Caddy. I've got my own problems, dipshit," groaned Oliver. He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a phone number scrawled on an old receipt and threw it down on the table next to the receipt with Tommy's girl's number on it. "I got this number at that party last night, and I can't remember if I fucked her or not, which means I don't know if I need to call." He took another long pull from the bottle, acknowledging the fact that the vodka didn't burn down his throat the way it was supposed to as a solid indicator that he was probably drunker than he had intended to get.

"She's like a sexy librarian, all soft curves'n button-up blouses with these gorgeous blue eyes an' glasses," sighed Tommy, pausing to take a very long pull from the bottle of Redemption in his hand. "Y'know what? I can't let this pass me by, ya know? I think 'mgonna call her'n ask her what kinda car she'd wanna see." Tommy swiped up the receipt with his girl's number and ran off to dial her number bottle of Redemption dangling from his fingers as he went. Oliver took another swig from the bottle of vodka before grunting to himself and grabbing the other receipt off the table. He punched the number into his phone and held it to his ear.

Felicity

Felicity was curled up in bed with her well-loved copy of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix resting open in front of her as her roommate went on and on about how romantic Romeo and Juliet was. Felicity rolled her eyes and turned the page in her book, pushing her glasses up her nose.

"Fee, you have to see how absolutely perfect it is that Romeo would give her such a beautiful speech," argued Carrie, pushing her red hair back behind her ear. "God, I want to marry myself a man like that. But I guess I'll settle for Oliver Queen, if he ever calls me."

Felicity rolled her eyes; her roommate was a sweet girl, but creepily obsessive at times. Suddenly, Carrie's phone rang, and she squealed before running out into the hall and answering it. A few minutes later, Felicity's phone rang. She grinned to herself; she was expecting a call from the cute guy named Tommy she had met at the coffee shop. He had claimed he had a Ferrari, but Felicity honestly just liked him for who he was: funny and awkward and cute. She clicked answer on her Nokia and held it up to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hey babe, I was wondering if you wanted to hook up again sometime; that was really fun," said a gruff voice. Felicity's jaw dropped.

"Excuse me?" her voice rose in pitch, incredulous. "Who the hell is this?"

"Um, it's Oliver? Do-do you not remember?" the guy, Oliver, sounded so confused. "Oh, fucking hell. Is this the wrong number? Did I grab the wrong number? Goddammit, hold on a second. You're a blonde with glasses, right? Tommy wouldn't shut up about you."

"Um, it-it's fine?" she stuttered, confused.

"Tommy!" Oliver yelled, presumably holding the phone away from his face, as the sound was muffled. "Tommy, hang up the phone, I've got your girl here! You grabbed the wrong number!" There was a loud 'bang' from Oliver's end of the phone, and Felicity winced.

"Everyone okay over there?" she asked, marking her page in the book and closing the cover.

"Yeah, yeah. He's fine. He's on the phone with the girl I met the other night, and she's howling mad. Also, he's pretty drunk, just so you know. Well, actually so am I, but, you know, that's not really-"

"Wait, the girl you're trying to hook up with is mad?" asked Felicity, unfolding herself from her spot on her bed and moving closer to the door. She heard Carrie whispering furiously. "You wouldn't happen to be Oliver Queen, would you? I'd take that phone from Tommy now before Carrie flips a shit on you and cuts your, well, little friend off."

"My dick is not little," he practically growled into the phone before there were scuffling sounds and a couple yelps.

"Everything good over there?" she asked again, moving back to her bed to curl up again.

"Felicity?" asked a different voice, this one softer, more confused, and actually familiar. Felicity smiled; this was her cute boy.

"Hey Tommy. How are you?"

"Drunk. M'dad took the keys to the F'rrari," he slurred. "What kinda cars d'you like?"

"I'm a simple Vegas girl. Surprise me." Felicity smiled as she began to talk to Tommy. Who was, weirdly, even cuter drunk.

"Well, there's th'Caddy, but I think the Mustang might be more t'your liking," he replied. Felicity, laughing, curled her feet up under her and pulled her pillow to her chest.

A/N- Hey loves! This is going to be structured similarly to Are You Okay, Oliver? and will probably be around six or so chapters, and updated weekly (or as well as I can while working). I hope you enjoy this fic! All my love-Rose