PROLOGUE
SEPTEMBER, 2004 – LAS VEGAS, NEVADA.
Sweat trickled down the back of Felicity's neck as she trudged up the outdoor staircase to the 3rd floor apartment she shared with her mother, Donna, just off the Vegas Strip. Felicity reached up and pushed her long, thick, black hair off her shoulders; wishing she'd worn it in the ponytail her mother always nagged her to. "You have such a pretty face, Felicity! Let people see it!" Donna Smoak would coo from the doorway of the bathroom the mother and daughter shared as Felicity applied heavy eye make-up. Instead, she would make a sound of disgust in the back of her throat, roll her eyes and pull even more hair down around her face. She smirked as she remembered the expression her mother had when she put the new purple streaks in last weekend. Donna had tried to be cool, but Felicity could tell her mother was about to shoot out of the sky-high heels she wore. Felicity honestly didn't understand why her mother tried. Donna always said she didn't want Felicity to end up like her; a minimum wage cocktail waitress killing herself in back-breaking heels relying on her wavy blonde tresses and long legs to earn enough tips for the bills that month. Well, Donna could breathe easily, Felicity thought. She wasn't anything like her mother and that started with her appearance.
With a relieved sigh, she reached the top of the stairs. She planted her feet on the balcony that ran the length of one of the sides of the building. Her apartment was just around the corner. Adjusting the weight of her laptop in her backpack, Felicity took long strides down the balcony; ready to meet the air conditioning in the apartment. Most days it was stifling since the superintendent wouldn't fix the damn thing until it broke down completely, but at least the small suite of rooms was only 80-something degrees instead of the 100-something outside. Felicity dug around in the pocket of her baggy jeans for her door key, finding it rolling around with her burgundy colored lip-gloss and some loose change for the vending machines at school. She swung around the corner and inserted the key into the lock; jiggling and nursing the stubborn lock open. Swiveling her hips, she popped the door open with her right one and fell inside. With a huff, she dropped her school bag gently to the floor, glaring at the lock as she pushed the door shut. Another thing the super refused to fix.
"Mom?" Felicity called out. Donna had mentioned possibly picking up an extra shift at the lounge this evening. Felicity shrugged. Seemed dinner was on her, tonight. She called out one more time. "Mo-om? Are you here?" She opened the fridge and pulled out a cold bottle of water, unscrewing the cap and brought the opening to her lips for a long swig. Kicking the door closed, Felicity walked out of the kitchen and into the small room that was their living and dining room combined. "You sure you're not here, mom? Because I plan on dancing around the apartment in my underwear and that does not include – watching my mother making out with a total stranger!" Felicity screamed as she stumbled upon her mother and a man she'd never seen before kissing heatedly on the love seat under the window. She slapped a hand over her eyes when she was sure she'd also spied some evidence of some heavy petting.
"Felicity, honey, you're home!" Donna exclaimed brightly, hauling up the straps of her dress and shooting the man seated on the couch a sheepish grin. He returned it, the tips of his ear turning slightly red.
"No! No, not home. Just… a figment of your imagination. Just as this is a figment of my imagination otherwise I am going to need so much therapy!" Felicity rambled as she retreated, hand still over her eyes. She squealed when her back hit the opposite wall. She scooted over, trying to find the entrance to the kitchen and her getaway exit.
"Felicity, take your hand from over your eyes," Donna ordered.
Felicity shook her head. "I'm good. I've been thinking of trying this out. Makes somewhat of a societal statement, don't you think? You know, see no evil, do no evil?"
"Felicity," Donna said sternly.
Felicity swallowed and lowered her hand a fraction. "Is it over?" She asked timidly.
Donna lunged forward and grabbed Felicity by the arm. "Sweetie, there is someone I want you to meet."
"Really?" Felicity muttered. "I would have assumed you would have introduced me before the tonsil hockey tournament. Ow!"
"Please be nice," Donna hissed on the twinge of her pinch to Felicity's backside. She led Felicity over to the man who'd stood from the couch, fidgeting with his collar nervously. He was tall and handsome in a craggy sort of way, his hair cropped close to his skull but still thick and luscious. He smiled at Felicity and Felicity couldn't help herself from smiling back.
"Felicity, I would like you to meet Detective Quentin Lance," Donna announced proudly, standing beside the slender man, as if she was showing off a trophy from her latest hunting trip. "He's here investigating a murder, all the way from Starling City!"
Lance reached forward, holding out a hand. "Pleased to meet you, Felicity," he supplied as he shook her hand enthusiastically. He had a northern accent, his words short and clipped. "Your mom here has been telling me all about you. Sounds like you're a real good student. Good with computers and all that."
"I'm flattered," Felicity replied, casting a look at her mother. "Normally, I don't even rate a mention with her conquests. You must be special!"
"Felicity!" Donna sputtered once more, her pretty blue eyes going wide.
Quentin held up his hand, his smile still easy and natural. "It's okay, Donna. I have a daughter around her age, too, remember?" Quentin turned back to Felicity. "Me and your mom were planning on grabbing a bite to eat. We were hoping you'd like to join us."
Felicity could see her mother slightly behind the Detective, nodded vigorously with a bright smile. She narrowed her eyes at her mother; something seemed too 'Gidget' for her.
"Gee," Felicity began, smiling sweetly with her deep dimples on display. "I would love to, but the image of you and my mother sucking faces has permanently killed my appetite."
"Fair enough." Lance reached behind him and took Donna's hand, grasping it lightly. "We'll leave you to your dancing then."
Felicity felt a blush suffuse her cheeks as the man led her mother out of the apartment and ducked back in, waving at her before closing the door. Pressing a hand to her temple, Felicity shuffled to her room.
"I think I am having a stroke brought on by massive mortification," she muttered as she went.
SEPTEMBER, 2004 – STARLING CITY, CALIFORNIA.
"Oliver!" Laurel emitted a shrill giggle. She thrashed on the bed with Oliver poised over her, tickling her breathless.
"Say it! Say you like my goatee or I will continue the tickle torture!" Oliver crowed, tightening his thighs around his girlfriend's hips to ensure she didn't escape.
Laurel thrashed some more and then stilled, giving Oliver a mock glare. "Never! I will never say it!" She cried, fighting back a grin.
Oliver pressed his lips together, tossing his hair out of his face. "Then you've chosen your doom." He fell on Laurel, running his hands determinedly all along her sides and down her legs.
Laurel caught onto his direction and began kicking out in earnest. "Oliver, no! No, Oliver, no! Not my feet. Not my feet!"
Oliver crouched at the end of her bed, her ankles imprisoned in his hands. "You know what to do," Oliver informed her, smiling with mischievousness to his gaze.
"I can't!" Laurel still giggled, unrelenting.
Oliver shrugged. "You have no one to blame but yourself." He yanked off a sock and attacked Laurel's foot with a vengeance.
"Okay! Okay! I give! I give! I love your goatee! I love it!" Laurel finally screamed, her face red from laughter and her chest heaving from her struggles.
Oliver halted his movements, pushing her jean clad leg over to the side and looking at her intensely. "Will you stroke it?"
Laurel's eyebrows went up. "You have some really weird fantasies, Ollie."
"Do you really think it looks funny?" Oliver asked seriously, releasing her leg and crawling up beside her once again on the double bed; lying down on his stomach and resting his chin in his hand.
Turning over on her side, Laurel gazed at him. Her mouth quirked up in a smile. She reached out and lightly ran a finger against the slight stubble he'd let grow along his strong chin. Oliver faced her, placing a hand on her hip, the air in the room losing its playful mood.
"I like it if you like it," Laurel whispered sweetly.
Oliver grinned, leaning in to meet her lips. Over to the side on a nightstand, Laurel's phone chimed happily. Oliver growled when Laurel made to reach for it.
"It could be my Dad! Do you want him to surprise us like he did last time?" Laurel reminded him with a chuckle.
"Answer your stupid phone," Oliver ordered, releasing Laurel to roll over and grab her phone. She jumped up and waved the screen at him, showing him the identity of the caller was indeed Detective Lance.
"Hi, Daddy," Laurel answered, stepping over by her dresser.
Oliver rolled over onto his back, looking up at the slowly spinning ceiling fan. He listened to Laurel's end of what seemed a benign conversation between her and her father. With Lance in Vegas on the trail of a murder suspect from Starling, he and Laurel had had unlimited freedom out from under the man's prejudiced nose. And if Oliver was being honest, some of the thrill was gone. He liked Laurel; hell, he probably loved her, but there was something. Something pushing him and making his legs itch; something screaming at him to get out. They'd only been together exclusively for a few months and already Oliver felt trapped. He was only 19. It didn't make sense for him to feel trapped, did it? He sat up abruptly, needing some air.
Laurel plopped back on the bed, tossing her phone up toward the headboard. "Case is almost wrapped up," Laurel began. "Dad says he should be home in another week or so. And he says he has a surprise for me. Do you think he won at the slots or something?" She asked with a laugh.
Oliver turned his head to look at her. "Maybe," he replied.
Laurel's brows furrowed. "Hey, are you okay?" She reached out and caressed the back of his neck, pulling him to face her.
"Yeah," Oliver reassured. He nodded forcefully. "Yeah, I'm fine. Hey, are you coming to Tommy's party tonight?"
Laurel noticed the change of subject but disregarded it. She sighed and looked over at her desk which was hidden under books and loose-leaf notebook paper. She looked back at Oliver. "I would, but I have got to get my outline done for my Sociology paper."
"Come on, Laurel," Oliver needled. "Your dad is out of town; Mr. Merlyn finally lifted Tommy's ban to his trust fund. This party is gonna be killer."
"Yeah," Laurel responded. "And it will kill my semester grade."
"It's not like you can't blow off one paper," Oliver told her, a little annoyed at her reluctance to drop her studies and come to the party with him which could be the last one before her father returned and put her back under surveillance.
"You know, not all of us can afford to party our way through college," Laurel admonished him. "Some of us actually have to work to stay there."
"And you don't think planning this party with Tommy wasn't work?" Oliver retorted, ignoring the reprimand.
Laurel eyed him, tucking some brown hair behind her ear. "Oliver, if you cracked a book you may find college is a lot easier than you think. Unless, it is your goal to get kicked out of all the top ten state schools."
"Guess it's a good thing I'm rich and pretty, don't you think?" Oliver smiled brightly.
Laurel rolled her eyes before leaning over to kiss her pretty, rich boyfriend.