Page 17 of The Meet Queue-t
“Let’s just circle back. What do you mean he brought his mum? To the whole date?”
“Yeah. Turns out he’d built this fantasy about us in his head, and because we’d messaged a bit beforehand, he thought the date was something serious, I guess. I don’t know. Either way, she thought we were really seeing each other and wanted to meet me. To hear her, you’d think we were one step away from a quickie wedding. Couldn’t block his number fast enough.”
Oliver pushes his glasses up his nose with his forefinger. “Sounds like you dodged a bullet there.”
“Of gargantuan proportions,” I agree. “But honestly, I feel sorry for him. He was twenty-seven and I don’t think had ever made it past a first date.”
“I wonder why,” Oliver says dryly.
“But I don’t feel too bad, because while his mother gave me the Spanish Inquisition, he just sat there and ordered more wine. For himself.”
Oliver gives a bark of laughter that sends warmth streaming to my cheeks. “No, you’re right, he deserves everything he got. The question is, did you charm his mum? I figure that was theactualpoint of the date.”
“I think so. When we left, she graciously asked me when I wanted to see them—them—again, and when I told her this wasn’t going to work out, she had the audacity to look shocked. Like she couldn’tpossiblyimagine why I didn’t want to repeat the experience.” My groan is theatrical. “She even suggested I kiss him. While she wasright there.”
“Okay, you win. I can’t even compete.”
“I’m not surprised,” I say, before my brain can catch up with my mouth. “You don’t exactly look like you’d struggle with dating.”
He sends me a look of pure confusion. “What makes you say that?”
I eye the metaphorical hole I’ve just dug for myself.Good job, Tessa. “I just mean . . . You’re a nice guy. Cute. Funny. Aprofessor. You seem like a catch, you know?”
His next gaze is searching, and I will my body to stop overheating with my superpower blush. “I’m flattered, but no.”
“Oh.” I clear my throat, forcing myself not to ask any questions about his dating history, and trying not to feel as though he just shut me down. A minute passesin awkward silence, the blanket still warm around my shoulders and our arms brushing, but at that moment, the queue stops, providing a natural end to the conversation. A flashing sign blares to one side, informing us it’s 5:29 a.m. on the morning of September the 16th. I yawn, and seconds later Oliver hands me a second flask, this one containing tea.
“Here. You look like you need it more than I do.”
My stomach warms, though maybe it shouldn’t, and I accept, sipping it in the hopes it’ll stave off my headache. If this were a normal day, my alarm would already have gone off.
“Tessa!” Brandon pushes his way to where we’re standing, practically bowling the sleepy little boy over. He waves a quick apology.
I don’t bother hiding my scowl. “What do you want?”
“It’s your birthday!” He claps a dramatic hand against his head. “I can’t believe I forgot.”
Oliver stands closer, letting the blanket slide from our shoulders so Brandon can clearly see the arm he has slipped around my waist. It’s a hook to my heart, a jolt of electricity through my body that sends my nerve endings tingling. The contact sends much-needed strength through me—the confidence I need to face Brandon head-on, rather than feeling like I need to curl into a ball and let his words wash over me.
He has no power over me anymore. Not in the past or the present. Definitely not in the future. It’s a liberating thought.
I lean more into Oliver. Partly because I want to, and partly because I know it’s going to rile Brandon up again. “What business is it of yours?”
“Seriously?” He juts his bottom lip out like I hurt him. “After everything we went through?”
I study him for a long moment. I used to think he was everything, better than anyone else I could ever aspire to be with. But now, with his blonde hair scraped back and his eyes full of secrets, I don’t even find him surface-level attractive.
“Everything we’ve been through,” I say. “Do you want me to remind you of what we’ve been through, Brandon? How you cheated on me?”
He looks like I slapped him across the face. And then he has the audacity to look offended, face turning a blotchy red that looks like shadow in the early dawn. “So now you’re putting it all on me?” he demands. “We were barely even together. You kept everything so vague. I kept messaging, trying to figure stuff out, but you kept blowing me off or telling me you werebusy. So yeah, I messed up. But at least I was trying. I would’ve been there for you if you’d just let me.”
“That’s enough,” Oliver says, and when I look up at him, his jaw is tight. If it came down to it, I don’t think he’d win in a fight, but the idea that he would stand up for me makes me want to cry. “Leave her alone.”
Brandon’s eyes narrow, zeroing in on where Oliver and I are touching—and there are a lot of places. As though Oliver realises this, he tugs me even closer, pressinghis lips to my hair. I’m shaking, I realise. He isn’t, but the tension in his body snaps into mine.
Brandon was never violent. Not once. That’s not his style. I don’t think he would pick a fight in the middle of the street, especially when there are so many witnesses, but I’ve never called him out—neverhumiliatedhim—like this before.
There’s a commotion behind us, people parting, and someone strides through the crowd, stick held aloft.
