“Hey, Charlie. It’s been a while. I hope you’ve cooled off. I’ve missed you.”
My eyebrow legit twitches. What the fuck is this asshole saying after posting that stuff online? Is he stupid? Squeezing my cup so hard some of the whipped cream spills out of the straw hole, I aim the most disgusted and outraged expression I can muster his way.
“Fuck off.”
His big hand settles on top of mine. It feels nice. Two days ago, I might’ve even sighed and felt sad that things between us didn’t work out, but he’s shit out of luck. Ben’s hand holding mine as he led me through that house party so he could screw my brains out in someone’s guestroom felt ten times better.
“C’mon now. You know I only posted that because I was angry. You were being a real brat not answering my calls after you threw me out. I had to get your attention.”
Jesus fucking Christ. The gaslighting with this one is strong. I can’t believe I ever thought he actually liked me.
“Fuck. Off. Asshole.”
He squeezes my hand tight. It takes everything I have not to wince. It’s the downside of being a cute and adorable twink with a thing for the big jock types who can manhandle the shit out of me.
Like Ben. Who’s into RS like me and gave me the pounding of my life.Sigh.
“Don’t give me that attitude,” Andy encourages, his deep voice channeling fake concern. “Let’s forget our little argument, yeah? You can go back to playing your silly games and I won’t say anything as long as you pay some attention to me before bed.”
I gape at him, my brain not braining. Oh my fucking god! Howdarehe? Does he think I’m his sex toy or something?
“Get your disgusting hands off me,” I growl in warning, my blood boiling. “You are fucking delusional if you think I want anything to do with you.”
“Charlie,” he scolds, clicking his tongue. “Don’t make a scene.”
I’ll fucking kill him.
I shoot up from my seat and throw the rest of my Frappuccino at him. He grunts and hisses. The entire café gasps, heads turning our way and phones snapping pictures.
“Stay the fuck away from me. We are done. And by the way, I might be into ‘silly’ games, but at least I’m not a brainless sheep who only copies what his dumb friends do.”
Yanking my hand free, I walk out of the shop and leave him with his jaw hanging.
Fuck him and fuck every other hot jock. I’m done being the fool in my own story. Cute and gullible Charlie who believes he’ll meet his Prince Charming one day is dead and buried six feet under the ground. Love can go suck it, because badass psycho murder twink Charlie only cares about sex.
My mood stays sour the whole day, and I hate that I let that asshat Andy be the reason for it. But it is what it is. Shitty days happen even to the best of us. Or the worst, depending on how you look at it. I mean, my actions at the café? Seven out of ten evil. I only regret not bitchslapping that asshole, because that would’ve bumped it up to a nine.
I scoff at myself as I pull up my phone and check the time. I’m waiting for my brother at a high-end roof restaurant in Canary Wharf. It offers a view of the Thames and the Cloud Cable cars, which, now that I think about it, I’ve yet to ride.
Me:Where r u?
Ethan:Traffic really bad. There in 10.
Me:I’m hungry. Nacho starter or fancy Mediterranean meats board?
Ethan:U srsly asking me this? Just order both.
I snort. I knew he’d say that.
Me:U still havent told me who u bringing. Is it a new partner?
Ethan:It s a surprise.Not ruining it. U find out soon.
I hate surprises. Almost as much as chickpea. Or minced chicken meat. Or juicy tomatoes, though I sometimes wish that wasn’t the case. About the tomatoes. I think it’s more of a texture rather than taste issue, but confirming such a hypothesis would require close encounters with them and I like to keep my distance. Besides, my brother knows I’m in a shitty mood today, so whoever he’s bringing will probably have an agreeable personality.
The starters arrive shortly after I order them, and I dig in. I’m about halfway through the nachos, and a third through the meats board, when my brother arrives just as the sun peeks out from behind heavy clouds and lights up the modern buildings that make up the Canary Wharf skyline.
“You are late. You said ten minutes. It’s been twenty, so you can’t blame me for eating most of the stuff,” I point out as I look up from the food.
