Brenda laughs again, louder this time. “You’re right. That would require planning. You’re not that smart.”
A few people snort. Someone actually claps before stopping themselves.
Brenda grabs her purse and slings it over her shoulder. “Enjoy your sad little life, Marco. Just so you know?” She leans down, right in his face. “You’re not even good in bed.”
That one lands.
Marco’s face goes red. Then pale.
Brenda turns to Hannah. “I’m sorry,” she says genuinely. “You didn’t deserve this either.”
Hannah blinks, caught off-guard. “Uh—thanks?”
Brenda nods once. Then she looks at me, her eyes trailing up and down. Her brows lift. “At least you got a major upgrade,” she mutters to Hannah before she storms toward the exit, heels slamming against the floor.
The door bangs shut behind her.
Silence floods the room.
Marco slumps back into the booth with a soft groan.
All the fight leaves Hannah at once, probably her adrenaline crashing. She drops into a chair across from Marco.
“That was really awful,” she tells him, leaning her elbows on the table. “What you did to me. Not even calling.”
“Look, Hannah.” He straightens and gives her a salesman’s grin. “I just got a little confused on the dates, that’s all. Got my schedule a bit mixed up.” His eyes slide over her, calculating.
“Maybe we could pick up where we left off,” he adds smoothly. “I’m still hungry. We could eat now—”
I take a menacing step forward, not hiding the growl in my throat.
“You don’t get to eat with her.”
My voice is low. Steady. Dangerous.
Marco freezes.
“Hannah’s good,” I continue, the words spilling out sharper than I intend. “She actually gives a shit about people. She stays on the phone with her friends for hours when they’re hurting. She shows up. She doesn’t lie. She doesn’t treat people like placeholders.”
Hannah turns to stare at me, her brows knitting together, clearly confused.
I stop before I say something worse. Something that would give me away completely.
Marco swallows hard, color draining from his face. “I—I mean, I was wrong,” he stammers. “You’re right. I should’ve called. Let you know I wasn’t coming.”
“That’s better,” I mutter, my hands still balled into fists. I take a spot standing right behind Hannah’s chair, like I’m her personal bodyguard, which, honestly, I am.
Hannah’s not buying it either.
“I’d rather eat with the devil himself,” she says, eyeing Marco like he’s something stuck to the bottom of her shoe.
Then she snorts and reaches across the table, spearing a leaf of lettuce from his plate.
“Since you wasted my night,” she says coolly, popping it into her mouth, “I’m stealing your dinner.”
It’s a petty move, taking his food, but when I see the triumph in her eyes, the satisfied way she chews, I almost smile.
Marco opens his mouth to protest, then stops when his phone buzzes. He pulls it out, glancing down as Hannah keeps talking.
