“That's really nice of you,” he says carefully, taking a small step back, “but I'm actually seeing someone.”
The rejection hits me like a physical blow, made worse by the fact that I can't blame him. If someone had stared at melike a serial killer, physically assaulted me mid-sip, and then propositioned me in a voice that belonged in a sex tape, I'd probably claim to be seeing someone, too.
“Oh! Of course you are. You seem like someone who would be seeing someone. Very dateable. Obviously.”
He nods slowly, like he's trying not to make any sudden movements. “Thanks? I should probably get back to my friends.”
“Absolutely! Great talking to you, David!”
He walks away quickly, and I notice him glance back once, like he's making sure I'm not following him.
I stand there for a moment, contemplating whether it's possible to die of mortification, then trudge back to Natalie.
“Well,” she says, clearly having witnessed the entire catastrophe, “that was educational.”
“Don't.”
“I'm just saying, I've never seen someone weaponize flirting before.”
I bury my face in my hands. “Brandon is going to have so much material to work with.”
sixteen
. . .
Brandon
I'm standingat my kitchen counter, staring into my coffee mug like it will either solve all my problems or give me a glimpse into the future. The caffeine isn't doing much to clear the fog of confusion that's been sitting in my chest since last night.
Stella didn't get a date. In fact, she spectacularly crashed and burned with that editor guy in what might have been the most entertaining train wreck I've witnessed in years. I should feel bad for her because she was mortified and, as her friend and self-appointed confidence coach, her failure reflects poorly on my teaching abilities.
So, why do I feel relieved?
I take another sip of coffee and try to rationalize it. Maybe I'm just protective of her. Maybe my instincts knew that the guy wasn't right for her. But even as I'm running through perfectly reasonable explanations, I know they're bullshit. The truth is, watching her attempt to flirt with someone else made me want to march over there and remind everyone in that room that she was there with me.
Which is insane because I'm supposed to be helping her succeed with other guys. But the relief I felt when he walkedaway wasn't the reaction of a good friend or a supportive teacher.
It was the reaction of a guy who didn't want to watch the woman he?—
No. Not going there.
The sound of bare feet on hardwood pulls me from my spiral, and I look up to see Stella padding into the kitchen wearing one of my t-shirts and those tiny sleep shorts that have been driving me crazy for the past few days. Her hair is messy from sleep, and she looks soft and rumpled—and so gorgeous it actually hurts.
“Morning,” she says, heading straight for the coffee pot with the single-minded determination of someone who doesn't function without caffeine.
“Morning. Sleep well?”
“Really well, actually.” She pours her coffee and leans against the counter across from me, and there's something different about her posture. More confident, maybe. Like last night's success gave her a boost.
“Are we meeting your mom today? Any boyfriend duties I need to prepare for?”
A light chuckle escapes as she brings the mug to her lips for a sip. “Nope, you're off the hook. We're doing a spa day, so we'll be there all afternoon.”
“That sounds relaxing.”
“We'll see. I'm sure there will be plenty of questions about you, so while you won't be there in person, your name will definitely come up.”
“I'm flattered to be spa conversation material.”
