‘Why don’t you meet me at the cinema?’ he suggests. ‘I’ll see if someone else wants to get dinner first, I’ve got my heart set on the steak tartare.’
‘Maybe see if someone else wants to see the movie too.’ I scoot my chair backwards and stand, facing him. But Oliver doesn’t get the hint.
‘It doesn’t start until eight. You don’t want to miss it, Mia, who knows when you’ll get the chance to seeHow Much Wood Would a Woodchuck Chuckon the big screen again?’
‘A risk I’ll have to take,’ I tell him. ‘I’m sorry but I don’t think it’s going to work out.’
‘Seeing a movie?’
‘No,’ I say, gesturing between the two of us. ‘This. In general.’
He stares at me like I’ve just slapped him around the face and I kind of wish I had.
‘You’re not serious?’ he says, a disbelieving smirk lurking in the corners of his mouth. ‘Is this about the bop?’
‘No, it’s about me.’ Then I reconsider the statement. ‘Actually, no, it is about you. And yeah, a little about the bop. Maybe you could get an extra ticket and take those girls to see the movie.’
‘Mia, there’s no need to be jealous.’
‘Oh, I know,’ I reply coolly. ‘But thank you for giving me permission. So good of you.’
He’s flustered and it’s not cute. He’s not cute. A red rash is climbing up his throat as he grabs at handfuls of his hair.
‘What about my dad?’ he says, playing his one final card. ‘What about the internship at Herringbone?’
‘I don’t know if I want to intern with a company where dating the son of the CEO is a condition of employment.’
Oliver stiffens and his top lip twitches as he beats his hand against the top of my dresser. ‘Do you want me to beg for forgiveness, is that it? Because I will.’
Just like Alice said, he loves the drama.
‘Please don’t,’ I say as he’s pulling up the legs of his jeans to kneel. He’s wearing mismatched socks, one black glitter, the other a pink-and-blue diamond pattern. Not even Harry Styles could pull that off. No, wait, that’s not true, but Oliver sure can’t.
‘Is this your thing, the chase?’ he asks, one pant leg caught up around his calf. ‘You only want something until you have it?’
‘Hardly,’ I reply, pressing two fingers into my temple. ‘If things had gone differently on Saturday night …’
The reality of my words makes me feel sick. I can’t stomach the thought of it now. I look away from him, unable to hold his angry gaze and my eyes fall on a pile of maroon fabric by his hand. A sweater. That isn’t mine. Oliver looks at me then at the sweater and the name, very much visible, emblazoned on the back.
Taylor.
‘I see.’ His mouth sets in a grim line and the air between us cools to a chill. ‘Is this because of that football player?’
‘Who?’ I ask weakly.
‘The football player,’ he says again, disbelief colouring his words. ‘You know, the one who was pawing at you on Saturday night when you were supposedly so upset about my behaviour.’
So he did see. Maybe not everything but enough.
‘Oliver, listen—’
‘Because that would be a terrible cliché, Mia, choosing the athletic oaf over the artist.’
I could almost laugh out loud, thrilled and relieved that he’s decided to make this so much easier for me. He snatches his hand away from Ethan’s sweater, as though he’s afraid of touching it.
‘No, it isn’t about Ethan. I’m not choosing him over you, I’m choosing myself, just like you choose yourself every day. I’ve never done it before but I think I like it.’
The silent stand-off tests my nerve. I’ve never been good at letting quiet moments last, much more comfortable with meaningless noise than an awkward hush. Oliver looks hurt, betrayed even, and a whisper of guilt catches fire inside me as the corner of his mouth flickers. Just because someone does something hurtful to you doesn’t mean it’s okay to do something hurtful to them. Even Ethan said it, the night of the bop, I was using him to get back at Oliver, it’s not as though I’m completely innocent here.
