I’m a grumpy princess this morning when I walk into the coffee shop near Mikey’s apartment to find him seated with a coffee and this morning’s newspaper. I head over to the barista and give her my order and wait to get handed my drink before sitting down in front of my friend.
For two weeks I’ve tried ignoring Oliver, canceling on our biweekly meetups. Unfortunately, I’ve also had the privilege of hearing his name nonstop since Mikey can’t seem to leave me alone, thanking me every chance he gets. Even worse, it’s made me jelly, except stickier and thicker than my favorite PB&J.
Hearing his name, what he likes, what he hates, it’s driving me insane. I dream about Ollie, and more often than not, those dreams wake me up only to find that they’ve woken me up. I’m like a twelve-year-old with their first crush. I dream about him, think about him, and in two minutes, I’ll be doodling his name on my notebooks. I don’t know where this obsession came from. I don’t like being a person completely consumed by another being. I like my freedom; I like my independence. Not like a French poodle in heat over some bulldog.
But mon Dieu! For some reason, that damn pull is winning, and I feel compelled to do anything to get Ollie. And it starts now; consequences be damned. Sorry, Mikey, but phase one of Operation Oliver is about to commence.
I throw on a fake smile when my derrière settles into the chair.
“What’s with the goofy smile, mon amie?” I don’t want to hear him say it but it comes out. He puts his paper aside, takes a sip of coffee, then looks at me.
“Ah, French. The language of love. Not even I can get tired of hearing it come out of your mouth for once. I didn’t think geek was my thing, but there’s just something about Oliver that clicks. He’s the complete opposite of me in every way, but it’s…enchanting.”
I nearly choke on my coffee, and I find myself fighting the urge not to spit what’s left of it out across the table. “Enchanting? Really, Oliver Stark? The guy who can’t stop quoting obscure movies line?”
God, what I wouldn’t give to hear one of those right about now.
“It’s charming.”
“Collects toys and life-sized...dolls.”
“They’re action figures, and they’re kinda badass.”
I let out a huff and roll my eyes.
“Why are you trying so hard to find some sort of fault in my boyfriend? I thought you two were friends?”
This time, I do choke. I sputter at the word boyfriend. Like a nine-letter curse hell-bent on crushing me beneath its weight. I don’t like that it’s getting to me. Hearing the happiness drip from Mikey’s words is almost like an alarm going off in my ear. Like getting splashed with icy water. It’s instant and harsh. I just thought the two were playing footsies under the table, not swords under the sheets. At least, not yet. For a brief moment, it makes me think that whatever I have in store for nabbing Ollie might not work.
I take a second and try to rationalize my thoughts.
Oliver isn’t mine. Except, in your dreams.
He doesn’t like me. Except, he calls you every Wednesday and weekend, like clockwork.
You find his habits almost childish. Says the guy who owns a sex shop.
Nope, there’s no rationalizing with myself.
I put on a neutral face. But Mikey still looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“Je ne peux pas m'en empêcher si je trouve l'homme plus que charmant.” I confess my more-than-friends feelings to Mikey on a sigh, but plaster on a smile and speak less-than-truthful words. “I like the kid just fine, Mikey. As long as his smoking doesn’t bother you and you can get past the clown thing, then I think it’s great you two are together.”
I take a sip of my coffee, then pretend to pick a piece of lint off my shirt. When I finally look up, Mikey looks a little pale. I know it’s not fair to play off his irrational fears of clowns, or his disgust of the habit. I know it’s not fair to tell a little lie in my favor. I know that I’ll feel bad later. I’ll let my guilt and shame win out. Right now? I let my jealousy take that crowning glory. Because, damn it, I can’t sit around listening day in and day out about how great and wonderful Oliver is when he’s with the wrong person.
“You look a little white, buddy. You okay?” I put on my best concerned face and bite back my tongue. “Please tell me his little nicotine habit was a secret and not something I blurted out? You can’t get your panties in a twist over the way a powerful and successful man destresses after a hard day.”
Mikey shakes his head. “C-clowns?”
“You can’t tell him I told you because he hates people to know his secret, but he spends a weekend a month doing children’s parties. He says it’s how he relaxes. He didn’t tell you?” I watch him swallow hard and shake his head. “I know it’s only been a couple of weeks, but please don’t tell him I said anything.”
“I-I gotta go,” he stammers, leaving the last of his coffee and paper. I find it too easy to not call out to him as he walks away.
I smile to myself as he scurries outside the doors, the halo that shimmers above my head dulling and cracking.
“Stop staring at me like that.” I set the box of pastries down on Oliver’s desk, trying to ignore the glaring look.
“So, you ignore me for two weeks and think walking in with a box of food is going to make things right again?”
“They’re from McAllister’s,” I singsong to him.
I pick up the box and wave it in front of his face. His eyes go wide, and a slow smile spreads across my face. One thing I’ve learned about Ollie, he loves their cheese danish. I remember the day he told me, he patted his stomach and said that even a junkie would change his drug habits if they only got one bite of a McAllister pastry.
“I got them for you after having a coffee with Mikey this morning.”
His eyes slant again, and he pushes the box aside.
“I’ve heard all about your little talks with him. So, you make time for the guy I’m seeing, but you can’t take two seconds out of your day to even say hi? I thought we were becoming friends, Anthony. I mean, if all I am is a job to you, then I get it. Just tell me to cool off and I will. But we’re not even dating, and I feel like you’re stringing me along.”
“No!” I sit down, trying to reel in the impact of his words. I don’t want to be his friend. I want to be more, for some inexplicable reason. So much more. But I can’t tell him that it’s the reason I’ve been avoiding him. But I can tell him…
“I was staying away for Mikey’s sake. He thinks we were getting too close. I tried to tell him that we’re just friends but I also forgot how jealous he can get sometimes. He even said something along the lines of ‘Taking it out on those stupid toys of his,’ though I’m not sure what he means. It weirded me out. I’ve never seen him get so angry before.”
“Damn it!” Ollie grumbles and slams his fist on his desk.
“Are you okay?” I walk around his desk and crouch down until I’m eye to eye with him.
“No. First, I get a call from Mikey accusing me of some crap with clowns. When I tried denying it, he wouldn’t believe me. Said I was keeping secrets. Then you show up out of the blue, and while I want to strangle you for blowing me off for so long, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve missed you. But this whole thing with Mikey? I’m leery of how things will end. Valentine’s Day is in three days. For the first time ever, I have a date, but this whole sudden change of attitude has me rethinking things. He’s been acting really weird these last few days and I just want some damn answers.”
“Look,” I start, trying not to grin and cheer and jump in my nearly one-thousand dollar Louboutin’s, “let me get out of your hair so you can think on things. I’m here for you if you need to talk.”
I stand, gather my coat and messenger bag, and head for the door. Victory is in my grasp and smells oh so sweet.
“Wait!” Suddenly Ollie is behind me, turning me around and pulling me into a hug. I feel the smallest inking of guilt slither its way into my heart. I push it away, ignoring the feeling until I can’t sense it anymore, all the while freaking out that I am in the arms of Ollie Stark.
“Thank you. But that’s all you get. Ignore me again, and I’ll find that pretty purple suit you love so much and you might find a string coming unraveled or a button loose.”
His stern look is full of sarcasm but my scowl is real. I walk out the door fearful of my favorite outfit but elated. He and Mikey are in a bad place. I’ve lit the kindling and all that’s left is their insecurities to fuel the rest of this. Time to sit back and watch them explode.
This is it.
It’s set in stone.
I, Anthony Brock Cunningham, have officially gone form matchmaker to matchbreaker.
Halo, meet horns.