Page 10 of The Meet Queue-t

For a micro-second, he stares at me, probably waiting for the other shoe to fall. For the world to make sense again. There’s a flicker ofsomethingacross his face, and I’m certain this is the moment when he’s going to publicly reject me. This is the end to a very promising friendship-slash-flirtation, and Brandon is going to think I never got over him and I’m just waiting for him to take me back, even though the exactoppositeis true, and—

Oliver’s hand, slack around mine, tightens. His expression smooths out, and he adjusts our fingers so they’re linked. “Hi,” he says easily, like I haven’t just thrown him to the metaphorical sharks.

This man. I could kiss him.

“Boyfriend,” Brandon repeats.

Oliver’s hand twitches before he smiles. “That’s right,” he says, and it’s like I can finally breathe again. Turns out while those suns were taking millions of years to die, I was holding my breath.

I turn to Gracie, giving her my biggest—and fakest—smile. “So long have you guys been together?”

She frowns, glancing at Brandon, and he hesitates. I immediately know the answer is before we broke up, but the wave of sick hurt doesn’t bowl me over like I was expecting.

Scumbags be scumbags. I’m glad to be rid of him.

Oliver looks at me, brows slightly pinched, and I justknowhe’s picking up on all this subtext. The hesitation, the drama, the ‘other woman’. All the while, Brandonis glaring at Oliver. Apparently, in his mind, I’m not allowed to move on. He’s allowed to date again, sure, but not me. I’m supposed to be perpetually pining, mourning him as the ‘one who got away’.

Hah. Tough titties. I’m the one who got away from him, and good riddance.

“What about you?” Brandon asks. “How long have you been together?”

I panic, flailing for an answer that feels real, but Oliver saves me. He places our joint hands on my thigh, thumb sweeping over my skin in a soothing gesture. I do my best to ignore the fact the contact sends sensation rushing up my body right to my overly dramatic heart.

“A few months,” he says. “We’re just enjoying spending time together, seeing how things go.”

“Ah, the honeymoon phase.” Brandon nods. “I remember. Be patient with her.”

I gape at his audacity, but Oliver has tensed up beside me. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just saying.” Brandon waves a dismissive hand, then turns back to me. “I heard about your mum, Tess. Would’ve come to the funeral, but I couldn’t make it up north in time.”

It’s like he dunked me under the frigid water of the Thames. I turn cold instantly. I’m used to people bringing her up, even mentioning that they’re sorry, but Brandon is different.

He was there when we got the news about her cancer, when treatment after treatment didn’t work. One minute he was comforting me, and the next he was outscrewing his way through our town’s population. Girls I went to high school with, even college with. Gracie too, probably.

It was like a routine. He’d come home, help me make dinner for Mum, talk for a bit about his day, ask me for sex. When I refused, he’d stick around a little longer until it was time to put Mum to bed, then he’d leave to sleep with someone who’d let him. You know, someone whose mother wasn’t actively dying in the same house.

Weird I wasn’t in the mood. Fucking astonishing.

Oliver’s hand tightens on mine, and I’m pretty sure I’ve stopped breathing again. My lungs hurt, but I’m not sure if that’s oxygen deprivation or just the fact I’m facing the man who broke my heart in a thousand different ways. Who just pulled the scab off the greatest wound of my life.

My blood is lava, but while there’s so much emotion boiling inside me—fury a big one—the second I let even a drop of it out, I’m going to break down. And he doesn’t get to see that.

He doesn’t have any damn right to that. Not any more.

I swallow it all back down and keep my voice flat, empty. “Let’s not pretend either of us would have wanted you there.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Tessy,” he says. “You’re not still mad, are you? You don’t need to be dramatic about it.”

Dramatic? I’ll show him dramatic. But before I can do something that might be potentially illegal, like plantingmy fist in his face or pulling his ear off, Oliver reaches across to put his other hand on my knee, blocking my easy descent from the wall.

“Brandon,” Gracie whines, clearly bored with this conversation all about me. “Let’s go. We don’t want to lose our place.”

“You know I can never argue with a face as pretty as yours.” He flicks her on the cheek and glances up at me. “Let me know if you can see anything ahead, Tess. I’m not far away.” He taps his phone like I kept his number and didn’t block his ass the second he left. “Or just shout.”

“Sure,” Oliver says, still leaning over me slightly. It takes me a second to realise his body language is protective. “We will.”

We. Like we’re a unit. Brandon dislikes that as much as I like it, and I have the joy of watching irritation skip across his features before he walks away.

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