Page 26 of Oliver
Alyssa. The one who got away. Or so I used to tell myself.
“It’s easy to type fast when you have a script.” I shrugged, taking a swig of my beer.
Tobias didn’t argue, but his eye roll told me he wasn’t buying it. He really knew me well, the asshole. Ever since I was a scared college freshman and he was my RA. And he was spot-on with his observation.
Zahra was easy to talk to, and my fingers flew over the keyboard without thinking too much. I hadn’t strayed from the script, per se, but I’d taken creative freedom in making it personal, intimate.
For the sake of credibility, of course.
Of course.
"Well," Tobias said, his eyes wandering, bored by my barricades, as he called them. "Zhara’s fine, crisis averted.Now, can we please talk about something other than your fake girlfriend?"
"She's not my?—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. She's your 'client.'" He made exaggerated air quotes, nearly spilling his beer in the process. "But I haven't seen you this wound up since those two weeks Emmet was hiding out at my place after you brought him up from Norman."
The comparison was uncomfortably apt. Those had been some of the darkest days of my life—constantly looking over my shoulder, terrified that everything I'd worked for would crumble, spending sleepless nights strategizing how I could secure his safety.
"That was different," I said, though the knot that had formed in my stomach at the mention of that time suggested otherwise.
"Was it?" Tobias raised an eyebrow. "Because I distinctly remember you checking your phone every five minutes, pacing like a caged animal, and generally being a mess until you knew he was safe."
I took a long drink from my beer, half of it down my throat, before I placed the bottle back on the table. "I had reason to be concerned then."
"And you don't now?" He leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly. "Look, man, I've known you a long time. Long enough to know when something's getting under your skin. Whatever this thing is with Zahra?—"
"There is no 'thing' with Zahra," I interjected firmly.
"It's messing with your head," he continued as if I hadn't spoken. "And considering you're going back to Norman in a couple of weeks, I'm a little worried about you."
Norman. The thought of returning to that place sent a ripple of unease through me. But I'd been preparing for this tripfor years, meticulously planning every detail, calculating every possible variable.
Except for Zahra. She was the one factor I hadn't accounted for, the wild card that threatened to upend my carefully constructed equation.
"You know, none of this would be happening if you hadn't pestered me to join Rent-A-Date," I said, desperate to change the subject.
Tobias laughed, allowing the pivot. "Oh, so it's my fault now? I seem to recall your number popping up on my phone the day before Christmas asking to join."
"I was desperate. Scientific research assistants don't exactly make six figures."
"And yet, here we are, seven years later, and you're still on the roster." He grinned. "Admit it, you like the work."
"I like the flexibility and the financial stability it provides," I corrected, though there was some truth to his accusation. The job had grown on me over the years, offering a structured outlet for social interaction that suited my analytical nature. People were puzzles to solve, needs to be met, expectations to be fulfilled. It was a system I could navigate with predictable success while enhancing my own capabilities.
Until Zahra.
"Remember that first booking?" Tobias asked, his eyes dancing with amusement. "That hedge fund manager's daughter who wanted to make her ex jealous at some charity gala?"
I groaned at the memory. "How could I forget? She kept introducing me as her 'boyfriend from Harvard' even though my MIT credentials were clearly stated in my profile."
"And you corrected her. Every. Single. Time." Tobias dissolved into laughter. "The look on her face when you started explaining the statistical improbability that you would ever attend such an 'academically inferior institution'—"
"In my defense, I was new to the job," I said, though I couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "And factual accuracy is important."
"God, you were terrible," Tobias wiped a tear from his eye. "I still can't believe you survived that first year."
"Says the man who once showed up to a wedding booking in swim trunks because, and I quote, 'the invitation said pool formal.'"
