8. Tyson #2
“You’re being absurd!” She spins on her heel, moving down a couple of steps before glaring at me over her shoulder. “I don’t know why you agreed to help me when you clearly have some messed-up version of who is willing to date me. If I showed up with that elderly man, that would be a scandal.”
“Pfft.” I wave off her concern. “That’s the whole point, right? We want the focus to be on you, so it’s off your mother.”
“Clearly you don’t think I’m good enough to get someone close to my age. Maybe let’s forget about it.” She takes another step down, and my heart sinks with her.
Not good enough?
How could she ever think I don’t think she’s good enough?
She’s a literal queen.
No, not a queen, but my queen. She’ll never need a crown.
Her queenship is a different kind. Not over a country, or a kingdom, but my heart.
And the wildest part? After all the years of dropping hints, she apparently still has no idea.
The thing that scares me the most is that it’s not hard to see how perfect she is.
Any man she spends time with will be blown away, and I just can’t risk losing her like this.
She’s too good for anyone.
My heart shatters as her shoulders slump forward.
I’m only trying to protect her, which is awfully hard when she doesn’t understand the severity of what she’s possibly getting herself into.
How do I tell her she’s too good, and I will die if she dates someone else?
“Don’t leave,” I call after her with a weakened breath. “I wasn’t trying to make this hard—”
“Excuse me,” a deep voice cuts over the top of mine and pulls my attention to the sidewalk below.
It’s Mr. Young Brad Pitt!
My heart comes to a screeching halt.
He’s circled back and peers directly at Lottie, thumb hiking over his shoulder. “Excuse me, miss. I hate to interrupt, but is this guy bothering you?”
“No,” she’s quick to reply. “He’s a friend. We’re totally fine.”
“Are you sure?” His words are perfectly measured. “I saw you both staring at me when I walked by. Honestly, I got a weird vibe from him. If you need help—”
“Actually, I do need help,” Lottie blurts out before I can comprehend what’s happening. It’s like having front-row seats to the most gruesome car accident. I can see it all unfolding, but I’m helpless to stop it.
I open my mouth and reach forward, but my words are trapped in my throat. All I can do is mouth a scream, “Nooooooooooo!”
It’s too late, he’s already in hero mode, trying to rescue her as he raises an eyebrow and leans in. “You need to get away from this dude?”
“No.”
That earns him a small smile, and I’m instantly jealous. I want all her smiles. It’s not fair.
“He’s not bothering me, but if I’m honest, we’re talking about a situation I’m in, and, ah, it’s strange.” She cuts herself with the cutest little giggle, causing my heart to pulse faster.
It’s the cutest little giggle for him.
I can’t do this!
I can’t stand here and watch her ask this dude out.
My brain is literally exploding, melting into my skull as every second of this interaction brands itself into my memory.
The last thing I need is this moment burned in my brain forever.
I’ll die with it replaying. When everyone gets a full-life review …
not me. On my deathbed, I’ll just relive this over and over. It’s so nauseating I gag.
His eyes lock on hers, and there’s clearly interest. “Are you seeing anyone?” Her voice is surprisingly brave and steady. On another planet, I might be proud of her for taking a risk so uncharacteristic of herself, but not now.
“Like hallucinating?” She laughs at his joke, while I almost choke. Seriously? Why does he have to be funny. That was a great line. I almost laugh but force my lips shut, so not even a smile leaks out. Lottie asking this guy out is not a laughing matter.
“No, like dating.” Her voice gains confidence, and her smile widens as she continues, “I’m in a work situation where I need a plus-one for an event, and I don’t know anyone. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in helping me out.” Her words speed up as she adds, “You can totally say no.”
His head tips closer to her, but his gaze slams back to me. “You’re not together?”
“Well,” I quickly say, trying to conjure something that might make him feel threatened, but Lottie steps in front of me.
“Nah, we’re friends.” She waves her hands in front of her, negating that idea, and my heart squeezes painfully.
It’s not built to handle seeing the woman of my dreams ask another man out, while basically pretending like I don’t exist. I can’t listen.
I’m not trying to be rude, but I stuff my hands in my pockets and turn away.
I don’t miss the twinkle in his eyes, lighting up just for her—the exact way every guy reacts around Lottie.
It must be a protective instinct, but my brain goes foggy.
Their conversation fades into background noise, and I take that as my cue to sulk away.
She doesn’t need me for this.
He’s leaning toward her with a smile so wide, you’d think he’d just won the lottery.
Only this is better: he’s won Lottie.
This is the worst thing that could have ever happened, and the crazy thing is it was all my idea. My heart slams against my rib cage, ricocheting sharp pain through my extremities.
I’m clearly dying.
It won’t be long now, and I’ll just tip over dead.
I bet she won’t even notice. She will link arms with Mr. Intellectual Young Brad Pitt as they step over my sprawled-out body on the sidewalk and stroll off together to live happily ever after.
I grab my throat as I run off from this nightmare.
Unalive.