22. Macey/Noah
MACEY/NOAH
Macey
The Burrow Bitches
Ariadne: What’s the status? Are you guys officially dating now?
Macey: Um
Britney: friends with benefits?
Macey: Well
Kira: Still “fake dating”?
Macey: Hm
Ariadne: Still fake dating and unable to express your true emotions. Got it.
“I have a problem.”
I buried my face further, my arms pressing against my words. The bright industrial light of The Burrow Café did nothing to ease the headache creeping into my temples.
I didn’t sleep last night. Hardly slept the whole weekend. Every time I laid my head on the pillow, all I could think about was Noah and everything we did behind closed doors. Then I thought, I should call him. It was only after my phone was unlocked and in my hand that I realized it was 3:00 a.m.
And that Noah wasn’t even my boyfriend. Technically.
Hence, the problem.
“Which one?” Britney called from the other side of the counter. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun as she frothed milk in a container.
I lifted my head and imagined I looked as pathetic as I felt. No amount of concealer could hide these baggy eyes. “First of all, rude. Second, you know which one.”
Britney hummed as she poured the milk onto the cappuccino. I eyed it carefully, curious what latte art she’d create this time. “Yeah, I do.”
I sighed. A few months ago, things were turning around for me. My column was successful, I was single and sufficient, and I had hit a new 5k record time.
Now Victoria continued to treat me unfairly despite my success, I was in a fake relationship with a guy I liked for real, and blogging took up most of my free time. Oh, and the cost of inhalers went up again.
“Life sucks.” I dropped my chin into my hands, well aware I was being dramatic. But I deserved a few minutes to vent.
“Correct.”
Britney passed the cappuccino to me. A heart stared back.
My hands wrapped around the cup as I let it warm me up. “You’re supposed to tell me everything is going to be okay.”
“If you wanted that, you would’ve gone to Kira or Ariadne,” she said. “Now that you’re well aware you’ve dug yourself into a hole, what are you going to do about it?”
Britney was right—that was why I subconsciously sought her out. Everyone needed a kick in the ass from a friend every now and then.
“I’m going to be honest about my feelings,” I grumbled.
“Hell yes, you are.” She encouraged me with a large smile. “But first you’re going to drink the amazing coffee your friend made you.”
I took a sip and glanced at the time. Fifteen minutes before I had to be back upstairs and in the office. I didn’t usually come to the café during my lunch break, but I had struggled to concentrate all morning.
“Besides,” said Britney, “I’ve seen the way Noah looks at you. There’s no way he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings.”
“I didn’t say?—”
“You didn’t need to.” Her emerald eyes softened. “Try not to worry about it too much. Your pinky has more chemistry with Noah’s big toe than Kira and her new boyfriend do.”
I choked on my coffee. Suddenly grateful I was wearing a black blouse, I dabbed at the spill with a napkin. “Don’t say that. You know it’s hard for her.”
Xavier seemed nice. Sure, he didn’t have much of a personality besides that, but Kira was content with her choices. And we needed to support that.
“I know, and I get it. That doesn’t mean she needs to settle.”
Also a fair point.
Ugh. Why were relationships so complicated?
“Fucking bastard,” Britney suddenly seethed, standing straight and placing her palms on the counter.
“Xavier isn’t a bastard,” I defended.
“I wasn’t talking about him,” she said.
Immediately my body identified the bastard she referred to .
My stomach curled to the point where if it hadn’t been Britney who served the latte, I would have demanded a refund. Something hot and sticky and full of anger paraded its way into my chest. It was like sharing a space with the guy who cheated on me had my organs on the brink of dysfunction.
Part of working as a columnist in the same industry as my influencer ex-boyfriend meant I’d have to see him on occasion, but I shouldn’t have to see him like this. When I was already at a rough and raw moment, stressed about things that didn’t involve him.
It took only a second to realize without a shadow of a doubt that the man who’d just walked into The Burrow Café was Kyle Arnold. Famous, pretentious local influencer. Also my ex-boyfriend.
What the hell? This was strictly my territory.
“Do you want me to beat him up?” Britney asked as Kyle headed for the counter. She was serious.
“It’s fine,” I said, distracted. My heart pounded fight, fight, fight . “I got this.”
As usual, Kyle was dressed in his finest athleisure. He was a little tanner than the last time I saw him, like he’d spent the entire week sunbathing instead of trying to be in the background of every other influencer’s picture.
Kyle hadn’t changed at all. Not physically, at least. Although he was a few years older than me, he was very boyish in appearance. Light brown hair with small curls, like he had attempted to style them but failed. Tall and lanky, yet his movements were very poised.
I usually avoided contact with him. The last time we talked was at a world showcase event at the Bean last year, during which he teased me, claiming, “You’re probably going to write something ridiculous about this event, like a beyond the plate segment. ”
And then I wrote it to spite him.
Ironically, the conversation before that included him begging me to take him back after I saw him in bed with another woman. I had laughed in his face, and days later overheard him telling people that I was a “lucky nobody” he had been with, along with a multitude of other insults.
Now I realized those insults came from his true fears: that I was a talented woman who climbed her way from the bottom and had the potential to surpass him.
We weren’t even in a competition, but he saw everyone as a competitor.
That’s what happened when you viewed life in terms of a competition: you had to wave to everyone you saw on the way up when you came crashing down. And for the people he crushed, like me, all I offered him in response was a middle finger.
There was nothing I wanted from him. Any opportunity for a meaningful apology was long gone.
Britney was busy with another customer when Kyle sat on the stool next to mine. Unsurprised to see me.
“What do you want?” I cut right to it.
He frowned, the mole on his chin moving with the movement. “Why do you assume I want something?”
“Because you’re in The Burrow, my territory. So you must want something from me.”
Kyle had the special ability to maintain an arrogant demeanor at all times. Even now, he leaned his elbows on the counter, the picture of poise.
“All I want is a cappuccino,” he said dryly. “But since you are here, let me offer my congratulations.”
Every hair on my arms stood up straight. “On what?”
“Hitting half a million followers,” he said.
Could I believe him? Obviously not. The man didn’t like any form of espresso, yet claimed he wanted a cappuccino. I rushed to check my phone. Yep. There it was—500,000 followers. Holy shit .
It was a great milestone to reach, but I didn’t feel any flood of joy at the realization. All it brought me was questions of where to go from here. As if I needed more of those.
“I underestimated you, Macey,” Kyle said casually. His eyes refused to meet mine, too concerned with observing the box of pastries near the register.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Your strategy game is perfect. Upgrading from me to Noah to get that much more influence. Great work, truly.”
I slammed my phone on the counter so hard I was surprised it didn’t shatter. I didn’t bother asking how he knew Noah—everyone in this business in Chicago knew Noah in one way or another.
“That’s not what happened. You cheated on me, Kyle. And I have never used you or Noah for followers. You know I don’t care about that stuff.”
I wanted to punch him in the face. I wanted to throw a tomato at him. I wanted to write a public exposé about him. Five thousand words, single spaced, Times New Roman because he hated that font.
He laughed. “Then why did you jump so quickly to look at your follower count?”
“That’s not…it isn’t…”
Was Kyle right? Had I become just like him, caring what others thought and always looking for the next level? No. You know yourself, Macey . If I was only concerned with follower count, fake dating the man about to drop off the face of the earth would be a terrible idea.
But I couldn’t say that to Kyle.
“It doesn’t matter.” I dismissed it. “You can say whatever you want, but the truth is you’re an egotistical loser overly concerned with your public appearance. You hurt me once, and you’re incapable of hurting me again. So I strongly suggest you leave me alone.”
I grabbed my coffee and stood up. “And you know what? Dating Noah is an upgrade from you. Because at least he would never lie to me.”
“But would he keep secrets?” Kyle stood as well, our eyes catching like two boxers about to battle.
I was about to answer with a confident no, but something made me stifle it down.
“Get the fuck out of here.” Britney rushed through the gate to our side of the counter, pushing on Kyle’s shoulders. “I’ll poison any coffee you order here or in a mile radius. I’ve got connections.”
I stood frozen in my spot as Britney, who was at least half a foot shorter than Kyle, pushed him out. Heaving in a deep sigh, I fled the café, heading toward the elevator.
Only to forget I was in heels and running was a really bad idea.
I tripped next to the elevator. Though I caught myself before I landed on the ground, the contents of my purse tumbled in a few directions. Squatting down, I hastily reached for them all and shoved them back in an order that would make my headache worse later.
Why would Kyle go out of his way to come here and tell me this? Was it an attempt at a brag? A subtle insult?
Maybe he’s jealous.