- eighteen - alex
This restaurant is the kind of place that makes my skin itch.
Everything is pristine, polished to a ridiculous degree—crystal chandeliers hanging overhead, casting some dim, romantic glow, and walls lined with gold accents just to remind you that yes, you’re in a place for the elite. The air smells like overpriced wine and quiet judgment.
The kind of place my mother lives for.
I lean back in my chair, drumming my fingers against the table as she surveys me, as if checking to see if I’ve somehow morphed into the obedient, well-mannered son she’s always wanted.
Spoiler: I fucking haven’t.
Dana sits beside me, still playing the perfect girlfriend, and for once, she's not annoying. No, she's almost slightly. . . pleasant.
She’s warm against my side, her fingers laced with mine, and with a soft glance at me here and there, she's acting like she's in love for real.
And fuck me, because it doesn't repel me.
It’s effortless when she laughs at something I say—soft and almost fucking real—I don’t mind this little act we’re pulling.
However, under the sweet act, she’s fuming.
It’s in the way her grip tightens whenever Angelica speaks.
Who is Angelica, you might wonder?
That would be my date.
Some high-society, polished, 'well-bred' girl who’s supposed to complete me or some shit. My mother’s ideal daughter-in-law.
Her eyes are bright blue—too bright, like they see straight through my fucking soul, and not in a good way. They’re creepy. Her lips are plump, almost like she’s overdosed on lip fillers. Her blonde hair is pulled back, and she’s draped in a blood-red dress.
The colour of Dana's cheeks right now.
She is livid, my adorable little roomie.
Despite her anger, she's been nothing but sweet, smiling through my mother’s passive-aggressive jabs and Angelica’s fake politeness, but underneath it all, I feel her rage.
It’s in the way her grip tightens whenever Angelica speaks. The way her smile stretches just a little too sharp when my mother drops another backhanded comment. No one else notices.
I do.
And fuck, it’s entertaining.
Oh, I know exactly why she’s enraged.
Because I may have forgotten to mention a tiny little detail.
That this whole dinner? Yeah. It wasn’t just about my parents checking in on me.
My mother brought me a date.
And if I had told Dana that, she never would’ve fucking agreed to this in the first place.
Dana shifts beside me.
At first, it’s subtle. A squeeze of my hand, a little too tight to be affectionate. Then, a sharp look—one I definitely recognize. She flicks her eyes toward the bathrooms, the silent signal clear as day.
Oh, this is going to be good.
I school my expression, nodding slightly like I’m some obedient boyfriend, and she exhales through her nose before excusing herself. Her smile is sweet. Too sweet.
The moment she turns, I catch the barely restrained fury in the way she walks off.
Fuck, this is gonna be beyond good.
I let a few minutes pass. My mother keeps talking, Angelica keeps glancing at me like I’m supposed to care, but I don’t hear a damn thing. Eventually, I push back my chair with a lazy stretch.
"Excuse me for a sec,” I say, already walking away.
. . .
The second I step into the ladies’ room, I stop.
Triple fuck.
I mean, Dana is always beautiful. Even when she's asleep, with drool running down the side of her mouth. That’s just an objective fact at this point. I'm fucking tired of finding ways to deny it.
But right now? She’s not just beautiful.
She’s a goddamn catastrophe. A walking disaster, dressed to wreck me.
In that emerald dress, slit running dangerously high up her thigh, smoky eyes sharp with fury, red lips pursed as she turns toward me?
I’d let her ruin my goddamn life.
She storms up to me, heels clicking against the marble. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?!”
I blink, tilting my head, fully amused. “Tell you what?”
"That your mother was setting you up on a fucking date, you absolute asshole!” She throws her hands up.
“I can handle your passive-aggressive mother.
I can handle the forced small talk, the fake smiles, the entire circus act.
But that girl—" She stabs a finger toward the door.
“She keeps glaring at me like I stole her goddamn birthright.”
I watch her, arms crossed, completely unfazed. Her sweet voice is higher-pitched when she’s mad, and it should be annoying, but—
God, she’s gorgeous.
“And the way she’s looking at you—” Dana cuts herself off, but it’s too late.
I raise a brow, fully entertained. “The way she’s looking at me?”
Dana huffs, arms crossing over her chest like she wants to physically stop the words from coming out.
But anger wins. “Like she’s two seconds from climbing into your lap!
Like—like she knows she’s some perfectly put-together, high-society, designer-wearing, Barbie-doll princess, and I’m just—” She waves a hand at herself, practically vibrating with frustration. “Ugh!”
Oh.
Oh, this is fun.
I smirk, leaning in just a little. “You jealous, roomie?”
Her jaw clenches. “Wha- Jealous?! Fuck you.”
I drag my eyes over her, slow. The slit of her dress. The mess of her curls. The red stain of her lips, parted as she fumes.
My fingers twitch. I wanna grab her jaw. Smudge that lipstick with my thumb. With my mouth.
"WHY ARE YOU STARING AT MY MOUTH, YOU ASSHOLE? GIVE ME ANSWERS!"
I smirk. Because of course she caught that.
“Dunno.” I let my eyes drag over her again, slow, deliberate. “Just thinking.”
She scoffs. “Thinking what?”
I take a step closer, and she notices.
“You showed up in that dress, all done up, acting like my perfect girlfriend.” Another step. She’s close enough now that I can see the way her chest rises with every furious breath. “But the second Angelica opened her mouth, you started losing it.” I tilt my head. “Kinda obvious, don’t you think?”
Her hands curl into fists. “Oh, fuck you, Alex.”
I laugh, because fuck, this is good. “Touched a nerve?”
Her eyes blaze. “You planned this.”
“Yeah.” I don’t even pretend otherwise.
Her jaw clenches. “You knew if you told me, I wouldn’t have come.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You—” She’s right in my face now, voice sharp, heated, vibrating with all that pent-up rage. “You wanted me to get mad.”
“Obviously.”
Her breath stutters. Just for a second. Like she’s about to say something else but forgot how words work.
My gaze again drops—just for a split second, to her lips—and when I look back up, her nostrils flare.
"STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!"
I grin. “Like what?”
"LIKE—" She waves her hands, absolutely seething. “Like you won.”
I chuckle, stepping back toward the door. “Dana, I won the second you agreed to this.” I wink. “Now come on before you start again, and I have to kiss you just to shut you up, girlfriend.”
"I AM GOING TO KILL YOU."
God, I love pissing her off.
. . .
The car pulls away, leaving us alone in the quiet chill of the night. The only sound is the click of Dana’s heels against the pavement, sharp and full of spite.
I watch her, taking my time, letting my gaze drag over her.
Her spine is stiff, her shoulders drawn up like she’s trying to hold herself together. Her fists are clenched at her sides, but there’s a tension in her that I know too well—she’s one second from turning around and swinging at me.
But then—her whole body shudders.
I smirk, letting a slow laugh escape. “Slow down, Archer.”
She doesn’t even look at me. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
Her voice is sharp, but it wobbles slightly, and I watch her heel catch on the crack in the pavement.
For a second, I’m sure she’s gonna fall on her face.
But no, she fights for balance, managing to stay on her feet by a thread.
I laugh quietly, unable to resist. “You gonna fight the sidewalk too?”
That hits a nerve.
She spins around, her finger stabbing straight into my chest like she’s trying to start a fire. “Don’t start with me, Lancaster.”
I glance down, deliberately slow, at the space between us.
Too close.
Her eyes are blazing, but her chest is rising and falling with more than just anger. She’s shivering, trying to hold it together.
I’m too entertained, leaning back and watching her.
Finally, I let out a heavy sigh and shrug off my jacket, tossing it onto her shoulders before she can say a word.
She stumbles under the weight of it, the jacket swallowing her small frame, but she doesn’t push it off. She grips the lapels instinctively, the soft material bunching in her fingers.
And then, I watch her tense like I’ve caught her.
"Archer, are you blushing?”
Her head snaps up, a look of absolute panic crossing her face. “N-no, I’m not. Why would I be blushing? Ha-ha.”
I step closer, leaning in just enough to feel the heat radiating off her.
“You totally are.”
Her nostrils flare. “I will kill you.”
I chuckle, stepping back again, letting the space between us grow. But my eyes don’t leave her.
“Better hurry before you fall over in those death traps you call shoes.”
The words barely leave my mouth before—bam.
She stumbles again, this time going down hard.
I can’t help it. I laugh. Full-on, wheezing.
Oh, this? This was funny.
Dana groans from the ground, her face twisted with pure irritation. “You could’ve caught me, asshole.”
I try to bite back my grin, but it’s impossible. “Oh, I could have. But you looked so graceful there, I didn’t want to ruin it.”
She grumbles, brushing herself off and getting back up, but now, there’s something different in the way she stands. Her shoulders are slumped, the fight draining out of her with every step.
She starts walking slowly, her head down, clearly not in the mood for my shit anymore.
She sniffles.
My laughter dies.
Wait, shit.
I step forward, suddenly concerned. “Archer?”
Another sniffle cuts through the air.
My stomach drops. What the hell?
“Dana?”
She keeps walking, a little slower now, and her head stays down.
“Archer.”
Nothing.
I rub the back of my neck, my frustration dying away and leaving behind something else. Something I can’t quite place.
“Hey.” My voice comes out softer than I expect.
She doesn’t answer.
God, help me.
I step up beside her, unable to help myself. “Are you—are you seriously crying?”
Dana sniffs again, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, but she doesn’t look up at me.
She’s still shaking.
She looks sad.
And I realize I’m the fucking idiot who’s pushed her a bit too far.
“Archer, I—” I stop, rubbing the back of my neck again. “I didn’t mean to. . .”
She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even acknowledge I’m there.
“Shit, Dana, I-I'm sorry.”
She just keeps walking, and it makes my chest tighten.
I move a step closer, my voice low, barely above a whisper. “Dana, hey—”
She finally lifts her head, her eyes red-rimmed and sharp, but there’s a crack in the armor. “What?”
I wince. “Don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what, Alex?” She spits the words out like they’re venom. “You want me to keep acting like you’re not a total asshole? Because I can’t.”
Fuck.
"Dana-"
“I’ve done so much for you today, Alex. I didn’t have to stick around, I could’ve walked away from all of this, but I didn’t.
I’ve been nothing but nice, trying to make this work.
And what have you done? You’ve been nothing but cruel and mean to me.
I’ve been trying to make the best of it, but you keep making it so much harder than it needs to be.
I can't do this anymore, I'm done with you.”
Her eyes flash one last time before she pulls my jacket tighter around her shoulders.
She doesn’t say anything more. Just turns and walks away, her steps deliberate, but there’s a soft tremor in them. The jacket sways around her, and she doesn’t look back.
How the hell am I supposed to fix this now?