Page 28 of The Bet
She’s turned away. Her body is tense, posture perfect, like she’s bracing for a car crash.
I let her sweat for a minute. I want her to feel the anticipation, the uncertainty. I want her to remember what I did to her, and what I can do again. I take a sip of the coffee, grimace, and set it aside. The act of drinking it is enough for me.
She fidgets with her phone, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm. She checks the door, then the window, then her phone again, then the door, then the window. I can see the argument playing out on her face: Stay or go? Speak or run? Let the whole thing disappear, or make it real?
I let her sit there for another sixty seconds. Then I stand, smooth my blazer, and walk to her.
She doesn’t see me coming until I’m right behind her. By now, the scarf lies discarded on the table next to her. The light ishitting her golden strands in a way that makes it look almost white. Her skin is milk-pale, and there’s a band of freckles across the bridge of her nose that I never saw before. She’s heart-breakingly beautiful in the clear light of the cafe.
“Andie,” I growl, and her shoulders go rigid.
She turns, eyes wide and blue, and for a second I think she might actually bolt.
“Thomas,” she says, voice too loud for the room, and then she laughs, a nervous, breathless sound. “Sorry. I didn’t know if you’d show.”
I lean in, just enough to make her shift in her seat. “Did you want me to?”
She hesitates, then shrugs. “I wasn’t sure. I guess I wanted to see if you were real.”
I smile, slow and deliberate. “You tell me.”
For a second, the whole café falls away. There’s just her, and me, and the memory of what we did with no names and no context.
“You look different,” she says, studying my face. “You look… softer.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment?”
She blushes, instantly. “I didn’t mean— I just thought you’d be in a suit, is all.”
I want to reach out, tuck her hair behind her ear, but I keep my hands in my pockets. “No suits outside the office,” I say. “Too many people know me in this town. Easier to blend in when I look like a guy on a lunch break.”
She nods, but her fingers are twisting the scarf, winding and unwinding next to her.
There’s a silence, sharp as glass. I decide to break it.
“I already have a table. Do you want to move over there?”
She hesitates, then nods. “Yes. Please.”
I lead her back to my corner table, the one with the view of the whole café and the street beyond. She slides into the seat opposite, tucking her legs under her, and sets her coffee down with trembling hands. Up close, I can see she’s wearing a little mascara, but it’s slightly smudged under her eyes and somehow, that makes her even more beautiful. Vulnerable. Her lips are swollen pink, and immediately, I wonder if it’s because of my kisses. She looks sleep-deprived, but not in a way that makes her less attractive. If anything, it makes her more so. Like she’s seen the worst of herself and survived.
She takes a deep breath, then says, “Is this weird for you?”
I consider the question. “No. Is it weird for you?”
She nods, then laughs. “Yes. But also, it’s fine? I don’t know.”
I watch her, watch the way she avoids my gaze but then looks up, defiantly, just to prove she can.
“Did you want to see me again?” I ask, knowing the answer, wanting to make her say it out loud.
She bites her lip, then nods. “Yes,” she whispers. “I did.”
For a moment, I imagine reaching across the table, pulling her hand into mine, kissing her right here, in front of everyone. I imagine what she’d do if I fucked her in the bathroom, pressed her face to the mirror and made her beg for it.
Instead, I just smile. “Me too,” I say, and it’s the only truth I need.
We sit there, the two of us, in the bustle of the café. She sips her coffee. I stare at her lips. The room is loud and bright, but it could be empty for all I care.
