Page 63 of Bad at Love

“It is not.”

Though, I think it is. When he first told me about his trip, I felt nothing about it. That was before we started doing sexual things with each other. I’ll admit things have changed between us since then, and yeah, maybe I will miss him a little. But only because I’m used to having him around now.

“Whatever you say, Batman.”

I groan. “I never should have told you that story.”

“Oh, I’m glad you did.”

Storm fiddles with the radio the entire drive, not able to decide on one thing. We reach the restaurant with twenty minutes to spare, which gives me enough time to have a minor meltdown in the car. My heart is racing, I feel like I can’t breathe. I tear my tie off and Storm has to fix it for me all over again.

The way I’ve been freaking out lately is concerning. Maybe it’s time to consider medication. Or maybe I’ll be fine once this party is over because I’m sure this is the leading cause of my anxiety-induced insanity.

Also, maybe I should be concerned at how well Storm can keep me calm. Or maybe I’ll just take it for what it is and not think about it.

We walk into the restaurant together and I stop at the host podium. My hands are so sweaty and I may actually pass out on the way to the table. At least then I won’t have to go.

“Dane party,” I say, tugging on my tie. The hostess looks over her schedule.

“Leave it,” Storm says, and I drop my hand for just a second before I start chewing on my thumbnail. “Stop,” he says simply this time, and I drop my hand again, this time focusing on letting it hang there all awkward-like.

“Ah, yes. I see it right here. Follow me, please. The rest of your party is already here.”

“Great, we’re late,” I mutter as we follow the hostess.

“We are not late,” Storm says quietly.

“We’re the last ones here. That means we’re late.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Gabriel. Relax.”

I prefer it when he uses that deeper, more firm tone. Something in me responds to that. He isn’t using that tone with me now, though he was only a few seconds ago. Now, he’s trying to be comforting and I don’t like that.

I stop abruptly, turning toward him, I quickly say, “This is going to sound really weird, but I only have a few seconds, soplease listen to me. If you see me doing something weird, acting out of place, use that voice on me to get me to stop.”

“Voice?” he questions carefully.

“Yeah, the one you used when you told me to leave my tie and stop chewing on my nails.”

There’s confusion on his face for all of a second before something lights up in his eyes and he nods. “You got it.”

I hurry after the hostess, who is still walking ahead, not knowing or not caring that we paused. We reach the table, which is in a back private room, and my mother sets eyes on me first.

“Thank god, Gabriel, I thought you—”

She stops when Storm moves to the empty seat beside the one I’m standing at.

“Can I help you?” she says to him with a raised brow.

“He’s here with me,” I say.

At least, I think I do, but the words apparently don’t come out of my mouth.

“I’m here with Gabriel. Storm Andrews.”

I can’t see him. I’m frozen and afraid to move, but I imagine he’s smiling politely. My mother’s eyes widen and my hands tighten on the back of the chair so hard the wood creaks.

“I’m sorry?” my mother says, looking at my father, who looks like he’s about to murder someone, before she looks back at me.

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