Page 152 of Stop and Seek
Theo would’ve never picked the restaurant. Not in a million years. Not even with a gun to his head and a countdown echoing in his ears.
It was haughty as shit—perched above a coffee shop that reeked of money and roast beans. For a second, as he climbed the too-narrow stairs, he half-expected a guy in a velvet jacket to pop out and demand a password.
The air changed the moment he stepped inside. Gone was burnt espresso and hundred degree heat. In its place: Woodstock vinyl crackling overhead and something floral that punched straight through his nose. He didn’t have to look around to know he didn’t belong. At all. He’d figured the area was nice when he searched the address, butnicedidn’t scratch the surface. The restaurant was like someone vomited 1920s Art Deco all over a giant loft and slapped a price tag on it. Gaudy and gold. Uncomfortable.
The hostess barely looked at him when he gave his name. Her nose wrinkled like he’d tracked dog shit onto the imported rugs, and instead of taking him to a table like a normal human, shewaved him toward the bar with a face that saidtry not to touch anything.
It wasn’t him.
He’d checked the rear view mirror a few times before he came inandhe even managed not to cry.
Did he still want to hurl?
Yeah.
But he didn’t.
And that had to count forsomething.
Forty minutes.
Theo had been waiting forforty fucking minutes.Jagger was never on time. He’d be late to his own funeral, show up as a ghost like nothing happened. The stool beneath him had gone fromehto torture chamber. His back ached. His head pounded. His jaw felt like it had been clenching since middle school. And the martini? Twenty five dollars for a mini salt bath with six goddamn olives.
He should’ve held the olives. And the drink.
His phone sat face down in his lap, and every time Theo’s leg twitched, he hoped it was a notification. Jagger texting him to cancel. But that would’ve meant he was a decent person, andthatwasn’t true. If he ever showed up, punching him in the throat would giveTheoclosure.
This was fucking insane.
Here he was, dressed like some bum off the streets in a fancy-ass restaurant, trying not to let everyone see how fast he was unraveling.
He let his eyes wander—nothing else to do. Couldn’t even pretend to sip the martini anymore.
The dining room was filled with couples and groups, every plate expensive enough to have its own decorative flower. He saw a bottle of wine on the menu two tables over that cost more than his electric, water and trash bill combined. Laughter floated around him, all teeth and averted eyes.
Theo wasn’t like them.
They were whole.
He was patched together with leftover trauma and a mood disorder so bad his therapists had given up on him.
Maybe he’d given up on himself.
Holy shit,where the hell was Jagger?
Another glance at the door—nothing. No sign. Just a couple in Louboutins and a Rolex watch.
Why am I even here?
What did he think would happen? That Jagger would walk in, sit down and—what? Apologize? Cry into his cocktail about how insensitive he had been?
Theo scoffed under his breath. Yeah. Right. He’d probably blame it on hisTaurus Mercuryor whatever-the-fuck excuse he spat out on command.
Jagger wasn’t the one who had to live in the fallout.
Wasn’t the one sent dick pics at two in the morning.
Wasn’t the one with strangers messaging him asking,hey hot stuff, twenty bucks for a BJ?
