Chapter 17

Millie

Awkward. The definition of awkward is causing discomfort or embarrassment, a situation that's uneasy or hard to handle. And right now, sitting in this booth across from Oliver, with Tripp's harsh stare drilling a hole the size of Texas into the back of my head, this moment is the epitome of awkward.

I can feel the tension in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife, making me want to bolt right out of this restaurant and never look back. My palms are sweating, and my heart is pounding in my chest as if it's trying to find its own escape route. I can barely focus on what Oliver is saying, his voice drowned out by the roar of my thoughts and the suffocating weight of Tripp's gaze.

When Oliver suggested we go to Atta Boy Brewery for our date, I should have seen the red flags waving. I should have politely declined or at least put up a fight. But no, I had to remember Tripp's words, his casual suggestion that I go out with Oliver, like it was no big deal. And maybe, just maybe, a small part of me wanted to make him jealous, to see if he’d react, to test if he actually cares.

But right now, all I can think about is how desperately I want to abort this mission. My mind is racing with escape routes—should I fake an emergency? Pretend I’m feeling sick? Anything to flee and never look back. The walls of the restaurant feel like they’re closing in, trapping me in this unbearable situation.

Oliver, oblivious to the turmoil brewing inside me, smiles warmly. "Are you okay?"

I nod, forcing a smile that feels like it could crack my face, trying to mirror the easy grin he's offering. "I’m great," I manage to say, though my voice wavers slightly. It’s a lie, of course, but one I hope he won’t notice.

I glance down at the menu in front of me, the words swimming on the page. My appetite is nonexistent, but I pretend to scan the options, trying to figure out what to order—if anything. The thought of food turns my stomach, but I can’t just sit here doing nothing, looking like I’m on the verge of a breakdown.

The server arrives to take our order, and I hastily decide on a salad, though my appetite is barely there. As the server walks away, I find myself fidgeting with my fingers, trying to distract myself from the unease gnawing at me. Oliver starts talking, his voice full of warmth as he shares stories about growing up with four brothers and a baby sister. His eyes light up as he recounts the chaos and camaraderie of his childhood, and I try to focus on his words, though my mind keeps drifting.

“Oh, and my sister is dating your ex-boyfriend,” he adds casually, flashing a grin that I manage to return.

I nod, smiling as if that little tidbit doesn’t sting more than I’d like to admit. What he doesn’t know—what I’m certainly not about to tell him—is that I’ve been fooling around with my ex-boyfriend’s younger brother. That’s a secret I’m keeping tightly under wraps; Oliver doesn’t need to know that messy little detail.

As we sit here, I notice a few women in the restaurant casting smiles in Oliver’s direction. Their gazes linger a little too long, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of something—jealousy, maybe? No. Curiosity.

“Do you know them?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light, but the question hangs between us like a challenge.

Oliver shifts in his seat, a slight flush creeping up his neck as he shakes his head from side to side. “No… not really,” he says, his voice a touch too quick. He waves his hand dismissively. “Just one of my new employees.”

“Ah, I see,” I reply, though I’m not entirely convinced.

I glance at the woman he mentioned—she’s stunning, with the kind of beauty that turns heads effortlessly. And even from across the room, I can feel the tension between her and Oliver. It’s subtle but undeniable, like an undercurrent that neither of them can completely hide.

“Want to get out of here?” Oliver asks me in a rush, his voice tinged with urgency.

My eyes widen in surprise. Yes. The word echoes in my mind, loud and clear. I’ve been dying to escape this place since the moment I spotted Tripp, his presence making the air around me feel suffocating. But hearing Oliver suggest it now, out of the blue, feels strange—like he’s sensed something off too. “We haven’t even gotten our food yet,” I reply, my voice hesitant as I try to make sense of the situation.

Oliver looks nervous, his eyes darting around the room as if he’s searching for an escape route of his own. Just as he opens his mouth to respond, a shadow looms over our booth. I glance up, my heart sinking as I realize it’s Tripp, standing there with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Santa Fe Chicken Salad,” Tripp announces, placing the large salad in front of me with a flourish. His tone is laced with a mockery that makes my skin prickle. He winks at me, a sly smile playing on his lips. “A little bunny eating her salad.”

My cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and irritation, but before I can say anything, Tripp turns his attention to Oliver. “And for the man in charge, a steak,” he declares, setting down the plate with a heavy thud. His voice takes on a bravado, exaggerated and almost taunting. “Man eats steak.”

The tension is thick, and I can feel the weight of the unspoken challenge in the air. Tripp’s eyes flicker between us, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, as if he’s won some kind of twisted game. Oliver shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his earlier confidence visibly shaken, and I’m left wondering just how much worse this night is going to get.

“Thanks,” Oliver says, his voice calm as he picks up his cutlery. He slices into his steak with deliberate precision, pointedly ignoring Tripp’s taunts. His attempt to stay composed is evident, though there’s a slight tension in the set of his jaw. As he cuts into the steak, his gaze drifts over my shoulder, briefly locking onto the new employee—the beautiful woman who’s been casting glances our way. “This is perfect,” he adds, though his tone lacks enthusiasm as he returns his attention to his plate, forcing himself to focus on the meal in front of him.

The weight of the situation is too much, the tension too thick to cut through. “I have to go to the restroom,” I mutter, pushing back my chair with a little more force than necessary. I can’t stand to sit here any longer, under Tripp’s watchful eye and Oliver’s uneasy attempts to maintain control. I stand up quickly, my movements sharp, and without waiting for a response, I bolt toward the restrooms near the bar.

My heart pounds as I make my way down the dimly lit hallway, the noise of the restaurant fading into the background. Just as I’m about to push open the door to the women’s room, Tripp steps in front of me, blocking my path. His sudden presence startles me, and I stop short, my breath catching in my throat.

“What are you doing?” I demand, my voice shaky as he corners me, his body pressing me back against the cold wall. The hallway is dim and narrow, the flickering light casting shadows that make the space feel even more confined. There’s nobody around, just the two of us, and the air between us crackles with unspoken tension.

Tripp’s eyes darken, his expression hardening as he leans in closer. “I don’t like seeing you with that tool out there,” he growls, his voice low and possessive as if the mere thought of me being with someone else is enough to set him off.

I bristle at his words, anger flaring up inside me. With a sharp motion, I poke a pink-tipped nail into his chest, my gaze locked on his. “Well, you’re the one who told me to go out with him,” I snap back, my voice challenging. “So don’t act like this is any of your business now.”

The hallway feels even smaller as we stand there, locked in a silent battle of wills. The tension between us is palpable, thickening the air around us until it’s nearly suffocating. I can’t help but wonder how things got so complicated between us—how we went from whatever we were before to this charged volatile mess.

Tripp growls low in his throat, a sound that sends a shiver down my spine. Before I can react, he grabs onto my wrist with a firm grip, the roughness of his touch sending a jolt of electricity through me. Without a word, he pulls me down the dimly lit hallway, his pace hurried and determined. I stumble slightly, trying to keep up with him, my heart pounding in my chest as the distance between us and the rest of the world grows.

At the end of the hallway, Tripp stops in front of a door I hadn’t even noticed before. He yanks it open, revealing a small, cramped broom closet. Without hesitation, he drags me inside, the darkness of the tiny space wrapping around us like a cocoon. The smell of cleaning supplies and dust fills the air, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the intensity of the moment.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he whispers, his voice rough and desperate, the words slipping out before I can fully process them.

Before I can respond, he pushes me up against the door, his body pressing into mine with a hunger that’s impossible to ignore. The wood is cold against my back, but the heat between us is searing. Tripp’s lips crash against mine in a fierce, unyielding kiss, his hands moving to lock the door behind us with a sharp click. The sound echoes in the small space, sealing us in, as if this moment is something we can’t escape from, something we’re both powerless to resist.