4. Jackson

Chapter 4

Jackson

This is a really bad idea , I told myself as I stood outside the coffee shop. I was early but my date might be too, and if he was inside, he might see me and think I was blowing him off.

But if I was doing that, why would I be hanging around?

Grrr, meeting people online and chatting to them but not meeting in person was a world away from how people dated in decades gone by.

Matchmakers used to do this job—and in many places and cultures they still did—and I'd put my trust in someone who looked at my life's choices and matched me with someone similar. Instead, I was doing the choosing, and based on my unlucky-in-love life, I was pretty crap at it.

I'd been chatting with two guys on Love and Hate and was hoping to meet both, but I was in a time crunch. The wedding was in three days, and I needed a guy at my side.

Brooklyn was my first choice. Not that he appeared easier to get along with than Marcelo or that I connected with him more. He was number one because he contacted me first. First up, first served! Or make that first dated.

Guilt had been plaguing me because in two hours, I had a date with Marcelo. Was that double dipping? My face flamed as I pictured me and Brooklyn fucking Marcelo. I fanned myself, but considering the day was cool and people were wearing sweaters, I got a few looks.

It was a surprise to me that I'd matched with Brooklyn because we were both alphas, while Marcelo was an omega. While it wasn't unheard of for alphas to be in a relationship or marry, it wasn't the norm. I didn't give a damn about what was normal, though today my aim was to find a date for the wedding, not a lifelong partner.

I pushed hair out of my face, picturing me meeting Brooklyn or Marcelo outside the wedding venue and going over when we met, what his favorite color was, and what he did for work. Any more than that and we'd have to wing it when the family asked us questions.

What if Brooklyn stood me up? I wouldn't find out by loitering outside, and after checking my watch, time was up. He hadn't come in while I was standing here, so he was either late, not coming, or he was on his second coffee and wondering where I was.

I strolled through the doorway and paused as I scanned the room.

He's not here.

No, that's him.

Wait, that's someone else.

He's definitely not here .

The yes he is and no he isn't opinions flip-flopped in my head as I surveyed the room until someone at a small table near the restroom raised their hand.

"Jackson."

I exhaled a breath I didn't know I was holding and strode toward him and extended my hand. Of course he'd come. I didn't doubt it for a minute.

"Brooklyn, nice to meet you."

I was grinning from relief at not being ghosted, but his smile faded. Odd, especially as he didn't let go of my hand. His was much bigger than mine—almost twice the size. Wasn't there a saying about big hands, big cock? Or was that feet? I could hardly ask Brooklyn to remove his shoes and socks and compare his feet to mine.

"And… and y-you," he choked out before slumping into the chair while still gripping my hand. If he tugged, I'd somersault over the table and into his lap. Unusual, but it'd be a conversation starter.

I untangled my fingers from his grasp and sat opposite. "Have you been here long?" Facepalm, facepalm. That was the conversation starter people used when they couldn't think of anything else to say.

"About ten minutes." He dabbed at his mouth with a paper napkin, and yet he hadn't been eating or drinking anything based on the table that was empty of cups and plates.

He must have arrived just before me.

"I'm dying for coffee. I've not had any today apart from one first thing."

Brooklyn didn't respond, his glazed eyes not focused on me but on a point behind me. I glanced over my shoulder thinking he'd spied someone more interesting than me, but the table was empty.

This would have to be a record where I'd bored someone so thoroughly in the first few seconds, they were dumbfounded.

"Are you going to eat or drink something?" I averted my gaze from my date to the chalkboard on the wall, listing the coffees and teas and the food items. I was going to have a grilled cheese sandwich with my coffee because I didn't want my empty tummy to gurgle.

Not that it would matter. This date was already in a downward spiral.

"Coffee, please," Brooklyn muttered to the waiter who waited expectantly. There were fifteen different varieties listed, so coffee didn't tell the server much. He pointed to the list, and Brooklyn said, "Black." And then he added, "Make it strong."

Maybe Brooklyn had a late night and it was nothing to do with me.

"Do you live close by?"

"No."

I waited, hoping for more. Instead, he grabbed a whole heap of napkins and shredded them. I looked away, thinking he was nervous and didn't want to draw attention to what he was doing.

"The weather's going to be fine until next week." I took a breath to steady my nerves. "Perfect for a wedding."

Brooklyn's eyes widened, and he coughed, not once or twice but continuously. I got up, thinking he needed me to pat his back, though I wasn't sure why I'd do that. But I couldn't sit on my side of the table and pretend nothing was happening.

But as I came around behind him, he stopped. His harsh breathing coupled with him white-knuckling the table signaled it wasn't me he was reacting to, unless he was allergic. Could people be allergic to one another? I'd have to look it up.

Mentioning the wedding was my first mistake, or the first of many. "My cousin's getting married this weekend."

The coffee arrived along with my toasted sandwich and saved me from talking and putting my foot in it. Again.

I scooped up the froth with a spoon and stuck it in my mouth. But Brooklyn's horrified expression didn't give me confidence he was okay. Perhaps that was a no-no, and I should have drunk the coffee instead and given myself a frothy mustache.

He picked up his steaming black coffee and tossed it down his throat, reminding me of a circus performer or a magician. I waited for him to scream and hold his throat before guzzling water. My hand gripped the phone ready to call 911.

But other than droplets of sweat dotted above his lips and a pretty shade of pink on his cheeks, he didn't react.

I munched on my sandwich, wondering how to get out of here. Big mistake not to ask Niall to phone me with an excuse so I could extract myself if necessary. And it wasn't necessary on this date, it was an emergency.

But Brooklyn shoved a pile of bills on the table, mumbling that would cover the check and the tip. "Sorry, I gotta go."

I wished he'd said, "It's me, not you," because I did nothing other than ask a couple of questions. I shouldn't have brought up the wedding, but the guy looked like he was going to be sick.

I ate the rest of my grilled cheese, but it had no flavor and I may as well have been eating cardboard. After checking my watch, I had ages to wait before meeting Marcelo, and I couldn't order another coffee, only to have a third in an hour. My jangling caffeine-fueled nerves wouldn't make for an enjoyable date.

As I sat nursing the remains of my coffee, I was overwhelmed with a sense of loss. Why? Because Brooklyn didn't like me? We were strangers, people who would never meet again. Or if we saw one another on the street, he'd run into oncoming traffic to get away from me.

But the remains of his cologne washed over me, teasing and taunting me, and I slammed my fist on the table, annoyed with the world, and especially that pesky aroma that wouldn't leave me alone.

Picking myself up, I hauled my ass out of there. The waiter awarded me with a huge smile, probably because of the tip Brooklyn had left.

I didn't give a damn about the wedding or my folks' reaction to me not having a date. But I mourned a possible friendship with Brooklyn, a man who couldn't even pretend to like me.

How messed up was that?