Page 9 of The Status Situation

Darius settles against the back of the couch next to me instead of on the recliner. “Okay. Well, let’s see what other pictures this guy has, yeah?”

I give him an enthusiastic nod and quickly unlock my phone. I make the notification with Mark’s message vanish with a quick swipe before I go back to his photos so Darius and I can admire him and all of his delicious muscles.

At least for now, the dream continues.

Four

Maria

“We are almost done,” Darius tells me. “Just a little bit longer.” He has said the same thing so many times today that it’s unclear as to whether or not he’s trying to convince himself or me at this point.

I nod because I don’t have the energy for much else. The energy I do have, I am putting into finishing what’s left of my shift.

Today’s been rough. Not only is it unbearably hot again outside, but there’s also some kind of conference going on in the hotel across the street, so we’ve been busier than usual. This is the first lull in customers all day.

On top of all that, both Darius and I are nursing terrible hangovers, thanks to the copious amount of wine we consumed last night. Between the chatter, the sound of the steamer, the coffee grinder, and the consistent clatter of cups, plates, and silverware, I don’t think my head has stopped pounding once today.

I look over at my best friend, who is bent over the coffee bar, resting his head on the smooth wood. My lips quirk up into a small smile as I set the mug I was washing into the dish drainer. “This is your fault, you know. The wine was your idea.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” he groans before straightening with a sigh to resume wiping down the counter. “I am never drinking wine again.”

I snort in disbelief. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious. This time, I’m done.”

We both know he’s full of it. It’s not the first time either one of us has had to work with a hangover, and while feeling so miserable that we vow we will never drink that much again. A vow we have yet to keep. It’s kind of our thing.

Having finished with the counter, Darius joins me at the sink. “Hey, do you wanna grab some takeout on the way home?” He asks. “I don’t really feel like cooking. Do you?”

My nose scrunches at the idea of actually trying to cook right now, and I shake my head. “No, I don’t. Takeout sounds good.”

With a nod, he pulls his phone out of his back pocket just as the cheery little bell above the door dings, indicating a customer. He inclines his head in the direction of the door, but doesn’t look up from his phone screen. “You get that; I’ll look and see which places have the best deals right now.”

“Works for me,” I reply, setting the clean plate in the dish drainer next to the mug and turning off the sink. Grabbing the towel off the hook above the sink, I start drying my hands as I turn toward the door. “I’ll be right with y⁠— ”

My words die on my tongue the moment I see who it is that just walked into the shop, and I freeze in place. As my heart drops into the pit of my stomach, my eyes widen in realization, and my lungs even seem to forget what oxygen is.

Shit. Shit. Shit. This can’t be happening. What is he doing here? And how the hell did he even find me?

Having realized that I’ve made no move toward the register to take the order, Darius looks up from his phone. “Maria?” He follows my line of sight to the two men now approaching the counter. “No freaking way! Is that⁠— ”

“Mark.” His name leaves my lips in a breathy whisper.

It really is him. Mark. The guy I chose to be in a social media relationship with last night, while drunk on wine, just to get Darius off my back about dating. I was supposed to change my status back to ‘single’ this morning, but I completely forgot because of my hangover. I had ignored the message he sent me last night because I didn’t want to have to figure out how to explain why I did what I did, and now he’s here. I guess he decided to confront me face-to-face.

I’m so screwed.

The desire to hide behind Darius is strong, but my feet feel like they are cemented to the floor, making it impossible for me to move. All I can do is stare as the man who looks like he just stepped out of a wet dream reaches the counter, a knowing smirk on his too-perfect face.

He’s even hotter in person, which shouldn’t even be allowed. Standing at about six feet five, he’s ridiculously tall and is dressed in black slacks and a crisp, navy button-down with a white T-shirt underneath. His hair is still a bit of a mess, and his sharp jaw is lined with a bit of five o’clock shadow. His kissable lips are too much of a distraction from his brown eyes, which are full of mischief and even more striking in person. He’s basically sex on a stick.

Darius chuckles as he steps up behind me, his arms folded across his chest. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the consequences of your own drunken actions.”

The sound of his voice breaking through the mental tailspin I was in snaps me back to the present. I spin on him. “Save me,” I hiss so only he can hear. “You will save me from this.”

“I most certainly will not,” he counters. Grabbing my shoulders, he spins me back around toward the newcomers, who are watching our every move with rapt attention. “I, for one, am looking forward to seeing how this is going to play out. You made your bed; now go lie in it.”

He shoves me forward, and it’s a miracle I don’t end up falling flat on my face. I’m even grateful that my feet are capable of moving on their own, without too much thought from me. At least until I realize they are carrying me right to where Mark and his friend are waiting. Then, that gratefulness quickly morphs into nerves. Or maybe it’s actually fear; I can’t tell.