MERRY 9

She was the kind of model who kept the paparazzi entertained by oscillating between a classic feminine aesthetic and a niche goth look. Today she favored the former, wearing a timeless tailored jacket that fluttered elegantly with every move she made. The narrow aisle lined with tables and chairs felt like her personal runway.

Susan sat across from me and crossed her long legs, her eyes going wide.

“Did you see him? You saw him, right?”

“Saw who.”

I noticed her rolling dark eyes pointing toward something—or rather, someone—but I played dumb. Unfazed by my lackluster reaction, Susan went as far as to point at Ethan with a blatant toss of her chin.

“That guy over there. Since I don’t recognize him, he’s probably not a model. Maybe an aspiring actor? No. There’s no way he’d still be ‘aspiring’ with a face like that. An agency would have snatched him up ages ago.”

She sounded like a schoolgirl giddy over spotting a cute guy on the playground. She was shaking her legs under the table so much I almost got skewered by her sharp heels. I threw some cold water on her to try and calm her down.

“You’re exaggerating. He’s not that…”

“Do you think he’s been in any indie art films? He has such an artistic look.”

“Your puns are terrible. And he’s not ‘artistic-looking’.”

“What are you even saying? Do you think I don’t know he’s exactly your type?”

Susan tested me with a mischievous look. It was a provocation designed to bait my interest. It wouldn’t have been hard to play along with her intent, but I didn’t want to. I gave a firm shake of my head.

“I don’t have a type. I have no desire to date. You know I’m lacking in that department.”

To me, romance was something close to an illusion. I possessed an excellent aptitude for physical exchanges, but I was hopeless when it came to creating a mental spark.

“Really? Well, in that case, I should take a crack at it.”

Susan rummaged through her bag, pulled out a receipt, and borrowed a pen from a waiter.

“This is the only piece of paper I have.”

Looking slightly disappointed, she scribbled her name and phone number on the corner of the receipt. I ordered a beer for her and let out a sigh. It was because the image of Ethan’s impassive face flickered through my mind. There was no way my stalker would be swayed by a stranger’s interest.

“Susan. I admire your bold initiative, but I don’t think this is the move.”

“I respect your opinion. It’s just that I respect my own even more.”

I tried to stop her with a nuanced warning, but it was no use. Susan stood up, combing her shimmering hair back with her fingers. I watched her walk away with a haughty air, mourning her in advance. It was obvious her pride was about to be crushed.

However, things played out quite differently from my expectations. Instead of being rejected immediately, Susan slid into the seat next to Ethan. The way she leaned her upper body slightly toward him radiated romantic interest.

Far from embarrassing her, Ethan engaged in conversation quite naturally. His profile, visible past Susan’s silhouette, was that of a mature man. His composure put me in a state of bewilderment. The shock of seeing this unfamiliar side of him was bordering on nauseating.

I struggled with the simple cognitive act of processing what I was seeing. I couldn’t understand Ethan Reed’s behavior, and I felt strange for being unable to understand him. It felt like being placed in a dizzying maze. I barely suppressed the urge to bolt outside immediately.

A moment later, Susan stood up and returned to the table. Ethan, left behind, sipped his terrible cocktail while turning the scrap of paper over in his hands to inspect both sides. Then, instead of throwing it away, he folded it neatly and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

I doubted his actions and my own eyes simultaneously. I scratched at my brow, which had tensed up reflexively, and turned my head away. The veins on my hand bulged as I grabbed my beer bottle. My throat was parched.

Susan pointed at the beer the waiter had dropped off in the meantime.

“Is this mine?”

“If you don’t want it, I’ll drink it. For the record, they said it’s the last bottle.”

“Well, I can’t miss out on that then.”

Susan took an elegant sip of the beer and beamed. Sitting in front of her while she looked like she was itching to give a progress report, I pressed the beer bottle to my lips. I gulped it down, my Adam’s apple bobbing aggressively to quench my thirst, until Susan reached back into her bag.

“Looks like you need a handkerchief.”

It was her way of pointing out my savagery—suggesting through her actions that words weren’t enough and she actually had to hand me one. I wiped a stray drop of beer from my bottom lip with the back of my hand and shrugged.

“I’ll pass on the mothering.”

“Can I assume your adrenaline is spiking because you’re overly immersed in this exciting situation?”

“I’ll pass on that, too.”

“Oh, come on. You were staring holes into us, so don’t try to play it off. I thought the back of my head was going to catch fire.”

Caught in my blatant staring, I had no choice but to back down. I gave her the floor to talk as much as she wanted and set the beer bottle down. I restrained myself, knowing that if I kept drinking at that pace, I’d end up with acute alcohol poisoning.

Susan, who had been dying to talk just a second ago, was suddenly quiet. Keeping her mouth shut but curling the corners of her lips up, she gave a charming eye-smile and brushed her hair over her shoulder. It looked like Ethan was watching this way. I could feel her resolve in the way she flaunted her long neck.

Watching the oblivious Susan get played was weighing on my conscience. Because of that prick, I was the one left feeling dirty. Dammit. This thirst drying out my throat was probably born from that exact irritation.

Lowering my hand beneath the table, I extended my middle finger. As I turned back and flicked it with an intense glare, Ethan sluggishly averted his eyes. Unaware that I had fended him off, Susan began to speak.

“He said his name is Alex. Alex Howard.”

“Alex Howard? He actually told you that name?”

“He didn’t seem to know who I was, so I introduced myself first. Then he told me his name politely, saying he couldn’t be the only one to know.”

A hollow laugh escaped me at the fact that Ethan, who even knew the rumors about me and Susan, was pretending not to know her.

“Politely? Of course he did.”

“He was a total gentleman. Which made me even more attracted to him. I told him to call me.”

“Did he say he would?”

“Fifty-fifty.”

Though she hadn’t received a definitive answer, she looked confident, having been completely fooled by that slimy liar.

“The vibe wasn’t bad. We communicated well. His voice is killer, too. It made me want to hear him say ‘good morning’ to me.”

At her specific desire, I showed my displeasure.

“Susan. That’s bordering on sexual harassment.”

“That’s a narrow-minded way of thinking. You don’t only exchange morning greetings in bed.”

“Is that so? I guess your mind is rated ‘General Audiences’ then?”

“Obviously, it’s at least Rated R. Did I tell you I bought a new bed last month? I even put out expensive, nice sheets. Now I just need to invite someone over to show them off.”

The scene of Ethan Reed lying on a wide bed played out in my mind. The reason the bed in my imagination felt familiar was likely because I had borrowed it from my own memories.

Sitting with his back against a pillow, he bites and releases his lip. His reddened lips look more luscious than usual, glistening with moisture. It feels as if a whole new world would unfold if I touched him. The new continent known as Ethan Reed calls out to my sense of adventure.

If the image of him lying in bed and smiling languidly at me had never truly existed—if he had never trapped me in a predator’s gaze—I would have flipped to the next scene like turning the page of a comic book.

After drifting between imagination and memory, I finally snapped out of it and began badmouthing Ethan for the sake of the public good.

“He gives off a bad impression. He’s probably a shady guy.”

I couldn’t just let my stalker become the man of my friend’s dreams. There was definitely a scheme behind his vague attitude and the way he offered her hope.

“No way. He has a good face, no matter how you look at it.”

“There are plenty of people who hide a shady interior with a clean exterior.”

“And your evidence that he’s that kind of person?”

“Instinct.”

Since I had to hide the truth, there was no other way to explain it. Susan wavered at my weak but stubborn assertion.

“Are you in a bad mood today?”

Her guess was plausible, but wrong. My prickliness wasn’t because of my mood, but because of the situation. The situation where a low-life stalker showed up at my meeting place as if to show off. The situation where my friend showed interest in that stalker and handed him a note with her phone number. The situation where that stalker didn’t throw the note away but put it in his pocket. This goddamn situation.