Page 53 of The Revenge Game

My shoulders start to unknot as the distance between us and Catherine grows. Though I can’t quite shake the feeling that my carefully constructed house of cards just wobbled more dangerously than the cardboard cutout tennis players.

My panic over Justin discovering my true identity is just because my revenge plan is on Phase Two: Guilt, right? And the more Justin gets to know me and like me, the guiltier he’ll feel about what he did to me when he discovers my true identity.

I’m still doing this for Teenage Andrew, who learned to make himself smaller, quieter, invisible because of Justin and his friends. That Andrew deserves for Justin to get his comeuppance.

Doesn’t he?

As we head toward the exit, Justin, Pete and Dave still buzzing about my supposed brush with tech royalty, my pulse calms. It’s okay. This is all going to plan. Getting closer to Justin, making him trust me, like me…is all just preparation for the moment I finally reveal who I really am.

So why does the thought of that moment fill me with dread instead of anticipation?

Chapter Fifteen

Justin

There are seven scuff marks on Drew’s doormat. I know this because I’ve been standing here long enough to count them.

Twice.

The fact I’m cataloging doormat damage instead of actually knocking is not my proudest moment, but there’s something about Drew that turns all my usual confidence into the emotional equivalent of a sugar-rushed puppy on roller skates.

I messaged him to ask if he’d been to St Paul’s Cathedral yet, and when he said he hadn’t, I suggested we go together today under the guise of us both being foreigners who should see London’s cultural landmarks.

But really, I just wanted another excuse to spend time with Drew after Wimbledon.

His banter and wry observations have become addictive. I’ve managed to get good at coinciding my morning tea breaks with his over the last week, and we started this joke where we rate the office cookies—sorry, biscuits—by their dunkability. Debating the optimal coffee-to-biscuit ratio while trying to make Drew laugh has become the highlight of my mornings.

He’s agreed to come with me today, so there’s no reason I should be this nervous.

My hand seems to decide it’s tired of waiting for my brain to get its act together because, suddenly, I’m knocking on his door.

Drew answers, wearing charcoal slacks and a green sweater that makes his dark eyes seem even deeper behind his glasses. I’ve noticed he wears contacts for work but glasses outside of work. When he sees me, his face settles into the neutral expression you’d expect from someone practicing their passport photo.

This careful neutrality is something I’ve come to expect from Drew, especially when he first sees me. It’s like he’s programmed his responses to be perfectly civil, but nothing more. Now, his hand stays wrapped around the door handle, and he shifts his weight backward slightly as if preparing to retreat at any moment.

Is this standoffishness part of what intrigues me about Drew? He seems strangely resistant to my usual techniques of getting someone to like me. It makes me want to try even harder.

Because I’m growing used to him acting like this now, I know how to push past it by finding something that engages him until he relaxes around me.

This morning, M&Ms are the breakthrough.

When we leave our apartment building, I check Drew’s okay with us stopping at the Tesco around the corner.

He waits outside while I dash inside to buy a sandwich for Amos. And at the counter, I impulsively grab a bag of M&Ms.

“Do you want some M&Ms?” I offer Drew as we continue to walk toward the tube station.

“Ah, thanks.” Drew takes the bag off me.

And because I seem to notice every detail about Drew, I can’t help but notice that as he pours some into his hand, he seems to avoid the brown M&Ms.

“Do you have something against brown M&M’s?” I asked.

“Brown M&Ms are an affront to humanity,” Drew says.

“Wow. Tell me how you really feel about brown-colored chocolate.”

Drew pushes his glasses up his nose. “Brown M&Ms are unsettling. What are they trying to prove with their earthy sensibleness? Candy is supposed to be brightly colored.”