The Double

𝒯𝓌𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓎-𝒪𝓃𝑒

Taehyung beats me soundly at every game we try. Every fucking game. I do my best to keep my temper because having a tantrum like a child because you've lost at air hockey is not a good look, especially when your opponent is almost humming with contentment. I end up sublimating my resentment into a fight about who should buy the beer.

"A good winner is generous," I say.

"Loser always buys."

"You are a millionaire," I point out.

"A low but accurate blow." He holds out his fist. "How about we kai, bai, bo?"

"Rock, paper, scissors? Okay!"

Three rounds later, Taehyung's at the bar putting his money down. I take my pint with a smug smile that makes him laugh.

I'm not surprised when Taehyung echoes the thought that's been revolving through my head for the last hour. "This has been fun," he says.

"Except for me losing all the games."

"As I said, fun." He sips his drink. "Cheered me up. How's Eppy?"

He remembered what it was called. I try not to beam. "Good. I think."

"Problems?"

"Not problems. Challenges."

"Thinking about how to layer in prioritization with time management?"

I gawk at him. How did you know?"

"That's what I look for when I'm trying to organize a list."

I have a target market right here, and if Eppy can scale for a movie star, I figure it will work for the rest of us peasants. "What else do you look for?"

We spend a happy half hour—at least for me; Taehyung looks like he's about to fade after the first twelve questions—going through his ideal to-do list. Finally he coughs to relieve his dry throat and glances at my drink. "Want another?"

"Are you buying again?" I drain the glass and glance at the screens of notes I've taken on my phone. Taehyung was a gold mine of ideas. He even knew a few platforms I hadn't heard of.

"Only because I feel sorry for someone who couldn't even win a glorified version of Pong." He walks away before I can protest—that one game was wat harder than Pong—and I do my best not to follow him with my eyes and fail miserably. The frazzled mom trying to corral three screaming kids does the same, and on her face, I see that fantasy that beautiful men create: Please take me from this. Look at me. Be my prince. Be mine. Make me feel special. See me.

By the time Taehyung returns, I'm pensive.

A woman to Taehyung's left had been watching him between sips of her white wine, but before I can warn him, she drowns her drink and hops to her feet. I manage to get out "Uhh," and then she's on him.

"I'm sorry, but are you Kai's friend?" She looks up at him with big blue eyes under her heavy fringe of fake eyelashes. "I think we met the other day?"

"I'm not, sorry." He gives her a pleasant smile.

"Oh." She tilts her head and swings back her blown-out ombre hair. "I'm Olivia."

I reach out and take Taehyung's hand. "Nice to meet you!" I say, matching her smile with my own and throwing in a dash of yo bitch, back off. I know she gets the message because her face squeezes when Taehyung lays his other hand over mine.

"I guess I had the wrong person." She retreats.

"Sorry," I apologize to Taehyung, quickly pulling my hand away.