Mr. Knight/A Jordan Knight Fanfic ✔️

30

30. objectivity

Spring makes a brief appearance the following week, and Friday night arrives cold but clear. At seven p.m., Peter the PhD candidate picks me up at Bluebird Books and takes me to sushi in Fremont. After sharing sashimi and rolls, we button our coats and walk the few blocks to Tullamore Café.

Over the course of our meal, I reconfirmed that Peter is considerate, smart, and charming. Moreover, conversation with him is easy, no intellectual pressure or emotional undertones to be found.

When he smiles at me and takes my hand, I smile back and let him. And for the rest of the walk to Tullamore, I privately bemoan the fact that his touch does absolutely nothing for me.

Strike one.

Inside the bright, warm café, we join the ordering line while a young woman strums a guitar on the nearby stage. The place is packed as usual, chairs and tables crammed together to accommodate the open mic night crowd.

As we near the front of the line, I spot Allison behind the espresso machines. She sees me at the same time and grins, eyebrows raised speculatively as she nods toward Peter. Pivoting away from my date, I give her a sad-face as a reply. With a half-amused, half-sympathetic smile, she returns to her task.

My attention now back with Peter, I realize he's ordered for me without bothering to ask what I want. Despite his thoughtful choice of a latte with whole milk—which I'd been drinking when we met—I'd wanted tea.

Strike two.

The third strike is so unexpected, so utterly mystifying, it almost feels orchestrated by powers beyond human comprehension. And whoever the powers that be are, they have a real fucked-up sense of humor.

It begins when I hear a laugh—his laugh—coming from somewhere behind me. At the same time, Peter takes his change and we move out of line. Then, as he's looking around for a place to sit, his eyes widen with awe.

And he says, "Oh my God, Darcy, it's Jordan Knight. Right there." His wide eyes meet mine. "Will you introduce us? I'm his biggest fan."

"Uhh—"

"Come on," he says, grabbing my hand and virtually dragging me toward the back of the line.

Strike three times a million.

"Well, well, well," drawls Jordan, laughing eyes bouncing between my angry face and Peter's excited one. "If it isn't my former protégé. And who's this young man, Darcy? Your newest acquisition? Tread carefully, boyo, 'though she be but little, she is fierce.'"

I'm going to kill him.

Then I'll bring him back to life.

Then I'll kill him again.

Peter drops my hand like it's burning. "Mr. Knight, it's such a pleasure to meet you. I'm a huge fan."

Jordan's jaw clenches as he tries not to laugh. "I'm flattered," he says with strain.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I finally look at the woman standing flush to Jordan's side. Jessica gives me a bland yet somehow venomous smile.

"Nice to see you again, Darcy."

My only consolation is that she sounds like she's chewing glass. I'm so annoyed—by her, Jordan, Peter, all of it—that a demon overtakes my vocal chords.

"You, too. Did you have a nice New Years? I know I did."

Jordan stops talking mid-sentence. Peter keeps yammering like nothing's amiss, while Jessica stiffens in fury and spits daggers from her eyes.