Target

Chapter 02

I sit bored and hungry in the café waiting for Brett to arrive. Why is it that he is always late to everything? You'd think that being a secret agent and all would at least make him punctual.

When I woke up this morning, I had a throbbing headache and a slight sense of panic left over from the previous days string of nerve-triggering events. My mind keeps replaying the meeting with General Nahm over and over, like a song you hate but always hear on the radio, so to distract myself, I summoned my boyfriend for lunch.

The atmosphere of the place is soothing, probably because there are, like, four other people inside. Work is always so busy and claustrophobic that it's at times like this when I really appreciate space. Tapping away on my phone I begin a game of Fruit Ninja.

While it keeps my thoughts off of yesterday, it does nothing to calm me down, as I get seriously into slicing the various fruits.

I'm so busy almost breaking my phone that I don't notice Brett until he taps me on the shoulder.

"Hey Arla," he says with a small smile. I stand up and hug him quickly, and he lightly touches my waist.

We aren't big on PDA, and, well, not really big on physical affection much at all. Of course we've kissed and stuff, but we aren't all over each other constantly like those couples you see in the movies. Brett hates all that touchy-feely stuff and I guess I've kind of grown to hate it too.

"Hey Brett," I reply as he takes a seat opposite me and scans the menu. Since he was twenty-seven minutes and thirty-three seconds late, I have already chosen what I want to eat, but I look at the menu again anyway so as to not just awkwardly sit there.

He hums quietly to himself, and I glance over at him. His blonde hair is brushed back with gel, and his face is smooth – freshly shaven I presume. Sometimes he lets his stubble grow just a bit because he says, and I quote, that it makes him "like, totally way more manly." Brett wears a loose button up shirt and blue tie underneath his suit jacket. For some reason he always seems overdressed, but maybe that's just me.

"So what are you having babe?" I say to start conversation. He looks up from his menu.

"I think I'll have the couscous salad with chicken. You?"

"Just the beef burger." I bite my lip, a little embarrassed about my choice in food. It's always awkward when I get an unhealthy option and he doesn't.

Brett raises his eyebrows at me. He glances down at my stomach and I fidget uncomfortably under his gaze. "I thought you were watching your weight sweetheart?"

I feel my heart sink within my chest and a blush cover my cheeks. It's not the first time he's made a remark like this, but I let it get to me all the same. Brett means it in the best possible way, so I should be happy right? Be thankful that he cares so much for me?

"Uh, yeah. I changed my mind. I'll have the couscous thing."

We stack our menus in the middle of the table and fall easily into small talk about our week, the latest football scores, celebrity gossip, and so forth. Once we've ordered and received our food, the topic of work inevitably comes up.

"When do you leave for Cali?" he asks, munching on some chicken.

"Tomorrow." I don't even look up from my food, which is absolutely disgusting by the way. Couscous? No thank you.

I spot the lady across the room digging in to her burger and my stomach rumbles in jealousy.

"I'm guessing you're ready?"

For some reason it bothers me when he doubts my abilities in work. My job is the one thing that makes me level with him - the one thing I don't have to worry about falling short for when we get compared. I clench my jaw in annoyance and lick my lips.