Jonah Marais
➵
I look to my left and almost roll my eyes.
My best friend, (y/bf/n), is engaged in a very flirty-looking conversation with my other present friend's unofficial boyfriend, Corbyn. They're completely ignoring the person they're sharing their side of the booth with—me.
Looking at the bench on the other side of the table isn't any better. My boyfriend, Jonah, is talking animatedly to (y/f/n), who is supposed to be with Corbyn.
This was Jonah's idea, the double date thing.
A couple days ago, I promised my best friend that we would go see a certain new movie we've seen on commercials together on its featured night, tonight. I felt horrible when Jonah suggested that Corbyn, (y/f/n), and I go see that movie after dinner tonight, so Jonah suggested I invite (y/bf/n) to come along with us so that she wouldn't feel like I was ditching her.
Who's being ditched now?
Corbyn is paying attention to (y/bf/n) instead of (y/f/n) and Jonah is paying attention to (y/f/n) instead of me.
That thought makes me sound like a horrible, annoying person that needs constant attention, which I don't believe I am, but I am his girlfriend, which should add up to some sort of involvement in the conversations of the night.
Jonah says something that I can't hear over the noise of the restaurant and (y/f/n) laughs, wrapping her arm around his shoulders for a moment before letting it slip off. It irks me beyond belief that my boyfriend didn't seem to mind that much, if at all.
A new emotion pounds through every vein in my body—jealousy.
I wait for what seems like an eternity, half expecting someone at the table to exclaim, "Oh, she's still here!" but continue to be ignored.
Enough.
I stand from the booth rigidly, attempting to control my frustration when I speak.
"Alright, this was really fun but I'm going to head home. Have a good time at the movies."
I'm unlocking my car when I hear Jonah calling my name. He pushes the building's door open and comes toward me in the parking lot.
"(y/n)! (y/n), wait."
I seriously consider getting in the car, driving away and making him deal with it, but instead I lean against the door of my vehicle and look expectantly at the young man standing in front of me.
"What? You finally want to talk to me?"
Jonah rubs at his eyes with one hand.
"I'm sorry," I mumble after awhile, looking at the parking lot beneath my shoes. "I didn't mean it to come out like that."
"No," Jonah says firmly, moving in front of me and placing his hands on my arms, looking me in the eyes.
"I'm sorry. I felt terrible for (y/f/n) when Corbyn sat by (y/bf/n) instead of her. I was trying to make her feel better and I guess I got caught up in conversation. I wasn't flirting with her, I wasn't intentionally ignoring you, none of us were, but that doesn't make what happened tonight okay. I'm sorry I made you feel no one was paying attention to you."
I shake my head.
"It's okay, Jo, really," I say. "I just... got mad."
I watch as a small grin creeps onto his face.
"Were you... jealous?" he asks me, cracking a smile.
"Maybe a little," I respond, smiling as well.
Jonah kisses me and then slings his arm around my shoulders.
"Do you want to leave?" he asks.
"No," I assure him. "We've got food to eat and a movie to catch!"
"Alright. I'll make sure to sit by you this time. And make eye contact constantly. And only listen and talk to you," he teases.
I shove his shoulder, which pushed him absolutely nowhere, and head back into the restaurant with him, hand in hand.
