She'd even drink from Oliver's glass right in front of me, just to provoke.
Afterward she'd brush it off with a casual "Oh, I grabbed the wrong one," and that was that.
The most recent time, she leaned into him on purpose.
Half a glass of water spilled right down the front of her, plain as anything.
Oliver didn't even glance at me. He went straight to the bedroom and came back with the most expensive set of pajamas he owned.
His voice when he handed them over carried that easy indulgence:
"These should be about your size."
"Make do with them for now. I'll have new ones ordered for you."
One thing after another, all so natural—as if it had always been his job.
I stood there, limbs going cold, drawing one long breath until my eyes stung red.
"Alright, you know what you did wrong. Fix it, and don't beat yourself up."
He glanced at me, his tone turning cold.
"Instead of sulking, spend that energy learning from Instructor Henson. Learn what it actually looks like to be a considerate girlfriend."
"And stop with that resentful look. It's unpleasant for everyone."
My head snapped up. A laugh scraped out of my throat.
"Learn from her?"