Oliver knew it was coming. He's been dreading it for months, and he can't say Diggle didn't warn him.
It happens at Table Salt.
He's with McKenna. She's sitting across from him wearing this low-cut red satin gown that draws his eyes to all the right places. He looks—of course he looks—but he feels like shit about it afterwards, which is new for him. Something's off about tonight, but he's not sure what it is. He feels like he shouldn't be here, but McKenna's only in town for a few days and the two of them are old friends. He ignores the part where they dated, it makes this seem worse somehow.
It's just dinner, right?
The sommelier leaves their table and Oliver hears it: Felicity's laugh. His heart just…stops.
He subtly looks to his right—he's the master of subtlety when it matters—and he sees her. She's wearing a figure-hugging nude dress, and her hair is gathered in a curly bundle at the nape of her neck. Her signature glasses are gone, and her red lips are turned up into a graceful, gorgeous smile.
He has no right to look at her the way he looks at her, but he wants her so badly that it actually hurts. He's here with another woman and Felicity's just across the room with her boyfriend, and it's everything Oliver can do to keep breathing. Of course he knows Eddie Raymond exists, and he knows Eddie's been dating Felicity for a little over a month now. Oliver just thought that if he ignored it, it would go away.
Felicity and Eddie are holding hands, slowly leaning in towards each other, and Oliver has to look away because he can't bear to see them kiss. If he sees it, it's real, and Oliver has done such a good job of pretending that it isn't. Now he's come face-to-face with Felicity's love life, and he wasn't expecting it to feel like this.
He's heartbroken.
Felicity's happiness is practically radiating off of her, and that's all Oliver ever wanted for her. The thing is, he can't stand to be around it. Not right now. He thought he could, but he can't. So he decides to run, just like he always has.
Oliver takes a deep breath and quickly slips into his playboy persona. He's a great flirt; he's gotten by on his charm for most of his life, and McKenna plays along. He feeds her a few lines, asks her if she's okay skipping dinner because suddenly he's hungry for something else. He winks, smiles, and takes her hand.
The waiter brings the bill and Oliver pays for the wine they ordered, quietly asks for it to be sent to Felicity's table anonymously. It's a dick move, he's aware of that. She'll know he's the one who sent it; he brought her the same Pontet-Canet the night he showed up at her doorstep with a pizza in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. He wants her to know he was here. He wants her to think about him while she's kissing Eddie Raymond.
Oliver and McKenna manage to slip out of the restaurant unnoticed. Her hotel is on the other side of the street, and they run across when the traffic breaks. Oliver loses track of the lines he's using on her; he tunes himself out, hates every single word that is coming out of his mouth. He leads her into the elevator, presses her against the wall. God, it's been so long since he kissed someone. Kissing her is warm and familiar, takes him back to a time when things seemed so much easier. Oliver wants easy, he misses easy.
It would be so easy to push open the door to McKenna's room and topple onto the bed. He could hike up her skirt, run his hands along the insides of her thighs; he knows she likes that. He could get lost in her for a couple of hours; she'd make him feel good. She'd make him forget, and it would be so, so easy.
Then tomorrow, when he looks in the mirror, he'll hate what he sees. And when he looks at Felicity, he'll be disgusted with himself. Worst of all, he'll be further away from her than ever.
Felicity, he thinks, as he kisses a woman who is not her. What is he doing? He gently pushes himself away from McKenna, wipes her taste and her lipstick from his mouth. He apologizes as he walks her to her room, and she's gracious about it. She understands.
He drives to the lair, strips off his suit, then beats the hell out of a one-armed training dummy until the wood is battered and broken and his hands are bleeding.
He leans against the wall and slides down to the floor; he's exhausted, every single bit of fight in his body is drained out of him. Here in the lonely, quiet darkness, he berates himself for the mess he's probably made of things with Felicity. He's ashamed of his earlier behavior, because of the way he treated McKenna and for wanting to remind Felicity of the time they spent together while she was on a date with another man.
He knew it would happen, Digg told him it would.
He just wasn't expecting it to hurt so much.
