“Jesus, if you looked like this when we were married, I would have never left.” His sarcasm leaks out of him, seeping into the suffocating air I want to bolt from.
“Baby, I want another drink,” Kimmy pleads, an obvious attempt to distract him.
“Yeah, yeah. Give me a minute,” he tells her. He stands from his seat, pressing a hard, unwelcome hand on my arm. “So, are you here by yourself, or…”
I straighten my back, squaring my shoulders. He’s nothing. He’s less than nothing. He’s barely a speck of lint. Something Ican pinch and flick off. I look at him, refusing to shy away from his depraved eyes as they travel down and back up. “I’m here with my boyfriend.”
“Whoa, boyfriend,” he comments. The taunt isn’t in his words, but it’s there in the way he talks to me. With cynicism and forced shock. He leans closer and says in a low, threatening voice, “You don’t say. You going to chase this one away too?”
My ears feel like they’re on fire. Like steam is leaking out of them. My head feels fuzzy, and the panic rattling me from the inside spreads to my toes.
Pleased with my reaction to his callously spoken words, he adds, “I should warn the poor schmuck, so he knows what he’s getting himself into.”
A rise of hot anger bubbles in my chest, and I do everything I can to smother it down. Count to ten, clench my fists, take a few deep breaths. He always did this. Find ways to make me feel two inches tall. It seems like our relationship, all the moments where words “soulmate” and “significant other” were the perfect descriptors for us, happened in some alternate universe. Because this can’t be the same man I fell in love with in my twenties. That man was kind and funny. His work and social circle turned him into this arrogant scumbag I don’t even recognize.
“Baby.” Kimmy’s high-pitched voice doesn’t match the apologetic look on her face.
“I said give me a minute,” Frankie snaps at her. I look at Kimmy, our faces frozen in discomfort as we share a silent mutual agreement that this run-in needs to end. I catch her mouth the word “sorry” at me, before I shake my head, dismissing her apology. No one should have to apologize for Frankie.
“You know, Frankie,” I start to say, the need to leave clawing at my insides. “This was…interesting, but I have to go.”
“To your boyfriend. Gotcha.” His hand stays on me. It feels like a death grip, though it’s barely his palm grazing over the bare skin on my forearm. I almost shake his hand off, but stop myself, not wanting to egg him on even more.
I smother the errant comment at the tip of my tongue and just nod, my lips pressed together to hide the scowl I’d prefer not to wear. I smile at Kimmy, offering her a kinder sentiment.
I turn on my feet to head back to my table when I catch Andrew walking in my direction. A concerned frown has his lips sitting in a straight line, and his steps are urgent. The way his face softens when he finds me shows I must’ve taken a little longer than anticipated. His eyes travel to where Frankie is by my side. To his grimy hand still on my arm, and he stops in his tracks.
“Mr. Sheridan.”
Mr. Sheridan? How does he know Frankie? And why is he calling him Mr. Sheridan?
“Andrew? What the fuck are you doing here?”
I step away from Frankie, no longer caring to appease him. I don’t care, I just want answers. “How do you know Andrew?”
Frankie’s face starts to flush, a clear sign of indignation evident also by his hands now fisted by his side. His mouth is agape, his eyes looking between me and Andrew who now stands by me with a protective hand placed on my back.
“Are you okay?” Andrew’s voice sounds dark, like it should come with a warning label. His eyes, just as threatening as his voice, leers at Frankie.
“How do you know Frankie?” I ask, my voice wavering. I’m so confused, it feels disorienting.
“This is my boss,” he answers plainly.
What the fuck.My hand tightens around his arm. A plea and desperation in my death grip. “Andrew,” I manage to squeeze through my dry throat.
“Did he hurt you?” He doesn’t know. Of course he doesn’t know. I haven’t told him Frankie is my ex-husband. All he’s seen is his smarmy boss with his hand on me, his girlfriend.
I squeeze harder, and he finally looks at me. When he sees the panic on my face, the tears brimming in my eyes, and the short gasps making my chest rise and fall, the worry returns.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Oh, this is hilarious.” Frankie claps his hand, clear amusement in his wide grin. He bends over laughing, pressing a hand to his stomach and overdramatically slapping his knee with the other. “This is just fucking hilarious.”
Andrew looks at him with a fierce glare, and he moves his feet to create a blockade between me and my ex-husband. I notice then that we’re drawing a crowd. People have stopped eating and talking, and their curious eyes are on the three of us.
“What’s so funny?” Andrew asks, still oblivious.
“This is your boyfriend, Grace?” I can feel Frankie looking at me. All while I wish the ground would crumble beneath me and swallow me whole. “He’s a little young for you, no? Or is that what you’re into now?”
