Her comment catches me off guard.
“You don’t want to stay and see if you won?”
She glances away before turning back to me. “Yeah. Sure.”
I didn’t like her tone. She’s been excited about this since I told her she was nominated. Who or what took her excitement away?
“Go on back to your table. I’ll join you.” I kiss her head once again before she remembers she’s supposed to be mad at me and stops me.
She walks away. I stare at the way her ass fills out that black dress. Cyrus moves with Tiffany, entering the ballroom after her. Jake comes over to me.
“What happened?” I ask immediately.
He shakes his head. “A few of the other finalists have been giving her a hard time.”
“How?”
“Saying she doesn’t deserve the award. Even mentioning you being the reason. One suggested she slept her way to the award.”
The ringing in my ears starts. The rose in my hand snaps in half from how hard I’m squeezing it. I shut my eyes and count, calming the rage. When I open my eyes, I look at Jake.
“Names.”
“Jason Hickman, Paula White, and Gloria Hampton. Don’t worry, I’ve already sent their names to Maseo. I figured you’d want their information.”
I nod my head, pleased with his work. Heading into the ballroom, I immediately spot Tiffany at the front of the room. Her back is to me, and I can tell by how stiff her shoulders are she’s uncomfortable. I make my way closer to the table.
“I’ve been designing for fifteen years. Unlike some people, I actually have the experience to be here.”
The Ken doll looking muthafucker is talking to the plastic Barbie lookalike, but his comment I’m assuming is directed at Tiffany.
The roaring in my ears grows louder. I pull the chair away from the table and take the seat to the left of my wife. The table grows quiet when I sit. Tiffany places her hand on my thigh under the table as I slide closer to her.
“Oh look,” the Asian woman with the high cheekbones says. “It seems she brought her wallet.”
The others at the table all laugh. I notice the man on the other side of Tiffany and his wife doesn’t join them.
I lean my head to the left and listen for the crack. I then do the same thing on the other side.
“Gloria Hampton, Paula White, and Jason Hickman,” I say their names so that I will be sure to remember them.
They glance at each other before looking back at me. I move my water glass to my left. Reaching over my plate for my drink irks me, since I'm left-handed. I continue to rearrange my dinner setting, trying to keep my hands busy so I don’t allow the rage inside me to take over.
Once my cutlery and glassware are arranged perfectly, I sit back in my seat. All eyes are still on me.
“When I was nine, I liked collecting rocks,” I start while tapping my finger against the table. “I would spend myrecreation time walking around looking for the best rock. Once I was done, I’d line them up on the bench and admire them.”
The entire table seems to be entranced by my story, including my wife.
“One day, a kid much bigger than me came over and knocked all my rocks onto the ground. He picked up some and threw them as far as he could. He told me they were stupid and a waste of time. I was heartbroken. I really liked those rocks.”
Jason looks over at Paula as if he were confused. He didn’t have to worry; I was getting to the point.
“A few nights later,” I go on to say. “While everyone was sleeping, I slipped out of my bunk and loaded my sock up with every single rock I’d collected over the year.”
Underneath the table, I reach for my wife’s hand. Wrapping her slender fingers between mine, I squeeze as the roaring in my ears grows louder.
Looking the three main individuals directly in the face, I finish my story. “I walked up to the young man’s bed while he was sleeping and proceeded to beat him repeatedly in the face with that sock filled with rocks.”
