“Now you’ve lost both Brenda and me,” she says, pointing her fork at Marco like it’s a weapon. “Not a very happy Valentine’s Day for you.”
Marco stares at the screen. The color drains from his face.
“Really?” she adds when he doesn’t respond, tugging at her collar. “You’re going to sit on your phone and ignore us?Rude.” Hannah waves him off and shifts in her chair. She scratches absently at the bare skin of her forearm, leaving faint red streaks behind.
My stomach tightens.
Marco mutters to himself, something unintelligible. His mouth pulls down at the edges, a deep frown. He lifts a shaking hand to his forehead.
My attention splits in two directions.
Marco, reading something that is clearly ruining his night.
And Hannah.
Her throat moves as she clears it. Again. She shifts in her chair, rolling her shoulders and then her neck like the room has suddenly gotten too warm.
“Here’s the thing,” she says to Marco, leaning forward, her voice a little hoarser. “Men like you always think the worst part is getting caught. Being embarrassed. Exposed.”
Marco’s phone vibrates again. He looks at it, and his gaze darts to the entrance. Then the bar. Then the corners of the room.
I don’t miss it.
“It’s not,” Hannah continues. “The worst part is what you do to women when you pull this crap.”
Her lips look redder than they did a minute ago. She rubs them together absently.
I don’t like that.
“You make us doubt ourselves,” she says. Her breathing has changed. Just a little. Shallower. Faster.
I lean closer without meaning to.
Hannah clears her throat. “You make us replay every text, every conversation, wondering what we did wrong.”
Marco swallows hard. His eyes flick to me. Then away. His phone buzzes again, longer this time. He flinches at the sound.
“I work hard to be okay on my own,” Hannah says. “And you made me feel stupid for trying.”
She coughs into her hand, a sharp jagged noise.
My jaw tightens.
“The worst part?” she adds, her voice raspy. “You’ll probably do this again. To some other woman. Because no one ever actually tells you how shitty it is.”
Another bout of coughing. Her fingers curl against the tablecloth like she needs to hold on.
I lean forward and hand her a glass of water. “Drink.”
“You’re not charming,” she says, after a sip. “You’re not misunderstood. You’re selfish. Cowardly. You leave messes for other people to clean up.”
There’s a sheen of sweat across Marco’s brow. He wipes his hands on his pants. Checks the door again. His phone vibrates, and he nearly drops it grabbing for it.
Hannah inhales with an audible wheeze. Her chest lifts too fast. Her swallow is strained.
“Damian?” she says faintly.
“I’m here.” I put a hand on her shoulder, then almost pull it away.
