Acting cool and collected, I look Layla up and down and say, “Well, we all make mistakes.”
The glib smile on her face wipes clear off.
“Here’s your drink,” Mauve says, sliding it across. It’s a beautiful, neon-green blend with a slice of lime perched on the edge of the cup to add a tropical flair.
Layla turns to me with a grin as fake as the carved wooden tuna hanging on the wall. “What are you drinking?”
“Oh this?” I take a dainty sip. “This is a drink for women.”
“Okay? And? What is it?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Arching an eyebrow at her drink with the little umbrella, I smirk, “You need the one for little girls.”
A red stain careens across Layla’s face and her fingers coil into fists. “What. Is. The. Drink?”
I make eye contact with Mauve and then turn to Layla. “Well, if you insist…” I give her the name of the most potent drink on the menu, which so happens to look exactly like the non-alcoholic version that I have in my cup.
The moment Mauve serves the drink to Layla, she foolishly knocks it back in one shot and then wipes her hand over her mouth, shooting me an accomplished smile.
“So,” Layla’s voice is high-pitched and upbeat, but it fails to disguise her dislike of me, “how did you and Nat meet?”
I check my watch. “Why would I discuss my relationship with you? You have nothing to do with Nat anymore.”
Layla blinks rapidly. “Nat and I are still friends.”
“Maybe you are.” I climb to my feet and nod at Mauve. “ButIdon’t need any more friends.”
Layla’s mouth collapses into a firm line. I see the anger in her eyes shift higher, like a camper feeding the flames of a bonfire.
“Thanks for the drink,” I tell her, tapping the bar twice. Then I swing out of the chair and call casually over my shoulder, “Mauve, she’s paying.”
“What? No, I’m not!” Layla shrieks.
“Got it!” Mauve says.
I duck behind the restaurant and wait.
A few minutes later, Layla stomps across the parking lot to her rental car.
I pull out my cell phone, tap out a number and listen to it ring.
“Hello?”
“Emmanuel, I’m ready on this side.”
“You got it.”
I keep my eyes locked on Layla as she looks both ways before opening her car door.
The day is ridiculously hot and I wipe the sweat from my brow, weighing how far I want to carry this.
When Nat’s ex first came to town, I was shaken, but I had no plans of actually interacting with her.
Dating Nat is not a crime.
Dumping him the way she did—though it was cruel—is also not a crime.
That’s not to say I wasn’t upset. Enacting revenge on Nat’s behalf was tempting, but I didn’t let that thought consume me.
