I rip my hand away and shove the door open. “Abso-fucking-lutely not.”
The door slams behind me. I storm back into the bar, so livid I can barely see straight. Through the fog of rage, I spot Aliyah at the pool table with Cam. She’s twirling a braid around her finger, leaning in close, both of them chatting like no one else exists.
I clear my throat.
Aliyah startles, then turns to me. “What are you doing here? I thought you left with Ben?”
“Change of plans,” I grumble.
Her smile vanishes. “What happened?”
“He’s a douchebag, that’s what happened.”
“Did he hurt you? I will fucking kill him,” she seethes.
She starts marching toward the door that leads to the parking lot, but I grasp her shoulder and pull her back. She’s barely five feet tall, but I know she’d punch him without hesitation.
“No, he didn’t hurt me,” I say quickly. “But he supports Franklin Sawyer.”
Aliyah and Cam both cringe like I’ve said something foul.
“Seriously?” Aliyah asks.
“Ew,” Cam adds.
“You didn’t know?” I eye Cam skeptically. “I thought you were friends.”
“Friendis a generous word.” Cam laughs dryly. “This was our first time hanging out outside work. Also the last.”
“I can’t believe Ben supports that asshole,” Aliyah says, nose wrinkling with disgust.
A frown pulls at my lips. Although I’m surprised, it’s not a complete shock. I grew up around here. People wear bigotry like camouflage.
Aliyah seems to catch my expression—defeated and exhausted. “There are plenty of other guys in here,” she says brightly, tugging on my sleeve. “We’ll find you someone else!”
I shake my head firmly. “I want to go home.”
Her shoulders fall. “Okay,” she concedes quietly.
I head for the door, and she trails after me—then pauses, spinning back to Cam.
“Wait! Let me give you my number.”
Guilt twists in my stomach, realizing I barged in and ruined their moment. It seems like they were hitting it off. But Aliyah’s my ride, and I need to get out of here immediately.
She grabs a pen, scrawls her number on a napkin, and presses it into Cam’s hand with a smile. “Text me?”
“Sure thing.”
Aliyah pecks her cheek, leaving a smudge of ruby lipstick on her brown skin. She waves before jogging to catch up with me.
We climb into her car in silence. As she starts driving, I rest my head against the window, watching the trees pass by in a blur of green. She reaches across the center console to place a gentle hand on my thigh. Her nails are painted neon pink, with little red hearts on the thumbs.
“I’m sorry, Mason,” she says softy.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not. I wanted you to have fun tonight.”
