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My hands are still trembling, and I press them tightly to my thighs, trying to forget the world around us and gather the courage to tell him.
“I'm really looking forward to meeting you next time at my house.”
I can’t stop the automatic lift curl as disgust floods me at his obvious meaning and intentions. Does he really think after all of this time - and the fact thathe's married - I'd be interested in any kind of interaction with him? And how dare he not assume I'm with someone after seeing me with Charles at the party.
Then again, maybe Charles told him and everyone else the truth, that he'd only taken me because I seemed like the best option at the time. For some reason, that thought hurts, but I push that thought aside to focus on here and now.
“Somehow I don't think your wife would like that.” Do I really need to remind him that he's married to keep him faithful? That makes me wonder how many other times he's cheated on his wife, and I feel awful for her. No woman deserves a man like that running around and cheating on her and trying to proposition other women.
His eyes narrow and I sense he’s frustrated with me. “My wife and I are actually about to divorce.”
I can't help but wonder if he tells that to all the women. But something in his expression and the look in his eyes tells me he might actually be telling the truth, and I feel more disgusted. Is he really trying to forge a relationship with me to replace his wife? Maybe he wants to use me to make her feel jealous and like it's easy for him to find new women when they’re in the midst of a divorce?
Whatever his intentions are, I don't like them, and I don't want to be a part of them.
“Look, Methew, I know we have a history together, but that's not why I met you today.” I need to hurry up and get to the truth of the matter or I'm not going to be able to tell him at all. And with every word he says, I want to speak to him less and less - so the sooner I get this out, the better.
“I think we should try to rekindle that history.”
Derailed once more, I stare at him, wondering if this is the universe’s attempt at a bad joke. Maybe I shouldn't tell him because this man's a walking red flag, and I'm starting to wonder if he would try something just to hurt me where a daughter is concerned.
Just because he's a dad doesn't make him a good person. Just because he has money doesn't make him stable. And just because we shared a night doesn't grant him access to my life.
“I'm sorry, I'm starting to think I shouldn't have come here today.” As I say the words, I feel his hand touch my thigh under the table and I jerk away.
He seems stunned by my sudden movement, and we stare at one another for a moment.
“Just come home with me,” he says finally. “We both know you want to.”
And that's where he's wrong. I don't want to.
As I glance past him at the bar, trying to regain my composure, I see a familiar head of hair and my heart sinks.
Charles is sitting at the bar.
What the heck is going on?
Chapter Eighteen
Charles
I’m seething as I stare down into my cup.
Maybe I should consider it a win that they're not meeting at his house. I definitely consider it a loss that when he told me they were meeting there, I decided to show up to listen in on their conversation and torture myself with the fact that they were sitting down together. I had told myself that I was showing up in case she needed an out. But in all honesty, seeing them together did nothing but infuriate me.
I finish my drink and nod at the bartender, indicating I’d like another when a hand touches my shoulder.
I glance over to see Alisha's concerned face. “Are you okay?” she asks, her worried eyes studying my face.
“I’m fine.” The words are curter than I intended, and I see her slight flinch of pain at my sharp response.
“Did Methew tell you to come here?” Her voice is somehow softer, less assertive than she had been even a moment ago.
She's perceptive, I'll give her that. I nod my head in agreement. “He did tell me that you guys would be here, and I decided to come just in case you needed some moral support.” That was the original reason I showed up, just in case he decided to be a creep and pressure her into something she wasn't interested in, but she seemed happy to be there the whole time I’d been paying attention.
The bartender puts another drink in front of me, but Alisha picks up my tumbler and downs the liquid before putting the back of her hand to her mouth and gives a quick cough.
“Ugh, what is that?” she asks, her eyes watering as she blinks and swallows again.
