Page 41 of Play Dirty

He yanks Augustine’s hair, jerking her head so she’s looking up at him. “Do you trust him?”

I’m thrown for a moment. Because she doesn’t look scared. “Yes,” is all she says. And she says it in a tone that lets me know this is just business. A contractual negotiation.

“You must be sure,” Alexander whispers. “Absolutely sure.”

“I am,” she says, placing her hand over his, which is still gripping her hair so tight, it’s pulling on her scalp.

What the hell am I witnessing?

“I’m sure,” Augustine repeats, staring up into Alexander’s eyes. “Please. It’s the only option we have left.”

I squint my eyes, trying to fit those words into what I know of their relationship.

This is what I come up with:

One. They love each other. Perhaps they’re even soulmates. Although if you had asked me that before this moment, I’d have laughed. But maybe I’m wrong. Because this is a lot of trouble to go through in order to save a dying marriage. Most people just assume failure is inevitable. That this was never a soulmates connection. Thus, they get a divorce. But these two are convinced they can work things out. Alexander truly is overly aggressive during sex and I truly am the only one who can control him to Augustine’s satisfaction.

Two. They’ve separated before. Got back together. Then upended their lives in LA and moved here. For me. I’m still discovering the details behind that, but my assumption is that they equate their happiness with the time in LA when the four of us—me, Ix, and the two of them—were together. And since Ix bailed out first and has since found someone he loves and cares about, I’m the only missing piece in the puzzle that is their collective unhappiness. If they can get me, they get that love back.

Or three. Which is the big one. They’re playing me. They never forgave me for what I did back in LA and they want to hurt me the way I hurt them. Perhaps they even blame me for their crumbling relationship. Perhaps they spent weeks, or months, even years of sleepless nights and endless fights over what happened. And how I just… left and moved on. Left them to pick up the pieces and put themselves all back together.

Alexander pulls Augustine right out of her chair and I take two steps towards them before I get myself under control and stop in my tracks. She’s on her knees in front of him now. Looking up into his eyes like he is her fucking master.

He slaps her.

Her head doesn’t move.

Was the slap just playful?

I don’t think so. It was loud and there’s already a red mark on her cheek. She just knows how to control herself. Her eyes never leave his.

He slaps her again—the other cheek this time.

“Stop it!” I say, crossing the distance between us. “What the fuck, Alexander?”

He looks at me and smiles. Lets go of her hair, tugs on his jacket like he’s pulling himself together, and walks around the table to take his seat again.

“Get up, August,” I say. She reaches for me and I help her to her feet. Her face is red, both cheeks. I pull out her chair and she sits, allowing me to push her back in. The same way Alexander did before this little display of dominance upended our roles.

I walk back to my chair and sit. Let out a long breath of air and look Alexander dead in the eyes. “This is who you are?”

He shrugs and breaks off a small piece of the roll on his plate. I glance at Augustine, who is watching him, not me, and then I look back at Alexander to find him spreading butter on the bite-sized piece of bread. He puts it in his mouth and chews, watching me thoughtfully, the anger—or whatever you call that emotion inside him he just showed us—gone.

“If you can’t handle it, we’ll understand,” Alexander says.

Once again, I find myself looking to Augustine for… something. Clarification or, I dunno, something. “Do you like this?” I ask her.

She nods. Then clears her throat. “I love it, Jordan. And he won’t do it anymore.”

“Why?” I ask, sensing there’s more to that. “Why did he stop?” She just shakes her head so I look to him. “Did you hurt her? Crossed a line and then promised never to do it again?”

He shrugs. “You’re perceptive,” he says. “Which, I suppose, is why she trusts you.”

“How bad did you hurt her?” I ask. I feel hot all of a sudden. Anger coursing through my body. “Break her arm? Give her a black eye? Rape her?”

“Come on,” Alexander says. “I love her. I wouldn’t do any of that.”

“Then what did you do?”