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But I straightened my spine. “Hello Craig, how are you? I’m well, thanks for asking.”
He leaned forward. “How am I?” he repeated, spittle flying from his mouth, breath reeking of alcohol. “Well, considering my cunt of an ex-wife took me to the cleaners and almost everything I had, I’ve been better.”
His fist slammed down on the table when he finished speaking, rattling the glasses. I reached out to steady my margarita glass. I had a feeling I’d be needing that very soon.
Ben was gaping at the situation and didn’t seem too eager to jump in and save the day. Or even the date.
But I wasn’t the damsel anymore.
Or at least I was trying very hard not to be.
“I think you need to go back to your table,” I said, my voice firm. “This isn’t exactly appropriate. Perhaps we can talk tomorrow. Over the phone. When you’re sober.”
He snatched my wrist, the one holding my drink, cold liquid sloshed onto the table and my fingers. “No, I’m happy to talk right fuckin’ now.” His eyes went to Ben. “You know what’s good for you, I’d give me your seat and get the fuck away from my wife.”
“Ex-wife,” I corrected. The grip on my wrist tightened.
I wasn’t a damsel, but I would’ve appreciated some kind of input from the man across from me. But he stood so quickly his chair screeched against the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said to me. “I’m an extra on a soap and I can’t risk anything happening to my face.”
And then he ran.
Literally ran out of the bar.
Only in L.A.
Craig smirked at me in triumph.
“Let go of my hand,” I gritted through my teeth.
He looked down, and then he squeezed harder. It was a cruel motion, to show me just how in control he considered himself. How weak and breakable he considered me.
But then he let go.
I snapped my hand back wiping the sticky liquid with my napkin.
I took a breath.
He rounded the table and took Ben’s seat calmly as if the past handful of minutes hadn’t happened.
“Excuse me, is everything okay?”
My head snapped up to see a waiter frowning at Craig then softening his gaze at me.
“Ma’am, is he giving you trouble?”
Ah, chivalry was not dead.
It just came from the guy who was paid to serve me drinks instead of the guy that didn’t even buy them for me.
Craig raised his brow at me in challenge. He was daring me to be saved. To need saving. To admit that I couldn’t handle him on my own. Which was probably true. I didn’t handle his abuse on my own. The first thing I did was run to Rosie. And then she dealt with it.
“No,” I said firmly, forcing a polite smile. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine. I’ll be even better if I could get a fresh drink, we seem to have had an…accident with mine.” I held up the now empty glass.
The waiter paused, looking between us, and then took my glass. “Okay, I’ll be right back with another drink. And I’ll be here, in case there are any more…accidents.”
He gave me a pointed look and Craig a harsh glare before he walked away.
“Ah, I would’ve expected you to cry wolf again,” Craig said.
I focused my gaze on him. “It’s not crying wolf when you punch me in the face,” I said. “It’s called standing up to abusive pricks.”
Something moved in his face. Something ugly, full of rage. And then it morphed. “Baby, I said I was sorry. I tried to explain. But I didn’t get the chance. I’ve been going crazy without you.”
I blinked at the change in his temperament. The way his eyes cleared, the way he sat back in his chair.
“I love you, Polly,” he continued. “I’ve been thinking about you constantly, about what he had.” He leaned forward. “And we had something, didn’t we?”
“Yes,” I said. Because I didn’t have it in me to lie to him or more importantly, myself. I wished I could’ve said no, for the sake of my self-respect. Because admitting I had something with a man who thought violence was acceptable was embarrassing, to say the least.
But my heart wasn’t controlled by such things.
So there was something with him. However small. I’d magnified it out of desperation. First, because I was desperate for something that didn’t hurt as much as me and Heath. And then because I had no other choice.
I had a choice now.
“We had something, Craig,” I continued. “But that was all shattered with you showing your true colors. And thank god that happened when it did. Before I could put down roots with you. Before it was too late. And it’s too late for us, now. If we really ever had a chance.” I observed him. “You might have a chance. If you get therapy. Explore the reasons why you feel the need to be violent toward women. Everyone has the power to change their direction in life. Even you.”
