Between Now and Heartbreak - Dylan Allen Page 0,91
no idea what you’re talking about.” He looks around the restaurant nervously.
I shake my head, like I feel sorry for him.
“Of course you do.”
His eyes widen in surprise.
“She wasn’t supposed to. She signed an NDA.”
I roll my eyes at how pathetic he sounds.
“What, are you going to sue her? I’ll deny she told me. And don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone. Everyone will be blissfully ignorant when it comes to how hard up you are..”
“I’m not worried. You’re just a phase. She’s had others. But she’s not going to walk away from everything just because you make nice music. Or whatever,” he raises his eyebrows in a mocking eyeroll.
I’ve had enough and start to stand. But his next words stop me.
“I was her first. I’ll be her last.”
I look back at this asshole, and he’s eating his steak again, and he looks positively giddy.
“You’re delusional, ” I say, but sit back down, a prickle of worry piercing my anger and bravado.
He smiles.
“I find her a little… vanilla, but she’s prime pussy, isn’t she? Enjoy her. But when you’re done, throw her back. I’m more interested in her other assets anyway.”
My blood runs cold at his words.
“Men like you make me ashamed to be a man.”
He rolls his eyes and effects a bored expression while he makes a show out of cutting his steak.
“You’re a boy who plays the piano,” he sneers before he shovels a huge piece into his mouth.
I remember Liz telling me about his closet bisexuality and I can’t resist the opening he just gave me.
“And you’re a man who dreams about marrying princesses.”
The words whizz through the air, shed their disguises, and he looks stricken as they land.
He freezes mid-chew.
His eyes narrow, his face flushes scarlet and his fist tightens around the handle of the steak knife he’s still holding. He looks like he wants to plunge it into my eye.
I grin at him.
“She’ll pay for that and every other insult you hurl my way,” he says coldly and the humor I was enjoying at his expense is shattered. He’s not bothered at all. In fact, he seems downright happy.
“If you touch her, I’ll kill you.”
He chuckles and puts more steak in his mouth.
“Oh, I’ve been as young and as hotheaded as you. So, I won’t report that threat because I know you don’t mean it. But the longer you drag this out, the worse it will be for her when it ends.” He smiles dryly and examines his fingernails.
“It’s not going to end.”
He smiles at me and there’s a darkness that chills me. I have the awful sensation that comes from swallowing something before you’ve chewed it properly.
“Oh. It will end. And, I’ll take her back. But first, I will make her crawl.”
I laugh, dark and mocking and loud.
His face contorts and turns red at the ridicule in my expression.
“Glad you think it’s funny, I’m sure she won’t.” The threat in his eyes and in his voice is chilling.
“She’ll never crawl for you. If you think that, you don’t know her at all.”
He shrugs.
“She’s a woman. They’re all the same. The only time she forgets her place is when she’s with a weak man who doesn’t remind her. When she’s married to me, she’ll never forget it.”
He takes a casual sip of his Scotch and then shoves more steak in his mouth. His self-assured smile back in place.
Like all is right in his world.
My anger is like a geyser, unexpected and explosive. I lean across the table and grab his lapels. My arms knock his glass over and send it crashing to the floor. Gasps of shock mingle with the scrape of hastily pushed back chairs and the clatter of dropped silverware.
He glances out at the room and shoots someone a pained, but conspiratorial smile, like it’s all a joke.
“If you don’t get your hands off me, I’ll have you arrested. And by the time your mommy comes with the bail money, you’ll meet men who dream of princesses with pretty green eyes and tight glutes,” he mutters through clenched teeth. But his eyes are calm. Assured of his victory.
His calm demeanor is disconcerting. There is a cunning smile on his face like he knows something that no one else does. Unease and dread race up my spine like fire up the wick of a stick of dynamite. I let go of his lapel, but he grabs my wrist and makes a show of dropping his head and smelling my still fisted hand.