“... glad you decided to see me ...” That was Michael. I turned my head ever so slightly, just enough that I could glimpse them out of the corner of my eye. Tara had definitely dolled herself up for the occasion—she looked good, in a fitted red dress with white polka dots. I didn’t quite catch her response, but it was something along the lines of, “I’m pretty busy, but I did at least manage to fit you into my schedule.”
I drank my hot chocolate and ate my cookie. The minutes ticked by. It sounded like Michael was trying to get her to come back to his place.
“I don’t think so,” Tara said. “I told you—I’m busy.”
I leaned back in my chair a little so I could hear them better.
“When have you ever been too busy for me?” he asked.
“Plenty of times. Ever since you decided you were going to leave me and jet off to Paris.”
There was a scraping sound as Tara pushed back her chair and stood up. “In fact, I’m leaving right now.”
It seemed as though she’d forgotten that I was there, or she just didn’t want to break my cover. She hurried out, her spiked heels click-clicking on the brushed concrete floor. Michael stalked after her and I got up and followed.
I was only a few seconds behind him, but when I stepped outside, he had his hand on her
upper arm and was yanking her toward him. Her ankle rolled gruesomely under her and she let out a yelp as she fell to the ground. He didn’t let go of her arm, though, and tried to jerk her back up.
“Hey!” I shouted. “Stop it!”
He turned right as I reached him and tried to pull him off of her.
“What the fuck?” he said. He let go of Tara’s arm and shoved me. “Chloe? Is that you? Are you fucking kidding me? Get out of here; this is none of your business.”
“Ow, my ankle!” Tara was still in a heap on the ground.
“Chloe, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of here, okay? This doesn’t concern you; this is between Tara and me.” He looked down at her. “Get up.”
“I twisted my ankle, you fucking asshole!” she screamed at him.
I tried to get around him to help her up but he blocked me. When I tried to push his arm away, he shoved me again and I stumbled back.
“I mean it, Chloe, if you don’t get out of here—”
“I think you’re the one who needs to get the fuck out of here.”
I turned my head and saw Graham walking over to us.
“Does it make you feel good, pushing women around? You the kind of guy who gets off on that sort of thing?”
Michael sneered at him. “This is not any of your business,” he said. “I don’t know who you are—wait a second.” He tilted his head to the side and looked at Graham. “Wait a fucking second, I know who you are!” He looked down at Tara. “Looks like your fucking boyfriend has shown up to save the day.”
“He’s not my boyfriend!” Tara snapped.
“Yeah, right. I saw those pictures you put up of the two of you at the beach.”
I went over to Tara and pulled her up. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“I really fucked up my ankle,” she said, looking down at it. “Shit, it’s already swelling. Dammit! This sure as shit isn’t going as I planned it.”
I hunched over a little so she could throw her arm across my shoulders and take some of the weight off her injured leg.
“If he’s not your boyfriend, what the hell is he doing here, then?” Michael asked. “And why the hell did you tell me he was your boyfriend? Why the hell would you post fucking pictures of the two of you on Facebook together?”
“He’s my boyfriend,” I said. “And he’s here because I asked him to be because I know how much of a scumbag you can be.”
“I think it’s time you hit the road, bro,” Graham said. “There’s really no reason for you to be here.”