Page 79 of Try Me
Mark:Fuck no. Gross. Just going to sleep it off.
Mark:Could you take that stack of folders on my desk to John, tho?
Mark:Plz
I put my phone away and found the box, tucking it under my arm as I walked down the hall. The law school interns had actual cubicles, and I found John’s, rapping my knuckles against the empty plastic nameplate on the outer wall.
“Mark’s out sick, so he asked me to bring these to you.”
“What? After all that whiskey? Shocking.” Despite the fact that I’d told Mark I wouldn’t get jealous, the fondness I thought I detected in John’s grin was annoying. He patted the corner of his desk. “You can set them right there. Thanks.”
“So you were there? At the party?” Had I said that too quickly, too accusatorially? Judging by the way John’s brow furrowed, the answer was yes.
“For a while, yeah.”
“Was it…fun?”Stop asking questions.I didn’t care if the party was fun. I cared if he’d been flirting with my boyfriend. Shit, Mark and I hadn’t really had that conversation yet either, but I figured it was a safe assumption. Note to self: have the label conversation tonight.
“In its own way, I suppose.” John flipped through the stack of folders, an awkward silence descending between us.
I was probably supposed to turn around and go. “Okay. Cool. I guess you didn’t have too much whiskey since you’re here today and he’s not.” God, if Mark had been here, he’d be cracking up in a corner. What was wrong with me?
“Astute observation. I can see why Lena loves you.” The crinkle at the corners of John’s eyes said it was a tease, but in my hyperaware state, it felt like something else.
I blew out a breath and nodded, spinning on my heel.
“Chet.”
“Yeah?” I turned back.
“I get the idea that Mark’s a very loyal…partner. If you were having any doubts.”
“I wasn’t.” Too quick again. Why no, I hadn’t been standing there thinking about the two of them at that party last night suddenly realizing they were perfect for each other and proceeding to go find a dark corner to make out in. “I mean, he’s a great teammate,” I emphasized. “So I was a little worried when he didn’t show up to work. But good to know he’s just hungover and not—” I waved a hand. “Okay, see you around.”
“I’m sure you’ll hear from him soon.” His amused smile annoyed me, too, and hung in the back of my mind all the way down the hall.
* * *
Heat lightning illuminatedthe cloudy sky in purple streaks as I walked toward my car in the lot of Fuego.
I’d spent most of my shift in the weeds and yanked my apron off, rolling it up as I walked, exhausted and ready to shower and collapse into bed. I wondered if I could convince Mark to give me a massage. I suspected he’d do it, especially if there was a happy ending for us both included.
The thought made me grin as I stuck my key in the car door, only noting the figure rising from the sidewalk bench in my periphery when the man cleared his throat and stepped into a pool of lamplight.
My stomach flipped over itself and sank to my feet.
Mark’s dad had intimidated the shit out of me when I was a kid. Imposing and strangely magnetic, he had a way of commanding a room that made him seem much taller than his six feet. I’d been a guest along with my parents at the parties they’d hosted, witnessed people falling all over themselves to curry favor with him. Even my own father at times. I thought I was supposed to, too. I’d yessir him constantly, found myself straightening my posture every time he was around.
But it wasn’t until I was older, maybe ten or eleven, that I discerned the falseness behind the smiles. I wondered if everyone else had been able to tell or just me. Sometimes, too, I wondered if it was my imagination. Life wasn’t black and white. Monsters and sociopaths didn’t always stick out like sore thumbs. Neither did swindlers or liars. And what did I know? I’d trusted my own father completely, and he’d been the biggest liar of all.
Mr. Farrow wasn’t smiling as he gestured to the bench, though. “Take a seat, son.”
I clenched my teeth to avoid reminding him I wasn’t his son, then walked around my car and took a seat on the bench, tilting my head back to look at the sky. A rumble sounded in the distance. Maybe not heat lightning after all.
“Do you know why I’m here?” he asked, easing down onto the bench beside me and stretching one arm over the back.
“Probably not for Fuego’s calamari.”
He watched the traffic pass in front of us, letting the silence stretch—a tactic, I suspected, to make me uneasy. It worked. “Mark and I were never close the way you and Alan were. But we used to talk more. Over the last year it’s been different. Actually, since his sophomore year it’s been different. He changed his degree, doesn’t seem to have any interest in taking over the company anymore.” He shook his head. “He lies to me constantly.”