Page 28 of Willing Prey

TWENTY-THREE

Claire

If there’s a more uncomfortable encounter than this one, I can’t imagine it.

Keith’s staring at us—at me. A glance across the table proves Margot’s as disturbed as I am, though hopefully I’m doing a better job hiding it.

Shane’s gone from happy to grim, the transition so stark it’s unnerving.

Caine, however, is all smiles. I think he’s also on some sort of sugar high.

Extending the donut box toward Naomi and Keith, he plays the host. “There’s plenty for everybody. Don’t just stand there, sit down and get com—”

He cuts off with a high-pitched yip, betrayal on his face as he whirls toward Margot. “What the hell?” Snatching up her hand, Caine studies her fingers. “How can these cute little things pinch so hard?”

Margot doesn’t jerk her hand away, only darts a furtive look from Keith to me.

“What’s in your eye?” Caine asks, moving like he’s going to brush her hair away from her face.

I don’t see how Margot fends him off. I’m too busy cringing as Keith sits down.

On the bench.

Next to me.

With him on one side and Shane on the other, I’m the cream filling in an angry lawyer sandwich cookie.

Naomi’s forced to sit next to Margot. I’d usually feel sorry for anyone being ignored by their partner the way Keith is ignoring her.

My feelings were hurt dozens of times by his conscious or unconscious dismissal throughout the course of our relationship.

With Keith, you’re either the center of his universe or in a galaxy far, far away. There is no nice, reasonable orbit.

However, I’m a worse person than I like to admit, because seeing him be a little bit of a dick to her feels good, fair somehow.

Maybe if she hadn’t made small talk with me at the Christmas party, I’d be more sympathetic.

While Keith holds all the blame, there’s a part of me that feels like Naomi is a traitor to some unspoken woman commandment.

Thou shalt not ask the wife of the man you’re fucking for her Christmas cookie recipe.

My problems are bigger than her anyway.

“I’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” Keith leans in, angling his body toward me.

Reluctantly, I finally look at him, scared I’ll feel something.

Scared it will hurt. Taking in the planes of his face, the set of his jaw, and that rogue piece of hair that always falls onto his forehead, I do feel something.

It’s pain, but it isn’t the agony of a new injury or the discomfort of one that’s still healing. It’s an ache, dull and unpleasant.

When I was twelve, a car hit me as I rode my bike home from school.

I broke my left femur, a spiral compound fracture that my orthopedic surgeon cheerfully told me was one of the worst he’d ever seen.

It hurt so bad I threw up in the ambulance.

Post-surgery, I’d wake up in the middle of the night, breathless with pain because I’d bumped it or moved wrong in my sleep.

Decades later, I only think about it during the winter, when the exact right blend of humidity and chill causes an ache that makes me reach for the ibuprofen.

The ache that comes and goes is a part of me.

Nagging and annoying, it reminds me that once there was terrible pain here.

Now there’s just discomfort. After agony, a residual ache is nothing.

So is Keith.

The green eyes I used to get lost in are just eyes.

Lips I loved on my body hold zero appeal.

There’s only the echo of anguish when I look at him.

Soft, but insistent, reminding me that there was so much pain here.

And the same way I’ll never fling myself in front of a car and re-create the accident, I’ll never put my trust in Keith again. I want nothing to do with him.

“Why?” My voice is neutral, and I feel Shane tensing on my other side. He’s silent but practically vibrating.

Do he and Keith have some kind of lawyer rivalry I don’t know about?

I’m vaguely aware of the three on the far side of the table making awkward small talk, but I need to solve the problem in front of me.

“Can we talk for a second? Privately?” Keith asks, giving me his most charming smile.

Shane’s about to levitate from the energy radiating off him. Maybe taking Keith away will help.

“Fine.”

Keith smiles. Shane makes an odd sort of cough.

“You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to,” he whispers, his voice gruff. “I’ll tell him to fuck off. Happily.”

I don’t need Shane to tell off my ex-husband for me, but the fact that he’s willing to is heartwarming in a dysfunctional way.

“I’m good. Better to get it over with.”

Keith is already standing, scrutinizing Shane and me. He’s pissed, so pissed, but keeping it clamped down. Good. I hope he’s livid. It’s only fair.

“I’ll be right back,” I say to the table in general.

Naomi’s eyes narrow as she looks at Keith. “Should I com—”

“Wait here.” He’s dismissive. “We’ll only be a minute.”

Even though I don’t like her, I want to grab Naomi and go, See this? This is a red flag. I ignored them. Don’t make the same mistake.

But I don’t. I stand and walk away with Keith.

Shane

I’m ready to upend the picnic table. This is fucking bullshit.

Maybe it’s the entitlement, assuming he can have her time simply because he wants it.

Or maybe it’s because he has the audacity to parade his affair partner in front of his ex-wife and then abandon said affair partner to go talk to the ex.

Who does that? Whatever it is, it has me angrier than I’ve ever been in my adult life.

Apparently, my rage is palpable enough that Caine notices.

As Margot and Naomi continue to make stilted conversation, he moves to my side of the table.

“You look ready for war.”

I think I am.

Rubbing my hands across my face, I fight the urge to get up and follow them.

“What about this is getting you so worked up?” Caine asks, settling beside me. I’m facing the direction Claire and Keith went, just in case. “You know she’s not going to blow him behind a food truck, right?”

“That wasn’t on my list of worries.” I crack my knuckles. “Until now.”

“Then what is on your list?”

I don’t know how to express it. “He’s going to try to get her back.”

Caine rolls his eyes. “At the Alley, with his new lady waiting? No way.”

“He’ll plant the seeds for it.” I lean against the table, resting my elbows on top. Maybe I can force myself to relax by assuming a casual position. “Remind her of all their happy memories. They have history.”

“But some of it’s bad.” Fidgeting with a napkin, he lowers his voice. “Are you really serious about her?”

“I think so.”

Truthfully, I know so, but saying it out loud to him—sober, anyway—before I’ve told her feels wrong.

“Then you need to wait and see what happens. If she’s done with him, she’ll be done. If she’s not, it’s better to know now versus later.”

He’s right. I know he is. But there’s part of me that feels the need to do something. To try to tilt the scales in my favor, position myself more favorably.

As if he knows what I’m thinking, Caine says, “He cheated on her, right?”

Barely angling my head back, I murmur, “With Naomi.”

“Really? Oh shit. Sorry, I wouldn’t have invited them to sit if I knew who they were.” Glancing behind us, he blatantly looks for Naomi.

I turn too, but she’s gone. There’s only Margot, tapping away on her phone. Feeling our gaze, she looks up. “Everything okay?”

“Where’s Naomi?” Caine asks. “Shane told me who she is. And who the fucker is.”

“She had to run to the bathroom and clean herself up.” Margot’s voice is as calm as ever. “I accidentally spilled a drink on her.”

“Accidentally?” Caine questions, delighted by this treachery. “Look at you. It’s nice to see you embracing your villain era.”

I can’t do this. Can’t sit and wait and listen to my brother tease Margot. “I’m going to take a lap.”

Caine stands along with me, catching my arm. “You need to stop and sit down. Why are you so wound up over this? Let him say his piece to Claire. So what if he’s a dipshit? It’s up to her to decide not to talk to him.”

“Because he won’t give up,” I snap. “He’s been calling and texting the whole time she’s been with me.

” I gesture vaguely. “This will only put her even more on his radar. He’s smart enough.

He’s going to assume something is going on with Claire and me.

That’s going to trigger his competitive side.

He’s going to double down on trying to get back together with her now. ”

Caine grabs my shoulder, giving me a light shake. “Stop trying to put out fires that aren’t burning yet.” Pausing, he pulls out his phone. “Shit, that was pretty profound. I’m putting that in notes.”

While he records his genius, I leave. I could be borrowing trouble, but my gut says I’m not.

It doesn’t take me long to find them. Keith and Claire are at the edge of the glow of the bistro lights.

She looks tired, as if she’s been listening to him for hours instead of minutes.

It’s selfish, but I’m glad she doesn’t look happy.

I don’t want her to enjoy her time with him.

I want her to see him for exactly what he is: a cheating, worthless piece of shit.

I’ll stay back, not get involved. If she needs me, I’ll step in, but otherwise, I’m merely a spectator.

Awareness that I’m being possessive and possibly paranoid fills me, but I can’t bring myself to care.

Claire hasn’t said anything to make me think Keith’s ever been physically violent, and I’ve never gotten that impression from him at work.

Still, I don’t trust him, and there’s a first time for everything.

If Keith decides he wants to fight, it isn’t going to be with Claire.

He’s talking with his hands, but that doesn’t mean anything. Keith’s an animated speaker, and as much as I don’t like him, his big personality makes him decent at his job. He has that easy charm that makes people trust him, and he’s aiming it at Claire.

Though whatever he’s saying to her now is pissing her off. Claire throws her hands up and storms away. She makes it a step. Keith catches her wrist in a movement that’s not violent so much as it is proprietary. It doesn’t matter. I’m moving before I can stop myself.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” My voice carries across the open space.

They jump. I glare at where he’s holding her and realize he didn’t grab her by the wrist. He took her hand. A small but significant difference. What if she was storming away because she knew he would stop her? What if she wanted him to?

Keith glares at me. My attention is on Claire, trying to see if she’s unhappy I’ve intervened. She’s yanked her hand from his and looks stressed. Exhausted. But it’s not the expression I’d expect if I’d interrupted a conversation she wanted to continue.

“What is this?” He directs the question at Claire. “Why are you here with him?”

I don’t know what I expect her to tell him.

“It’s not your business,” she says calmly, more calmly than he deserves, in my opinion. “But I’m friends with Margot, his assistant. She’s friends with his brother, Caine, and we all wanted to grab dinner.”

He looks at me as though I might say something to contradict her. I keep my face blank. I already violated her trust by sharing our arrangement with Caine. If she wants to tell Keith I’m her chauffeur, I’ll back it up. Even though I wish I could tell him what we really are.

You don’t even know what you are , the voice of reason reminds me.

“Sure.” He doesn’t believe her, but Claire doesn’t cave.

“Naomi is probably wondering where you are. You abandoned her to talk to your ex-wife .”

I hold back a smile as she goads him. Keith’s frustrated, gritting his teeth. Sensing the near end of Claire’s patience, I can’t help but go for the finisher.

“You might want to check on her. Margot said something about a spill?” With that note, I decide it’s time to do what I do at the office. Pretend he doesn’t exist unless I absolutely must acknowledge him. Turning to Claire, I smile. “Ready to head back?”

Her smile might as well be a referee calling the fight in my favor. Keith sees it. If looks could kill, I’d be very dead, but there’s not much he can say if he believes he has a shot at making partner.

“Right.” The frustration in his exhale is satisfying.

To me, he says, “See you tomorrow.” To Claire, he says, “I’ll be in touch.”

Get fucked.

Claire makes a sound that’s somewhere in between irritated and dismissive. I say nothing. When he moves away, I turn to her. “You okay? That looked like it was getting intense.”

“Yeah, I’m good.” She rolls her eyes. “He’s still trying to be friends .”

“I think he’s trying to do more than that.” I’m trying to feel her out, see if she realizes what he’s up to, which is trying to fuck her.

I’m surprised when she nods. “Probably.”

Before I can push for more, she touches my forearm. It’s lightning, more electric than the nudge of her foot in the kitchen. I love touching her. But her touching me? Incredible.

“Can we forget about him? I was having a good time.” Lowering to a stage whisper, she says, “It’s kind of fun watching your brother try to get Margot to pay attention to him. Am I a terrible person for thinking that?”

We begin to move back toward the table. “Not awful. But he’s completely in love with her now. I think she spilled a drink on Naomi. On purpose.”

“She didn’t.” Horror, delight, I can’t tell which is making Claire squeak.

“Pretty sure.”

“That’s mean.” She groans. “And I love it. I am a terrible person.”

“No, you’re just a person.”

My absolute favorite person.