Friction(10)

"By yesterday." This time, I down a hearty gulp of my drink. I sure as hell need it. “I royally screwed up the interview.”

Jamie frowns. "How so?"

"For starters, I was totally thrown off my game when I saw him. Then he asked why I left Java-Org and my dumbass blurted out that Tom cheated on me."

"It’s good you told him the truth." She nudges my shoulder with hers. "Better than let him blindly call the asshole who’ll only feed him half-truths and a load of shit. What Tom’s doing to you is wrong on so many levels.”

I have to agree with her.

On so many levels.

It had taken me six months to figure out why the staff around Java-Org called me the bearded dragon behind my back. And while half that title was thanks to what my ex always referred to as my "overachieving, ball-busting attitude," I soon discovered the other portion of my nickname was due to my husband's extracurricular activity.

The one everyone knew about but me.

The one that ended my marriage.

The same damn secret that made me regret putting my name on a contract that bound me to Tom and his business partner/lover.

After I had found out about the affair, he had suggested marriage counseling. I refused. He asked me if my response would have been different if Shane was a woman, but I told him it wouldn’t have mattered. That it wasn't his sexuality that hurt me but the fact he was a lying cheater and that's why I was done.

He hadn't been pleased with that answer and had retaliated by pointing out that, lying cheater or not, he still owned me for the next year and a half. So, I made a move that was completely uncharacteristic for success-driven, ball-busting Lucy Williams-Duncan.

I walked away from not one but two of my commitments.

Then Tom contacted his attorney and threatened to sue.

And he’s been making my life hell ever since.

Closing my eyes, I push out a hard sigh. "Damned if I say anything, damned if I don't," I mutter. I finish my drink and slide the glass next to Jamie's, shuddering at the resounding clink. "The other night I laid in bed wondering if I shouldn't just suck it up and finish my time."

"You'd hate your life."

Once again, she’s right. I'm a dweller and a worrier—it's my worst habit—so if I weren’t at work hating Tom, I’d toss and turn all night hating my situation. It's a lose-lose scenario, but at least I'll be able to move on. Eventually. When I tell my friend this, she sets her mouth in a harsh line.

"I'm the first person to tell you if I think you're making a mistake, but leaving Tom was a necessity. He tricked you, used the money you both earned to make a name for himself, and now he wants to screw you over? It doesn't work like that." She's slightly winded when she stops preaching and her slim shoulders shake with conviction. "He can find someone else to market his shitty coffee, and I hope that bitch’s name is Karma."

"Hey!"

"Oh come on, the coffee is overpriced and tastes like compost, and you know it. The only reason it's done so well is because you're a marketing genius.”

I laugh bitterly. "Maybe that’s why he's giving me so much shit."

“Look, Luce, I know you're tired of hearing this, but be patient. I know you’re going to get a new job and soon." She sounds like my father for a second, and I feel an ache in my chest just thinking about him. He always knew just the right words to say, always knew just how to calm my worries, and I miss him like crazy. "When you get that job, then you can tell Tom and his over-privileged ass to kiss it.”

"I'll try," I promise. "Not to tell Tom to kiss it—I'll do that now—but to be patient."

"That's my Lucy." I know the job discussion has finally met its end when her gaze wanders again, this time to a shorter guy with a shock of dyed green hair. He’s good-looking, but he's also a one-eighty from her usual type—tall, dark, and business-suited.

"Seriously?" I tease. “In the mood to try something new?”

"Um, that’s a negative." She groans, waving down the bartender and mouthing a request for our check. "All right, let's get out of here before I make bad choices I'll regret in the morning."

I open my mouth to speak, but she grins and shakes her head.

"Don’t worry, I'm not releasing you to your momma just yet. It's eighties night at The Inferno, and you are going to loosen up with dance and shitty music. Then I'll let you go home to stress and stare at your phone until you fall asleep."

The bartender plunks our bill on the counter between us, and I reach for my wallet. I glower at Jamie, but she purses her lips and gives me a pointed look. "I don't stare at my phone until I fall asleep, thank you very much."

But I do.

I have been that way for months, but the sleeplessness has just gotten worse since I met with Jace earlier this week.

Knowing the night will end with me embarrassing myself through "dance and shitty music," I reluctantly follow Jamie when she leaves the bar a few minutes later.



To make a point, I don't check my messages the entire time I watch Jamie shake her ass to "Video Killed the Radio Star" and "Thriller" and a techno version of Lionel Richie’s “Hello.” I'll never admit it aloud, but she was right—dancing (badly) does take a huge weight off my shoulders, and I'm grinning like a fool by the time her Uber driver picks her up and I'm back in my Jeep. Waiting for the heat to kick in to warm my shivering legs, I find my phone and power it on, ignoring the umpteenth request to download the newest update which will surely crash the thing since that always happens.