Deconstructed(64)

“Hey,” Griffin said, reaching out and rubbing my back. “It’s going to be okay.”

I should have felt comforted, but his sympathy only made me feel worse. The tears that threatened slipped past their barrier. I dashed them away with a furious brush of my hand and picked up my lukewarm beer and took too big of a gulp. Fire shot up my nose. And that fire was beer.

Griffin dropped his hand and grabbed a fistful of napkins as I gasped and started coughing. Beer dripped from my nose, and I made quite a spectacle of myself, pushing away from the bar, drawing everyone’s attention as I tried to expel the invader from my sinuses. So much for being covert. Turns out Maddie Holt wasn’t good at stealth. No, she liked everyone looking at her, with her big boobs and beer shooting out of her nose.

“Oh God,” I said, mopping at my face between intermittent coughs.

Griffin watched me, looking like he wanted to pat me on the back again but was perhaps afraid of my bodily fluids. I blew my nose rather loudly and then held up my hand in apology to everyone who was watching me try not to die.

Griffin held the stool as I slipped back on it. The bartender set a glass of water in front of me and went back to pouring drinks.

“Sorry.”

Griffin handed me another napkin. “Your eyelash is on your cheek.”

“Dang it,” I said, feeling my face. Sure enough. I pulled the other one off, too, wincing as I might have removed a few of my own real lashes. “I really suck at this.”

“No, you don’t. But you should probably just forgo beer.”

“Yeah,” I said, pushing the half-full can away.

“Look, if he’s screwing around, he’ll mess up eventually. They all do.”

They. Not we. There was some comfort in his words. Griffin Moon, for all his dourness, wasn’t like Scott. “But I need the proof now. I have a meeting with my attorney on Wednesday, and I can’t keep pretending that I’m happy with Scott sleeping next to me. I want him out. I want to move on, progress, be . . . I don’t know . . . competent at something other than making cupcakes for the PTA and selling old furniture.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re competent at a lot of things.”

I pulled out my phone and accessed the picture I had taken of Scott’s schedule. “Maybe I can prove it tomorrow. Tonight he has a grant meeting, so I doubt he’ll go see Stephanie for a roll in the hay, but tomorrow he has a meeting at some place called the Channel Marker. I don’t know where that is, but maybe—”

“Wait.” Griffin held up a hand. “The Channel Marker?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s out on Caddo Lake. And a local dive. Why would he be meeting someone there?”

“I don’t know, but he’s up to something else besides cheating on me. I know that. I overheard him talking to some guy about a deal. And Scott was worried about ‘going down’ for something. Maybe I won’t need proof of his cheating if I can get proof of something else. I just need some leverage. He’s cleaned out our savings and retirement. I want that back before I file for divorce.” I really shouldn’t have been telling a stranger my business, but Griffin was already involved. He knew my husband was cheating, and he’d escorted my alter ego to this bar and grill. Too late for involving him. He might as well know what a douchebag my husband was.

Griffin’s expression darkened, his fist on the bar clenched. “Okay. Tomorrow. We’ll try again. Come to my office at the yard. I’ll go with you up to the Channel Marker. Wear the same thing. You look nothing like yourself in that getup.”

I patted my wig. “Do I look bad?”

Now why in all of creation had I asked that? Like some insecure schoolgirl. But danged if it wasn’t the first thing that came to mind. Deep down inside under my “You don’t like him” vow was the dumb girl who wanted to be attractive to Griffin. Ugh. I hated her.

He looked at me, taking in the whole look. Then he shrugged a shoulder. “I like it when you’re fussed up. That shirt and boots aren’t you. But I dig the short, dark hair.”

“Oh. Well, thanks. I think.” I looked down at the napkins in my hand. “I can go alone. I’m not afraid to.”

“Have you ever been to the Channel Marker?” he asked.

“Obviously I haven’t.”

“I’m coming with you. No arguments.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll take your help.” I was resigned to the fact that I had another date with Griffin tomorrow. No, not date. Just a person helping another person. “I’ve sort of lost my appetite. You want to get—”

Griffin flagged down the bartender. “Bring us the loaded cheese fries and a club sandwich to share.”

“I guess that means we’re eating?” I said with a sigh, wanting to get out before Scott had a chance to see us. Besides, he’d ordered for me without even asking what I wanted. I never ate cheese fries. Those were for teenaged girls or, well, guys like Griffin. They were, like, a bajillion calories. I would just stick to my half of the club, removing the bacon, of course.

But fifteen minutes later, with gooey cheese, sour cream, and bacon covering the enormous plate of carbaliciousness, I changed my mind. Cheese fries were sort of genius, and my lunch date wasn’t bad, either. I even ate my half of the sandwich with the bacon. Life was short. And I could add another twenty minutes to my workout.