F*ck Marriage(21)

“Woods,” I breathe.

He doesn’t see me right away. His eyes are trained on Satcher’s building, a strange expression on his face. I come up behind him not knowing exactly what to do. Do I call out to him? Tap him on the shoulder? What is he doing here anyway? I decide to wait until he notices me. I flit up the sidewalk behind him, dodging an overturned paper cup spilling neon blue slushy. Satcher has a doorman and he eyes us both as we approach. Woods senses someone behind him and turns. I process his look of shock, which turns to appreciation as he eyes my legs.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

I wouldn’t exactly call his voice cold, but it is definitely suspicious.

“Fuck off. What are you doing here?”

My switcharoo works. He looks flustered.

“I need to talk to Satch,” he says.

He waits for me to announce why I’m here, but I set my jaw to let him know it’s not going to happen. We breeze past the doorman and into the foyer and then we freeze, awkward.

“Where’s Pearl?” I ask.

“Home.”

“Did you fight?”

He frowns, looking annoyed. “How did you know that?”

“I know you,” I say. “Like the back of my hand.”

He purses his lips and nods.

“So,” he says. “Want to skip this place and go get a drink?”

I glance at the elevators, unsure. I really need to talk to Satch. Make sure we’re okay.

“And be the girl you left me for? Not a chance.”

I’m so proud of myself I don’t even notice Satcher stepping off the elevator. Not right away at least. His eyes widen when he sees us both standing in his lobby, and reluctantly, he heads over, a frown marring his face.

“Satcher,” I say before he can speak. “I came to apologize. And ask if you’ll get a drink with me.”

Satcher raises an eyebrow and looks at Woods.

“I wanted to get a drink too,” he says.

“We came separately,” I explain, glancing at Woods out of the corner of my eye.

“I was actually just heading out.” Satcher glances at his watch.

“I’ll walk with you…” I offer.

Satcher looks annoyed. “It’s a date,” he says. “I have a date.”

“So you two aren’t a thing?” Woods motions between us.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Woods? That’s why you came here? To ask him that?” My hands find their way to my hips.

“He’s my best friend. I have a right to know what his intentions are with you.”

“No. No, you don’t have a right.” My chest is heaving and tears are burning my eyes. I can’t believe that after everything he did, he feels like he has any right to my life. I look at Satcher, my gut rolling. “Can we get out of here? Please.”

He only hesitates for a second before nodding. And in that moment, I feel like he’s made a choice between his best friend and his best friend’s ex-wife.

He nods at Woods and I grab onto his arm, walking quickly to keep in stride. I don’t look back. If I look back I’ll turn back.





Chapter Eleven





He stops abruptly once we’re out of sight and I teeter forward on my heels. Satcher reaches out a hand to steady me. His fingers brush the underside of my breasts and I hear myself suck in my breath.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m an asshole. I shouldn’t put you in the middle of ... whatever this is.”

“Revenge,” he offers.

My bottom lip pushes out when I nod.

“Forget it,” Satcher says. His eyes scan the street; he’s already dismissed me. I feel awkward. Clearly Satcher doesn’t want to talk about it and I didn’t have a plan past apologizing. I’m about to fall back so that I’m not trailing behind him like a lost puppy when he throws me a bone.

“Though I don’t know how I feel about being a key player in my best friend’s demise.”

I bite my lip. “I didn’t mean to put you in that position … I was being selfish.” And then I ask, “Are you guys still ... close?”

He isn’t looking at me when he answers; his head is turned toward traffic. “Not really.”

“Why not? What happened?” My interest is genuine, but I can tell Satcher is annoyed.

“I really do have a date.”

“Of course, yeah. Do you need a cab?” I ask feebly.

He glances at his watch. “We can walk it.”

I’m empowered by the word we as we set off, the autumn air just a hair too cold to be without a jacket. Glancing at him out of the corner of my eye, I notice that he’s changed into more casual clothes: jeans, and a polo shirt that fits tight across his chest. I don’t know where we’re headed and I’m too afraid to ask—Satcher looks like a storm cloud waiting to burst. I want to reach out and touch him. Press my fingers into his skin to gauge his anger. I also don’t want him to be angry with me.

“Who’s the girl?” I ask finally.

When he turns his head it’s like he’s shocked to see me walking next to him.

“What?”

“Your date ... who is she?”