Page 57 of Demo
“You got me?” I asked, letting her know I didn’t like her self-deprecating comment.
Looking down, then back up at me, Lizzie smiled. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
I darted toward her. “You calling my bluff?” I grabbed her from behind as she shrieked and squirmed out of my grip.
“Alright! Alright! I believe you!” she huffed as she smoothed her shirt and kept walking away. “Get back to work already. Geez.”
I ran my hands through my hair and watched Lizzie get into her car. When she waved to me through the open window, I put my fist to my ear, my thumb and pinky sticking out.
Call you later,I mouthed.
Yep, I was in trouble.
Chapter 17
LYZBETH
“Thatcocksucker!”Deepracticallyspits across her desk as I fill her in on how the police chief tried to strong-arm me.
“Yep.”
“Wow,” is all Monty adds.
I am perched over Dee’s reception desk, my elbows resting on the countertop, while she sits back in her chair. Monty leans his left shoulder against the nearby wall, his arms crossed over his chest.
“I’m actually kind of surprised,” he offers. “I didn’t think Scott had it in him.”
“Yeah, well, even the most cowardly of lions will bare their teeth when backed into a corner.”
I can see the gears turning behind Monty’s eyes. He may not be a reporter, but having worked in the newsroom longer than I have he still has a nose for news. He knows when shit doesn’t smell right.
And this smells absolutely rancid.
“So, you’ve been there this whole time?” he asks in disbelief.
“No, I was with Knox.” The answer is out before I can censor myself.
His eyebrows shoot up while Dee slaps the desk. Hard. “What?” she says, and it’s an accusation.
“I ran into him getting gas, and he convinced me to get a cup of coffee.” I shrug.
“Did you have sex?” Dee blurts out.
Monty pushes off the wall with a harumph and throws his hands in the air. “Alright, that’s my cue. I draw the line at girl talk.”
“Pussy,” Dee barks at him as he pats my shoulder on his way back to his desk.
“So …” she turns back to me.
“No. We did not have sex.”
“Why would you even give him the time of day?” she asks as she leans back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. It pisses me off. I know she’s my best friend and she’s looking out for me, but it still pisses me off.
“Seriously?” I ask, pulling back from the desk, getting defensive.
“Yes, seriously. After what he did to you, how can you even talk to him?”
“Dee,” I say, trying to be understanding. “Don’t you think I’m embarrassed about his indiscretions? Don’t you think I’m pissed, and hurt, and humiliated? Because I am. But I’m also fucking sad.”
