Chapter 41
Forty-One
Tabitha
Ugh. Fine. I’ll go.
I’ve been mulling it over for the last fifteen minutes. Henry’s phone call threw me. But at least now I know that Francine isn’t some other woman. I mean, I was pretty sure she wasn’t, but logic doesn’t always reign supreme where jealousy is concerned.
Of course, I’m about to go out on a date myself.
Not a date. A drink. A thank-you to the man who saved my life. A man who I’ll hopefully never see again after tonight.
I’m not going to flake. I’m not a person who flakes.
I’ll still head over early to grab that extra drink, though. It’s about to get dark, and I know better than ever before not to walk around in the dark. I’ll have Lance walk me back to my place after we finish up. Hopefully it’ll be an early night.
I slowly rise off the couch, check my hair and my makeup in my hallway mirror. I’m not looking my best after a ninety-minute drive, but I look presentable. I’m not exactly trying to entice Lance anyway.
I walk over to Caesar’s and choose a stool in the corner, far away from anyone else.
The bartender approaches me. She’s pretty, with medium-length curly blond hair. Probably a student at CU who’s bartending to make some extra cash.
“What can I get for you, hon?” she asks.
Hon? I almost laugh at that. She doesn’t look much older than me.
I glance at the menu. “Just a white wine, please.”
“Chardonnay or sauv blanc?”
I shrug. “What do you recommend?”
She chuckles. “To tell you the truth, they both kind of suck. We’re not exactly known for our wines here.”
I cock my head. “And what exactly are you known for here?”
She grins. “I’ll make you my special. I call it the Shirley.”
“And you’re Shirley, I’m guessing.”
“Right there, detective. Some good sleuthing skills you’ve got there.”
That pulls a small smile out of me. “Well, not to brag, but I am a student at the med school.”
Shirley widens her eyes. “No kidding! That’s incredible. I’ve always said we should have more female doctors. Do you know the number of men I’ve gone to complaining about something, and they’ve always told me it was probably menstrual cramps?”
I laugh out loud at that. Really laugh. “You and me both, sister.”
“Tell you what, doc. This one’s on me.” Shirley gets to work pouring various liquors and mixers into a shaker along with some ice. She gives it a few good shakes and then pours it into a martini glass.
I take a sip, hoping to God it isn’t some undergraduate jungle juice concoction. “Wow, this is great. Sweet, but with just an edge of bitterness.”
She pats her chest. “Just like her namesake.” She leans on the bar. “So I’m not getting the vibe that you’re here to meet men.”
I swallow. “I’m not. Well, I’m here to meet a man. But not the plural men.” I laugh uneasily. “To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t be here at all if I didn’t owe this guy a favor.”
Shirley bounces her eyebrows. “Do tell.”
I bite my lip. “Well… It isn’t a very funny story.”
“Not all stories need to be funny. I’d know. I’m a creative writing major myself.”
“Really? That must be fun.”
She shrugs. “It would be if my profs weren’t all such big snores.”
I chuckle again. “The same can be said of medical school professors as well.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” She leans in again, stroking her chin. “So tell me the story, if you’re comfortable with it.”
I’m not comfortable with it in the slightest. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s good to sit in the discomfort. The memories of that night eased their chokehold on my throat after I told Henry about it. Maybe telling a second person, even if she’s a virtual stranger, will help me heal a little more.
“Well, I made a stupid mistake. Went on a walk after dark through the city streets.”
Shirley arches her eyebrows. “Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh is right. Eventually some freak sneaked up on me out of the shadows and started threatening me.”
“Oh, yikes.”
“Yeah. And then this guy—the guy I’m getting a drink with tonight—came out of nowhere. Saved my ass and scared the other guy away.”
Shirley snaps her fingers. “A white knight.”
I sigh. “In a way.”
Shirley taps her fingers on the bar counter. “But you’re not interested in him, are you? You just came out of obligation.”
I look up at her. “You’re good at reading people.”
“Part of being a bartender. I’m like a psychiatrist without all the extra med school loans.”
“That’s funny. My best friend wants to go into psychiatry. I should give her your number.”
“Best in the biz, babe.” Shirley leans back in. “So is there another man? One who’s keeping your heart at bay?”
Is Shirley a freaking mind reader? Like, come on!
“Yes. A guy I hooked up with at my friend’s wedding, the future psychiatrist. At first he told me we had no future together…but then…”
“He wormed his way right into your heart.”
“Bingo. I actually just got back from a weekend in his family’s cabin with him.”
“That must have been fun.”
“It was. More than fun. It was…transcendent.”
“Okay, Little Miss Ten-Dollar Word.” Shirley grins. “But obviously he’s not entirely in the picture, otherwise you wouldn’t be here checking in on Mr. White Knight.”
“Right. We kind of left things…undecided. He lives on the Western Slope, so it would be a long-distance thing.”
Shirley rolls her eyes. “Ugh. A situationship. Been there. It can really fuck with you.”
“Yeah, but with Henry, it’s like a good pain, you know? Like, my heart is a little broken, but it’s also a reminder that I have a heart in the first place.”
“I’ll have to save that line for my next book.” Shirley crosses her arms.
“Just give me ten percent of your royalties.” I take another sip of my drink. I like Shirley. Maybe I’ll see if she wants to hang out sometime, watch a movie.
“So tell me about the guy you’re meeting tonight. The obligation.”
I shrug. “He’s nice. A little persistent. I kind of tried lightly ghosting him, but he kept coming back like a little puppy dog. He’s sweet enough. Really good-looking.”
“But not the one, huh?”
I shake my head slightly. “I don’t think so. But he’s earned a drink.”
“He a regular here?” Shirley asks. “I might know him.”
“He seemed familiar with the bar. His name is Lance. Lance Rodriguez?”
Shirley shifts her gaze. “Oh, honey.”
“What?”
“Lance… Well, he’s got a bit of a—”
“Shirley!” Another patron calls. “This girl going to be monopolizing you all night, or can some of us get some service?”
“Be there in a second, Barry,” Shirley calls out. “Sheesh.” She turns to me. “To be continued.”
I take another sip from my glass. What was Shirley going to say about Lance? Is he a player? A weirdo? The kind of man who has a suit made out of the skins of his victims?
I turn around and nearly drop my drink when I get my answer.
Lance is here. At a table. He must have decided to swing by early as well.
But he’s not alone.
He’s sitting next to another person.
A man.
Broad shoulders and dark features. Dark features that I couldn’t quite define in nightfall, but in the unyielding light of the bar—
It’s the man who attacked me.
Having a drink—a drink—with the man who saved me.
It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.
Lance must have staged the attack on me. He then came out of nowhere on an abandoned street to save me.
He played the role of my savior, the nice guy who drove me home, didn’t ever pressure me into a date, always was patient for me as I worked through my trauma.
And it was all a fucking act.
I walk right over to the table he’s sitting at. He looks up right as I approach.
“Hey!” He widens his eyes. “You’re here early.”
I throw what remains of my Shirley in Lance’s face. “Stuff it, you creep.”
He wipes his face. “What the fuck, Tabitha?”
I point to the man next to him. “I know very well that this is the man who attacked me that night.”
Lance cocks his head. “It was too dark to see anything. You couldn’t even give the cops a good description.”
“Yeah, maybe so. I was freaked. But this guy”—I point to the man at Lance’s side, who’s been scowling at me this whole time—“has plagued my nightmares nearly every night since then. I know what I’m seeing.”
In the commotion, Shirley has come up from behind me, and she claps a hand against my shoulder. “What’s going on here?”
I turn to her, struggling to keep my composure. “Shirley, the whole attack I experienced? It was staged. To make Lance look good. To make me feel pressured into going on a date with him.”
Shirley turns to Lance. “Is this true?”
Lance eyes me with disdain. “I’d like to see her prove it.”
He’s got me there. It’s not like I have a recording of the night’s events I can play for Shirley or for the cops. It’s my word against Lance’s, and he certainly won’t admit to what he did.
Shirley gives me a sympathetic look and then stares daggers into Lance. “Get the fuck out of here. Both of you.”
Lance scoffs. “She can’t prove anything!”
“Yeah, and I can’t throw you in jail. But Caesar’s is a private establishment, and we are under no obligation to serve you.”
“You can’t be serious!” Lance sputters.
“Do I need to call the cops on you for trespassing?”
Lance and the attacker get to their feet quickly at that. “Fine,” Lance says. He shoulder-checks me on his way out. “Shame. We could have had a good time.”
“Under completely false pretenses.” I look away. “It’s funny. If you’d just met me in broad daylight, I might have been interested. Now I can’t stand the sight of you.”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t give me that. You weren’t ever that interested in me. It was like pulling teeth getting you to text me back. I’m sure you’ve been fucking some other guy this whole time, you little slut.”
“That’s it! Barry, get over here!” Shirley beckons the patron who was calling for her earlier. “Please escort this gentleman off the premises.”
“Gladly, Shirl.” Barry grabs Lance by the scruff of his collar and walks him out the door, slamming it in his and the other guy’s face.
I sink into a chair, allow the moment to fully wash over me.
Everything that’s had me on edge since I got back to Boulder… It was all faked.