Three #3
Zac follows my gaze to look up at the narrow staircase before looking back to me. “Sure thing.” He heads towards the sofa.
That’s when I hear it… I thought just maybe something might go my way today and Sarah would be out already. She always leaves early on Saturdays, claiming she wants to make the most of the weekends by starting them early.
Sarah comes bounding down the stairs in a pair of cut-off shorts and bikini top, looking every bit the drop-dead gorgeous creature she is. She stops dead in her tracks when she sees me and Zac standing in our living room.
Sarah turns towards me and raises her eyebrows as she states, “That is not Ethan.” Turning her head, she gives Zac the once-over. “Yep, definitely not Ethan. It is absolutely an improvement though.”
I don’t know why—I can’t explain the feeling exactly—but something happens deep inside me when I see the way she’s looking at Zac. Like he was a porterhouse steak she couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into. I didn’t like it, not one bit.
She must have noticed something flicker across my face because she comes up to me.
“Are you okay? You don’t look so hot.” Concern is written on her face.
“Did he do something to you? Because even serial killers can be beautiful, Lyssa.” She turns towards Zac like she wants to bury him alive.
Sarah is nothing if not the most loyal friend.
Unsure how to handle the situation, I turn to Zac, expecting him to be looking his fill at my beautiful friend, like every other man does in her presence. I’m stunned to silence when I see he isn’t looking at her at all; his eyes are fixed on me. He looks pissed off again, jaw clenched tight.
Ignoring his pissed off look, I turn back to Sarah. “This is Zac; he helped me out last night, drove me home this morning, and has kindly offered to wait for me to shower and then drive me to work. Sorry, don’t have time to chitchat. I’m late.”
I’m just about to the first step when Sarah stops me.
“Lyssa, stop right there!” She’s using her don’t fuck with me voice.
I look over at Zac, who is now giving Sarah a death glare.
I really don’t have time to figure this guy out right now, or ever.
“Why, and how exactly, did Zac have to help you last night?” Her voice rises in pitch as she shrieks and uses air quotes when she says his name.
“Oh, it was nothing. I’ll fill you in later. In the meantime, make sure you lose Ethan’s details and block him on all of your social media.”
I turn to start back up the stairs when someone clears their throat. It’s a deep, husky noise, one that sends shivers down my spine; a throat noise that most certainly does not belong to Sarah.
“I wouldn’t say that getting roofied by your date and passing out in a packed nightclub is nothing, Alyssa. Your night could have gone a lot differently if I wasn’t there,” Zac so helpfully points out.
Sarah gasps. “You were roofied?” She doesn’t give me time to answer before she starts on her tirade.
“By Ethan, the hot groomsman? What the fuck? I’m going to kill him—no, I’m going to torture him.
I’ll start at his toes and make my way up his legs.
I’ll skip his manhood, make him think I’m sparing him, and move to his fingers.
It can’t be too hard to rip fingernails off, right?
Then I think I’ll chop the fuckers off. Just when he thinks I’m done, that’s when I’ll strike him where it really hurts.
Tie a string around his balls tight, then tie the other end to the door and slam it—you know, like kids do for teeth.
I’ll keep slamming that door until his balls rip off. ”
Sarah paces as she continues mumbling to herself.
I’m stunned into silence. I mean, I knew she was loyal as shit.
What shocks me the most was how much I liked the picture she just painted in my head.
I don’t recall a time I’ve ever been this pissed off with someone, and that’s saying something, because I’ve been in some shitty situations over the years.
When I come to this realisation, I tell her, “I’ll help, and when were done, I’ll help bury the body. We’ll burn it in the grave before we shovel all the dirt back in too.” Sarah smiles and nods, like it’s a forgone plan.
Zac looks back and forward between us both.
Fixing his gaze on me with a slight smirk, he says, “No need to get all Jekyll and Hyde, sunshine. I’ve already taken care of the fucker; he won’t be bothering you again.
” He looks at his watch before looking back up.
“Not that I’m not enjoying this episode of Murder, She Wrote, but you might want to get a move on with that shower if you want to make it to work on time.
My car’s fast, but it’s no time machine, sweetheart. ”
That has me screeching my way upstairs and into the shower. I have the quickest shower in the history of showers, find a pair of scrubs, and pile my hair up into a messy top bun. Just before I’m about to turn to head downstairs, I stop and add a layer of nude lip gloss to my lips.