Page 72 of Deviant
The easy looseness goes out of him, but then, in an instant, something moves across his face in the half second before the neutral mask comes up.
I stop at the table, not even bothering to make eye contact with Randy—or whatever her name is.
“Hey. What are you doing here?” he asks.
“We need to talk.” I hold his gaze.
“No, we don’t.”
“Colt.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “I quit. That means we don’t work together anymore. That means there’s nowe. That means whatever you drove out here to say you can turn around and take back with you.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Then stand there.” He picks up his beer. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
The woman sips her cocktail and stays quiet, looking around the room at anyone but us.
“I figured out who the texter is.”
“Good for you,” he says.
“She’s handled; she won’t be a problem anymore.”
“Awesome for you. Now you can go off and keep your little illusion alive, right?” He scoffs.
“I came here for you.” I throw my hands up.
“You don’t get to do that,” he says.
“Do what?”
“Show up here look like that.” He points at my eye. “And say things and just expect me to—” He stops and sets his beer down. “I’m sitting here with a bruise on my jaw that you put there, Rhett. You told me it meant nothing. So, disrespectfully, fuck you.”
“I lied to you.”
“Shocking. You’re good at that.”
Ouch.
“Yeah, but I’m done lying?—”
The woman makes a quiet sound that might be her attempt at clearing her throat before pushing back her stool. “I’m just going to…” She gestures vaguely toward the bar, taking her drink, and disappears without either of us acknowledging her.
Now, it’s just us.
Colt looks at me for a long moment. His jaw is still tight, and there’s still anger in his eyes.
I lean down, both hands on the table, getting into his space, dropping my voice so only he can hear it. “I came here because I have something to say to you that I should have said a long time ago, and I’m going to say it. You can make me work for it, or youcan come outside and give me five minutes.” I hold his eyes. “But I’m not leaving without those five minutes.”
“Five minutes,” Colt says. His voice has an edge to it. “Then I come back in here.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
He slides off his stool and walks past me toward the door, and I follow him out into the night.
The parking lot is half lit, one of the overhead lights buzzing and flickering. The air is warm and thick, the particular density of a summer night that hasn’t cooled down yet. Colt walks to the far end of the building, around the side, and turns around with his arms crossed.
