L Witt: Nine-tenths of the Law

“Wait,” I said.

He turned, exhaling sharply. His eyebrows rose in an annoyed expression of go on, out with it, I want to leave .

I hesitated. “Can I buy you a beer?”

A sudden laugh parted his lips, and the half-smile broke the angry rigidity of his features. The sound was one of amusement this time, not bitterness. The smile fell, then rose again. “Are you serious?”

“Why not?”

His eyes lost focus for a moment. Then something seemed to shake loose in his shoulders and his expression. “Hell, why not?”

I nodded past him. “There’s another place up that way. About a block and a half.” Gesturing over my shoulder, I said, “I assume you don’t want to go back in there.”

“No, definitely not.”

We walked in silence, facing straight ahead, hands in jacket pockets. There was a safely awkward distance between us-enough that a third person could have filled it with a little room to spare-just far enough to remind me of how uncomfortable we made each other, but close enough that to anyone passing by, we were obviously going somewhere together.

Still not saying a word, I opened the door to the bar and held it while he stepped inside. It was a crowded sports bar with football games on all of the numerous flat screens, but even the noise of drunk people and bad music didn’t pierce the hollow silence between us.

I flagged down a waitress and we took our seats at an empty booth that was as far from the heart of the noise as we could get. Once she came and took our orders, I looked at him. Now that we were at a table, facing each other, with no destination to preoccupy our minds as an excuse not to speak, I couldn’t think of what to say.

After a full minute had gone by, I finally said, “I don’t even know your name.”

He laughed, the sound barely registering over the noise in the bar. “I guess we haven’t really been introduced, have we?” He extended his hand across the table. “Nathan Forrester.”

I shook his hand. “Zach Owens.” I paused, my cheeks burning. “But I guess you already knew that.”

He released my hand, reaching for one of the two beers that materialized on our table. “Well, I didn’t know your last name, so…” He tilted the bottle in a half salute, then drank.

I took a sip, rolling it around on my tongue for a moment. Then, figuring this couldn’t get much more awkward than it already was, “How did you know my name, anyway?”

Nathan took a long drink. When he set the bottle down, he spun it with two fingers, watching the label instead of looking directly at me. “When I figured out he was cheating,” he said, just loud enough for me to hear, “I did a little digging. Looked at his cell phone when he was asleep or stepped away.” He gave a flippant shrug. “Devious, sure, but I can’t say I feel too guilty about it.”

“I don’t blame you. I’d have done the same.” I took another drink, if only to wet my parched mouth. “How long have you known?”

Another shrug. “A few weeks. Maybe two months, if that.” He watched his fingers tapping the side of his beer bottle. “I just didn’t want to confront him-either of you-until I was absolutely sure.”

I barely kept myself from shuddering. For two months, while I’d carried on with Jake in blissful ignorance, Nathan must have been agonizing over all of this.

Without looking at me, he said, “How did you meet him?”

“He was one of my regular customers.”

His fingers suddenly stopped and his head snapped up, eyebrows raised. “He-what?”

I cocked my head, then laughed. “I own a movie theatre.”

He laughed, too, and some of the hostility between us seemed to diminish. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply…” He trailed off.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Given the circumstances…” I chewed my lip, inwardly cringing as the tension returned. Less hostile now, but awkward, nonetheless.

“Which theatre?”

“What?”

“You said you own a theatre.” He lifted his beer bottle, but paused just in front of his lips. “Which one?”

Whether he was genuinely curious or just wanted to change the subject, I wasn’t going to argue.

“The Epidauran,” I said.

His eyes widened and he swallowed his drink. “You own that place?”

I nodded. “Well, I co-own it. My partner and I-” Another flick of his eyebrows made me pause. “My business partner and I bought it a few years ago when the old owner was shutting it down. Back when it was still The Looking Glass.”

“You did a nice job with it,” he said with a nod of what I assume was approval. “Was a dump when it was still The Glass.”

“Thank you. It still has its problems, but we’ve tried to fix it up.” I paused. “I don’t think I’ve seen you there.”

“You probably see a lot of people.” He smiled. “And I haven’t been there in-” He cut himself off, his expression darkening and his gaze dropping.

“What?”

He swallowed hard, and when he looked at me, some of the bitterness had returned to his expression. “I probably haven’t been there in six months or so.” Through his teeth, he added, “About the time Jake suddenly lost interest in foreign and independent films.”

“Oh.” I went for my beer, letting the label hold my gaze. He didn’t need to know how often Jake had come to The Epidauran alone. Nor how many times he’d left with me.

Nathan cleared his throat. “Anyway, it’s a nice place.”

“Thanks,” I said dryly. “So, um, what do you do?”

He shifted, picking up his beer bottle and visibly relaxing as we moved on to another topic. “I’m an attorney.”

As the conversation went on and fury no longer added its harsh edge to Nathan’s features, I couldn’t stop looking at him. Without the mask of anger, he was simply gorgeous. He had an infectious smile, the kind that was impossible not to return, especially when it crinkled the corners of his dark eyes. When he laughed-freely now, without the choked, bitter sound-there was music in his voice.

And that was just his face. I hadn’t had a chance to drink him in while he was standing, but what I could see above the table was anything but disappointing. His black shirt sat just right on broad shoulders, and the collar was casually unbuttoned, revealing a thin gold chain resting on his collarbones.

The sleeves were snug enough to show off his toned arms, and silver rings on his right ring and left index fingers drew my attention to his hands. Hands that could open and light a Zippo lighter in one fluid motion, something I’d never quite mastered in spite of trying time and again. I caught myself staring at his hands, watching the rings catch the light whenever his long, slender fingers drummed the table or played with the label on his beer bottle.

Those hands probably give a hell of a - I cut off that train of thought. Fucking hell, this guy just busted his boyfriend cheating with me, and I’m thinking about what he’s like in bed? I’m either a seriously insensitive bastard, or I really need to get laid .

When I realized I’d been staring, I looked up, and a hint of a smile told me it hadn’t escaped his notice. He didn’t seem offended by it or creeped out. Amused, if anything.

As I took another long drink, not tasting a single drop of it, I figured it was probably a little of both.

Jake, you pissed this away? What in the name of all that’s holy were you thinking ? It occurred to me then that I’d all but forgotten about Jake as I lost myself in conversation with Nathan. This was supposed to hurt, but it didn’t. I was supposed to be angry, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t supposed to be attracted to Nathan, but I was.

I took a sip of beer, wishing it was about forty degrees colder. As I swallowed it, I glanced at Nathan just in time to see him drop his gaze. His face might have colored, or it might have been the dim light from the lamp above the table encouraging my wishful thinking.