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“Thanks.”
“What are you doing?”
The table froze, as did Elle’s partially extended hand. I held out my olive branch of a cheese stick as it wafted the delicious scent of battered bread and gooey goodness across the table.
Take the stick. Take the damn mozzarella stick.
I held her stare. If she didn’t stand up to this micromanaging, probably steroid-induced micro penis, he was going to take over her whole life.
I needed her to eat that fucking mozzarella stick more than I needed my next breath. It was a matter of female independence and solidarity. A fuck you to toxic diet culture and the oppressive body-shaming men who made women feel like they had to be less to have more or deserve something as basic as acceptance and love.
Even Hale paused, watching to see what she would do.
Her hand drew back and utter disappointment swamped me. “I’ll just wait. My food should be right out.”
I wanted to scream. This was not my friend. This was some brainwashed, self-deprecating, hungry, waif who thought she needed to change to be worthy. And for what? This guy?
I glared at Paul and snapped the tip of the mozzarella stick off with my teeth. Fuck you, Paul, and your little dick, too.
When the waitress returned with the dry salad, Elle squeezed a lemon over the leaves and hummed happily at the first bite, cutting some of the tension at the table. We ate in silence for several minutes, but Paul eventually ruined that too.
“You ever hear of P-Cubed Supplements, Hale?”
“Out of Silicon Valley?”
“Right. Well, I got a friend whose cousin went to school with the guy whose brother started that company. He’s pretty interested in this Kickstarter I’m doing. You could be a shareholder if you’re interested in making some money.”
“Your friend’s cousin’s classmate’s brother? Say less.” It was hard not to laugh when Hale actively patronized Paul. Sarcasm wasn’t Hale’s go to, but when he whipped it out I found it hysterical.
Smirking around another bite of hydrogenated cheese, I watched to see how this sales pitch might unfold.
Paul, however, was too involved in inflating his own ego to identify condescension, even when it smacked him upside his dumb-ass head.
The more he talked the more I realized something. There was no way Elle would stay with this guy. He was an intolerable egomaniac, a know-it-all. He had to be a stage, a future regret she needed to suffer for some twisted masochistic reason. He was a pothole on her path, not the whole journey.
“Paul’s going to change the way people view fitness.”
I frowned. Or maybe I was wrong and Elle was in it for the long haul.
She gobbled up every dumb word this guy said. Where was the appeal? He hadn’t said one nice thing to her since we sat down. As a matter of fact, he had a way of poking her insecurities without actually putting her down, like when he reminded her of every consequence to anything that might be remotely pleasurable.
Was there a name for that?
Maybe the accident had knocked her confidence loose. What if she took his crap because she didn’t believe something better existed? That’s when it hit me. I needed to save my friend. I needed to tell her that I was here for her and she didn’t have to settle for this loser.
“I have to use the restroom. Elle, do you want to come with me?”
She looked up from her salad, sensing that wasn’t a question. “Sure.”
Hale shot me a warning look not to take long. I set my napkin on the booth and he grudgingly stood to let me out.
“We’ll be back in a minute.”
The moment we entered the bathroom I turned on her. “Okay, what is going on? You can’t possibly be into this guy.”
She drew back. “What are you talking about? You don’t even know him.”
“I know enough. Come on, Elle. He’s a total wanker.” I caught her shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Look, I know I’ve been pre-occupied, but you’ve got my attention now. I’m here for whatever you need. If it’s not Barrett, fine?—”
