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?”
