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I’m totally over the conversation, and touch Mark’s sleeve. Time to go.
He doesn’t move.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks Doug.
Oh no. Oh no no no.
“You know what it means,” Doug snaps.
I rub my forehead. Here we go.
“Enlighten me.”
Doug slowly sets down his beer and stands. “It means that this whole town is sick of you hovering around Kelly like a damned guard dog.”
“Keeping her away from assholes like you is hardly hovering.”
“I’m the asshole?” Doug says, crossing his arms. “You’re seriously going to act like you didn’t do everything possible to ensure she and I broke up?”
Mark steps closer. “That was all you. You’re the one who cheated on her.”
Allegedly, I silently add. Mark told me he thought Doug was cheating, but Doug was adamant he hadn’t. In the end, we broke up not because I was convinced he’d cheated but because I wasn’t willing to take Doug’s word over Mark’s.
You see why this whole situation is awkward? I trust my best friend, but he never would tell me why he was so sure about Doug’s cheating.
“Kelly and I were never exclusive,” Doug says.
My gaze flies to him. Wait, what? That’s news to me.
“You and Erika were though, right? Oh, wait…”
I’m so startled when Doug goes flying backward that I let out a yelp, but it gets lost beneath the cacophony of breaking glass as Doug’s beer glass shatters on the ground.
Doug catches himself on the barstool, a hand to his mouth, as he gives Mark an incredulous look. “Seriously, dude?”
I too look at Mark, watching as his right hand returns to his side, still in a fist. He’s breathing hard, and he looks as angry as I’ve ever seen him.
Time to go. Way past time to go.
“Come on,” I say quietly, wrapping my fingers around Mark’s arm. “He’s not worth it.”
I glance warily at Doug, but he seems more interested in keeping the blood from his lip from dripping on his blue sweater than he does in fighting back. Although I’m guessing that’s more from the fact that he knows he can’t win than from any “bigger man” sensibilities.
Doug’s relatively fit, but slim to the point of being lanky. There’s exactly zero chance he’d win in a fight against Mark. Especially when my best friend has hot murder in his eyes.
About what? I wonder. I’m sure a little bit of it was over Doug making me cry, but I’m also pretty sure there’s more to it.
One of the waitresses shoos us out of the way to clean up the spilled beer and broken glass. Mark runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath.
Then he adds another twenty to the cash I already left on the bar, and gives a nod of apology toward the bartender. Another twenty he hands to the waitress, bending down and murmuring to her.
She gives him a smile and a wink before nodding subtly toward Doug.
When Mark stands and meets my eyes, he’s still tense, but his gaze is steady. “Ready?”
Um, yeah.
Mark holds out his hand, and it doesn’t even occur to me not to take it as we walk out of the bar. Hardly anyone looks at us, their interest level having dropped when they realized there was no fight to be had.
